I’m remembering three Julys ago,
when we made out in the middle of the street,
outside a friends house party where we did blades and ate spray cheese,
before he asked if I wanted to go for,
A few weeks later,
he fingered me while we lay on a friends bedroom floor.
I remember writing about him then,
thinking he was a gift to me from the universe.
The perfect prescription of medicine I needed.
To feel desirable amidst the whirlwind drama of my collision with the IT boy.
is not of romance, but of good luck.
It’s to literally fall onto the lap of a man you need.
Shortly, as in hours after our second make out,
he fell for my best friend.
I’d been far to caught up in the IT boy to mind.
Somehow, the three of us had become this strange family.
We’d drink nothing but homemade mead and ginger tea.
I lived on his buttered toast and free food from the three restaurants where I worked.
He taught me how to play backgammen.
We joked that I was their daughter.
We had a running line about him asking me to “sit on daddy’s boner.”
I fell asleep on his old orange couch,
staring at his gigantic painting of a snowy view out the window so often,
I could probably repaint it.
There were nights where,
I would even crawl into bed with the two of them.
Once, they had sex beside me.
I was so lonely I didn’t even care.
Just rolled my eyes and rolled over
The three of us would take turns having breakdowns.
Together, our hearts shattered and our bones could barely hold this sorrow.
So, we held each other instead.
He reminds me of a younger version of my father,
in the way most men I love and/or lust for and/or befriend do.
Over six feet, lanky as fuck, lost, alcoholic, musician, artist.
Reckless in his endless youth.
He tells one hell of a story and he’s planted hundreds of thousands of trees.
I sat with them all day in the waiting room and in the grass,
counting minutes until the abortion would be over.
He left for the forest the weekend after that horrid day,
and I’ve only seen him briefly since.
So, when I saw him on the patio tonight,
we hugged for a long time and sat together drinking Guiness and chatting all night.
He pulled his bright orange tuque down on my head,
“Looks good on you kid.” he said.
We watched the girls with smiles that make you want to do dirty things,
and the girls with smiles that you can set your watch to.
“What’s mine?” I asked from behind this goofy toque and my long locks of dark hair.
“Somewhere in between.” he said and I thought, ‘good answer.’
We walked to the Off Sale and got toquitos from 711.
He said we should go on a “Father daughter fishing trip.”
He told me of his latest heart break,
she left him for the forest,
he was real and she wanted to live in make believe.
I told him of my latest break downs,
of wanting to feel real.
Here on this couch,
under a roommates red plaid blanket with my toes between his calves,
when he asks, “Do you want to kiss me?”
I respond honestly, “No”.
My arms around his shoulders, hands in his hair,
“But I will hold you.” I say,
because I know that it’s the holding that he needs.