sometime in two thousand, maybe just before.
there was a lot of snow. i remember that much for sure. hanging out with Jocelyn at "videos on broadway." local movie store, better of the two. she was a year older which obviously made me cool.
high school dreams. i wrote a lot of poetry, a lot of it was bad but not all.
being in the passenger seat isn't all bad. especially when you've still got some say in what the destination is. so we set ourselves toward the storage sheds on the outskirts of the town that happens now to be growing closer to that area. the high school is only a few hundred yards away.
getting there pulling up feelin' fine and opening every door that opens. most things are locked but there are doors with mattresses and dressers and bookshelves behind them, and all those things that are too big to carry in your pocket or a bread box.
and clothing.
some of that, but it's nothing we're looking for. exploring and it's the little details that make this too much to forget.
drive drive drive
and laugh like hyenas through the lot around corners and nearly clip the door but get out and onto the highway. go to school.
get to school, and park out front. it's gotta be 11pm now and it's dark but the parking lot lights shine bright enough to see her smile and watch the energy around that laugh and see her nose get pointy when the flakes floating towards us (on our backs beside each other waving arms and legs into angels) hits her and she squeals and laughs and we're running away because we can't feel our fingertips.
drive drive drive
but we have no destination and she can't think of anything. our cheeks are tired, at least mine are, but i'm going to pull a smile out of her one more time, at least one.
she wants me to write her a poem and i've got nothing.
sights set toward the cemetery.
(did i have a shiny new ring on? i had pictures at least, Erica was enthralling. Erica was taller than me. Erica had a boyfriend, but it didn't stop a fake wedding.)
the eternity candle was hard to find at night. park a way away and run stealth mode in make sure not to be seen. it's dark and cold and everything is glossed over. the snow is hardened here like the hearts of so many people who pass through. everywhere i look there should be crows watching us, but even they've retired at this point. we're the only ones left and it's quiet and it's peaceful and uneasy at the same time.
the eternity candle is not a magical candle made of faeries and wishes that will never burn away or blow out. it is a holder on each side of the headstone for a boy most people have forgotten that houses refillable candles that get replaced and paid for by the hard work of people who keep hope alive to remember someone they loved so dearly that they wanted the town and the whole world to know and never forget.
it took work for them, and i'm passing it on.
we share little of nothing. we're mostly silent, but i point it out, we stand reverently and then walk away, slowly and we don't care if anyone sees us leaving.
the last stop before getting dropped off on a night i'd have liked to continue was one of three all-night gas stations, the only things open in town past the grocery store that was open until 12am on any given night which was the only thing open past 10pm aside from the video stores that were the only things open past 5pm in a town of eight thousand and not much plus that.
she told me to write a poem about ducks, and while we sat there sharing "cappuccino" (that's coffee with a bunch of flavored cream packs that come individual), i got real quiet and
"
everyone's a quack.
just like Jocelyn said.
she said:
"write a poem about ducks."
so that's the attempt i'm making.
we all laugh and cry and quack.
truly, we are ducks.
"
there was a lot of snow. i remember that much for sure. hanging out with Jocelyn at "videos on broadway." local movie store, better of the two. she was a year older which obviously made me cool.
high school dreams. i wrote a lot of poetry, a lot of it was bad but not all.
being in the passenger seat isn't all bad. especially when you've still got some say in what the destination is. so we set ourselves toward the storage sheds on the outskirts of the town that happens now to be growing closer to that area. the high school is only a few hundred yards away.
getting there pulling up feelin' fine and opening every door that opens. most things are locked but there are doors with mattresses and dressers and bookshelves behind them, and all those things that are too big to carry in your pocket or a bread box.
and clothing.
some of that, but it's nothing we're looking for. exploring and it's the little details that make this too much to forget.
drive drive drive
and laugh like hyenas through the lot around corners and nearly clip the door but get out and onto the highway. go to school.
get to school, and park out front. it's gotta be 11pm now and it's dark but the parking lot lights shine bright enough to see her smile and watch the energy around that laugh and see her nose get pointy when the flakes floating towards us (on our backs beside each other waving arms and legs into angels) hits her and she squeals and laughs and we're running away because we can't feel our fingertips.
drive drive drive
but we have no destination and she can't think of anything. our cheeks are tired, at least mine are, but i'm going to pull a smile out of her one more time, at least one.
she wants me to write her a poem and i've got nothing.
sights set toward the cemetery.
(did i have a shiny new ring on? i had pictures at least, Erica was enthralling. Erica was taller than me. Erica had a boyfriend, but it didn't stop a fake wedding.)
the eternity candle was hard to find at night. park a way away and run stealth mode in make sure not to be seen. it's dark and cold and everything is glossed over. the snow is hardened here like the hearts of so many people who pass through. everywhere i look there should be crows watching us, but even they've retired at this point. we're the only ones left and it's quiet and it's peaceful and uneasy at the same time.
the eternity candle is not a magical candle made of faeries and wishes that will never burn away or blow out. it is a holder on each side of the headstone for a boy most people have forgotten that houses refillable candles that get replaced and paid for by the hard work of people who keep hope alive to remember someone they loved so dearly that they wanted the town and the whole world to know and never forget.
it took work for them, and i'm passing it on.
we share little of nothing. we're mostly silent, but i point it out, we stand reverently and then walk away, slowly and we don't care if anyone sees us leaving.
the last stop before getting dropped off on a night i'd have liked to continue was one of three all-night gas stations, the only things open in town past the grocery store that was open until 12am on any given night which was the only thing open past 10pm aside from the video stores that were the only things open past 5pm in a town of eight thousand and not much plus that.
she told me to write a poem about ducks, and while we sat there sharing "cappuccino" (that's coffee with a bunch of flavored cream packs that come individual), i got real quiet and
"
everyone's a quack.
just like Jocelyn said.
she said:
"write a poem about ducks."
so that's the attempt i'm making.
we all laugh and cry and quack.
truly, we are ducks.
"
tegan:
quack.