i got a magic 8 ball, somewhere inside the house here, it gives me advice i think about too much...
i sang a song to myself all day today, while laundering, while working, while walking, while eating tacos and then gelato. but i could only sing one line, and i couldn't remember what song it was, and so i went through my day, alternately singing, but sometimes hearing it in my head:
"sometimes you have to wait, so patiently"...
it was a reedy voice i heard, and it conjured up early portland for me; in the blue house on 39th street, when i had the blue room in front (not the pink room in back). we moved in september, i think, and i was in that room that fall. it rained a lot that fall, and i spent most of my time in one square mile, with that house in the center: work and home and the grocery and the bar and the breakfast place were all that close. so portland, and i wasn't used to it yet, so it wasn't something i took for granted. it snowed that winter, while i lived in that house, in that room, and i stayed up the whole night, sitting at the window, watching the cars whoosh down 39th, making tracks in the snow.
of course, it snowed other times in portland, but i think that was the first time for me and it was...other worldly, up at 4 am watching the street glow brighter than the moon. it was a winter of extremes: of a heady, not so secret, ill fated romance that sat on my skin all day long; of mix tapes, passed back and forth surreptitiously; of too many girls in a house painted too many colors; and of music, constantly, out at night, home in the morning, other people's voices in my ear.
all day today, i knew the song i heard was from then, and i couldn't place it. it was a song that was exclusively THEN. i knew i didn't have it now. which meant it wasn't elvis, it wasn't michael. but who? it was far too meandering for blake. not poppy enough for the minders. nowhere near the promise ring. but it was on that tape, that one passed back and forth: that boy would put one song on, and then give it to me to put another, too shy to say the words out loud, we left it to others, who sang of things 20 blocks away, who sang of kissing on the bus, who sang of waiting patiently, and things looking familiar, vaguely familiar. the tape that soundtracked my heart that fall, and winter, and spring. the tape my heart broke to later that summer.
and still i couldn't place it. twice i came near to crying today, hearing it in my head on repeat, taking me back to that cold blue room, and how that boy used to balance the mix tape on my front doorknob, knowing i'd be the one to find it.
an hour ago, showered and ready for bed, i googled it. and after a couple of tries, i found him:
how could i have forgotten him? he was the reason, really, i moved to portland. do you ever see him anymore?
"sometimes you have to wait, so patiently"...
it was a reedy voice i heard, and it conjured up early portland for me; in the blue house on 39th street, when i had the blue room in front (not the pink room in back). we moved in september, i think, and i was in that room that fall. it rained a lot that fall, and i spent most of my time in one square mile, with that house in the center: work and home and the grocery and the bar and the breakfast place were all that close. so portland, and i wasn't used to it yet, so it wasn't something i took for granted. it snowed that winter, while i lived in that house, in that room, and i stayed up the whole night, sitting at the window, watching the cars whoosh down 39th, making tracks in the snow.
of course, it snowed other times in portland, but i think that was the first time for me and it was...other worldly, up at 4 am watching the street glow brighter than the moon. it was a winter of extremes: of a heady, not so secret, ill fated romance that sat on my skin all day long; of mix tapes, passed back and forth surreptitiously; of too many girls in a house painted too many colors; and of music, constantly, out at night, home in the morning, other people's voices in my ear.
all day today, i knew the song i heard was from then, and i couldn't place it. it was a song that was exclusively THEN. i knew i didn't have it now. which meant it wasn't elvis, it wasn't michael. but who? it was far too meandering for blake. not poppy enough for the minders. nowhere near the promise ring. but it was on that tape, that one passed back and forth: that boy would put one song on, and then give it to me to put another, too shy to say the words out loud, we left it to others, who sang of things 20 blocks away, who sang of kissing on the bus, who sang of waiting patiently, and things looking familiar, vaguely familiar. the tape that soundtracked my heart that fall, and winter, and spring. the tape my heart broke to later that summer.
and still i couldn't place it. twice i came near to crying today, hearing it in my head on repeat, taking me back to that cold blue room, and how that boy used to balance the mix tape on my front doorknob, knowing i'd be the one to find it.
an hour ago, showered and ready for bed, i googled it. and after a couple of tries, i found him:
how could i have forgotten him? he was the reason, really, i moved to portland. do you ever see him anymore?
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