20:22 - June 08, 2002
pure loss?
High school is over forever.
::silence::
Well, that's what I think, too. We had what was meant to be a big end of the year bash on Friday. ('We' being Nikki, Cam, Becca, Mike, Roger, Erik, Kat, Gabe, Alec, Nora, Sarah, and Mary.) Flat Top Grill (although I missed that part), some Potbellies, some Jamba Juice, some Young Frankenstein, some beach-happenings, some falling asleep, some crying, some cop-avoidance, and some more falling asleep all went down, scintillatingly, I might add, if it were a word, which it's not. We meant to smoke up at some point, but by the time we got back to my house it was 2 AM and everyone just sort of fell onto the couch and pulled my big blue squishy blanket over them. At times, my feet lay on top of Alec, Erik, Mike, and Becca simultaneously. Erik, my portable radiator, soft and languid and solid and warm, slept on my right, making that side nice and toasty warm. Mike, my portable air-conditioner, skinny and sharp and quick and freezing, slept on my left, making that side shiver from the cold. Recognizing polar opposites in real life is sort of intriguing, but sleeping between them is fucking weird. I had to whisper inside my head to my own blood, 'Now equalize...' constantly. It balked. It thought I was straddling hemispheres or something.

I fell asleep at Nora's, I think. Right after the movie, because it's the last thing I remember. I hesitate to even use the term 'asleep' now, because in most senses of the word that's not what it is. Can sleeping people point directions to the Greenleaf beach? Can they mirror Nikki's movements and throw pennies at Nora? Can they beat Roger with the ends of the bat sleeves of their shirts? I think not. And Camille must have pulled herself together by the time I'm aware enough to notice her long, frustrated sighs. I got the dim impression, through mist, of Mike saying, 'it doesn't matter. Let it go.' Anyway, she must have, because Roger acted as my translator and we got to the right beach by way of the right streets, and an accidental dead end at Florence shocked my vocal cords into cooperating, thank fuck, for the rest of the night.

When this happens I sometimes only get the night back the next day as brief brilliant shots of memory, and it's all I've got now. Curled up into Erik's chest and soaking his shirt with my tears, thinking about how he's the only one in the entire world who understands enough to just hold me. After August he'll be in Maryland. Waving my hands wildly at Roger and shoving him in the shoulder, laughing helplessly, trying to convey the message that Camille needed to turn right. After August he'll be in Ohio. Bouncing and flying high into the air on the red seesaw with Sarah, who sang opera from the lifeguard's chair at the beach. After August she might be anywhere; I never asked. Finally understanding the funny side of Rebecca's conversations, and laughing myself weak. After August, she'll be in Champaign. Crouching behind the rocks motionless next to Camille, watching the cop searchlights go over our heads. After August, she'll be in Denver. Listening to Mike half mumble in his sleep that he should be getting home and then falling asleep halfway into his sentence, pulling the blanket tighter around him. After August he'll be in Georgia.

I've been helplessly, hopelessly exposed to these people more than I've ever wanted to be exposed to anyone. Most notably Erik and Camille. If I really wanted to be that well known, I'd write a novel or go on Oprah, right? (or have a highly exhibitionistic online journal?) Right? But if I didn't want to be that well known, I wouldn't have fallen so deeply into them, knowing what I was doing each time I took a dive. Human companionship is the spilling of soulblood, and when it's taken away, it rips the confortably healed wounds all open again. I never claimed not to feed on pain, but for once I'm surprised at how pure this loss is going to be. I won't have to advance it myself. It's already here.

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