listening to winamp, songs going in some sort of weird alphabetical order, must've turned off the random by accident, chatting on msn, joking about abba and ac/dc, it's all good . . . then the b-52's and i'm back in time at flipper's for the biggest backyard party ever to hit mississauga, charging 20 bucks a head to get in, but we're friends and comped, hugs from the host at the gate, there's a live band, a pit full of corn and potatoes, a pig on a spit, burgers and steaks on bbqs, some salads i wouldn't want to chance, drugs piled everywhere in bowls and baggies, pills, powder, plant-life, whatever you want, everyone who enters empties pockets and contributes, patted down for weapons, search is not yet the norm, flipper pats me himself . . . i think nothing of this until later . . . coolers piled upon coolers filled with beer and ice, never seen so many girls in string bikinis, the band's playing b-52s and doing a damn fine job, but i'm drunk and everything sounds awesome, it's late, after the bar closed, people lined up around the block trying to get in, bouncers breaking up fights . . . flipper does not own this home, i think, he rents, there will be damage, they've dug up half the backyard with the backhoe . . . then it occurs to me that this isn't even his house . . . i ask where we are and hon shrugs, smiles, in that easy way things roll off his back . . . and we slowdance barefoot in the dew soaked grass even though the music stopped . . . until the police come . . . slip through the fence, running away, quietly, zigzagging across backyards, lots of yelling behind us, sirens, coming on dawn, grey, i'm tired, all i can hear is my breath and heart beating in my throat, all i can feel is his hand holding mine, pulling me, all i can think is that it's going to be okay, he's got me and i'll follow him anywhere . . . how much of this is memory and how much dream, i no longer know . . .
bto, bad company, blondie, i'm back on msn, remembering the eastwood, dancing to mony, mony, hey mutherfucker, get laid, get fucked . . . the owner tried every night to convince me to go downstairs to work for him . . . stripping . . . i knew a lot of the strippers, the money was good, i was tempted, might have done it, but cooler heads prevailed . . . he promised to take care of me, i didn't need to work, focus on school, he said . . . you can do it, kel, you can do anything, he said . . . and he meant it . . . staying up all night to type my assignments for me so i could sleep two hours before final exams . . . sleeping in shifts with me during the first bush war so i wouldn't miss sadaam . . . i was learning to be a journalist . . . and so was my construction worker hon . . . bought me my first word processor . . . forced me to do things i didn't think i could . . . press conference with the premier, piece of cake . . . interview with great stratford director, just a joke . . . talked me down after the riot, when i didn't know what was happening just that there were people running in the streets, cops running with guns pulled, yelling at us to take cover, screams and crashes in the distance someplace, couldn't tell where, huddled in the payphone on the floor, hiding from . . . not sure who the enemy is . . . sitting on the floor with that other little girl, holding her hand, strangers brought together by circumstance . . . he talked me through it, got me to go back out, helped me find the courage to hang up the phone, disconnect from him, leave the school, get on the subway and go all the way to the end where he was waiting for me . . . more joking on msn, more conversation, remembering the fights at the eastwood, being swept under the table everynight, learning to crawl from one end of the club to the other and out the door into the parking lot without losing table cover, expert escapee . . . and there it is . . . billy joel, she can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes . . . she can ask for the truth, but she'll never believe . . . but she's always a woman to me . . . our song, not because i was such a bitch, but because i wouldn't give the time of day to anyone else, and they were all trying because i was the new chick . . . and young . . . innocent and naive . . . blue cow eyes . . . everybody wanted a piece of me but my loyalty was rock-solid, a one-man woman, maybe that made me a bitch, but it meant something else to us . . . you always remember the first time, the song that was playing, the way the air smelled of poison perfume and rain, electric lips, green eyes flecked with bronze, so serious, intensity . . . in love for the first time . . . it meant something different to him . . . something different to me . . .
bee gees, bob seger, who's your favourite beatle . . . good question, no answer from msn . . . but paul for me, I like paul, tho i didn't say . . . then bon jovi and i'm done for the night, there will be nothing else, i refuse to skip and I've got every song . . . EVERY ONE . . . how much do you love me . . . all of it . . . and the memories jumble, different place, different time, different guy . . . not so rock-solid . . . flimsy really, tattered, how did that happen . . . shit happens, that's what hon would've said, makes me smile, cuz it wasn't cliche then, he meant it . . . and he was right . . . reliable sources tell me he still loves me, never moved on . . . oh no, i say . . . fuck him, they say . . . seems harsh . . . but i don't love him anymore, it's not my fault if he can't work through it . . . i want him to be happy, but there's nothing i can do to help, we tried being friends . . . it didn't work, he always wanted more . . . he wanted marriage and children and a home with a garage and a white picket fence and a little place out back to grow some of the finest weed in the country . . . i didn't want any of that stuff . . . no compromise, sabotaging my birth control, ready to move cross country . . . who asked him, not me . . . uninvited . . . poison, I said . . . we are poison together . . . he saw it too, but refused to acknowledge it, wanted to believe this fantasy he concocted . . . i am not now, nor have i ever been, the woman he thinks he is in love with . . . so, fuck him . . . FUCK HIM . . . i refuse to feel guilty . . . i refuse to feel guilty . . . mantra, if repeated enough times will sink into my soul and set me free . . . i refuse to feel guilty . . . i am not guilty . . . i have no responsibility toward him . . . i don't owe him anything . . . i can't fix this for him . . . the reliable sources are wrong, they could be wrong, they've been wrong before . . . he has moved on, he no longer cares or even thinks about me in any way shape or form . . . yes, he's probably married with kids and a house with a garage and together they are growing some of the best weed in the country out of a shed in the backyard . . . he's finally put together the roadrunner . . . he's happy . . . i'm happy for him . . . i can rest easy, go to bed and sleep have wonderful dreams about new people, interesting people . . . i am not guilty, there is no reason for guilt, it all worked out for the best . . . and then a bon jovi song i've never heard before . . . one of those ballads . . . you know the ones i mean . . . and it's like he's reached out from long branch and grabbed me by the throat, wrapped the telephone cord around my neck again, only this time he means it . . . pulled it tight . . . he's got my attention . . . delivers his verdict . . . guilty as charged
And I would give up tomorrow
And die for one yesterday
I'd lie, beg, steal and borrow
To hear you whisper my name
Tonight there ain't no miracles
Washing up on this beach
The angels left here long ago
But I still believe that
Maybe someday
I will hold your hand
And maybe some way
We'll trace our footsteps in the sand
And just walk away… Baby, someday.
Now I don't know how a heart beats
But I sure know how one breaks
Remember how I used to hold you
To share every breath that you'd take
Oh how can I forget
You're every tear that I cry
I know you're coming back
You never kissed me goodbye
Maybe someday
I will hold your hand
And maybe some way
We'll trace our footsteps in the sand
And just walk away…
They say that nothing lasts forever
But we know our two hearts beat together
And though you're far away
Every night I pray
Maybe someday… Someday…
Maybe someday
I will understand
Baby, some way
We'll trace these footsteps in the sand
Just walk away…
Maybe someday
Baby, some way
Maybe someday
Baby, some way
-- Bon Jovi, Maybe Someday
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment