The Elegiac Bitterness of Orange Peels
was it 4th grade?
no, wait ...
(counts on fingers)
6, 7, 8, illinois, florida
6th grade
it was 6th grade!
has it really been twen-ty sev-en years?
(whistles)
the memories come
in flashes
fragmented - dis - jointed
but vibrant
full of tastes
& smells
& weather
she was my first true love
father dismissed it
as "puppy love"
it wasn't
it was ...
if i stood in the
dead center
of america
threw my head back
and reached out the tips
of my fingers
i could never
touch the ocean
like that ...
it felt like that
she had dark hair
- dark eyes
she was shorter
than I was
I was all gangly
arms back then
like a puppet with
tangled strings
constantly tripping
over my shoelaces
yearning for grace
(whisper) those eyes
i was at the
mogollon rim once
- on a family
camping trip
staring down at the
city lights at night
the valley lit like
a celestial sea
dumbstruck
like that ...
her eyes were like that
her hair was dark brown
with streaks of
natural highlights
that reminded me
of heather
floating lazily across
a warm summer
afternoon
the amber sadness
of late day
descending
like that ...
she had a boyfriend
at the time
he said something
awful to her
i stood up - pushed him
against the wall
said something about
how i didn't
understand why
girls chose "jerks"
like him
slowly became aware
i had an audience
she looked at me
for the first time
that day
- her head tilted
slightly
i stomped off
across the grass
to the backstop
at the edge
of the field
and sat down
upon the bench
my heart pounding
in my chest
trying to steady
my hands
i had been
watching her
all year
her cherry lip gloss
her glitter eyeliner
the way her eyes narrowed
when she smiled
the way the sunshine
shined in her hair ...
and now she knew
who i was
no mistaking that
and then i saw
her envoy of friends
coming towards me
(smiled to myself)
and that was it
- we were
boyfriend/girlfriend
after that
when i think
back upon it now
i wince at my
awkwardness
i may have said
three paragraphs
aloud the entire
time we went out
dumbstruck
we communicated
mainly through notes
her handwriting was all
loops and soft curves
with hearts over her i's
the paper smelled like
cherry lip gloss
i was still living
deep inside my
heart back then
and could only
respond by copying
Duran Duran lyrics
took me forever
i had to keep
rewinding
and pausing
the tape
holding her hand
was so
in-des-cribable
(warm shiver)
i could breathe
free and clear
- a respite
from the
suffocating
darkness
when we were
apart
her small hand
fit so well in
mine
as if made
expressly
for that purpose
one day during lunch,
as we held hands,
i looked at her
and she looked
at me
and everything
else - the noise of
the cafeteria - the
upheavals of early
childhood - the
awkwardness
of adolescence
all just faded
away like blurry
monotonous landscape
and in that second
i felt as if we were
the only two people
that existed
and that somehow
if i could freeze time
and exist in that
temporal moment
forever
our love would
never end ...
then we had to
let go to wipe
our sweaty palms
our separate home rooms
merged for movies
from time to time
and we would sit in the
back - in the darkness
holding hands
with the clackety-clack
of the projector
and me looking
up and wishing
the reel would
never end
she was in the school
choir and so naturally
i - being tone deaf
and cripplingly shy
- joined as well
but i didn't need
much convincing,
maybe a little
cherry lip gloss smile
or an errant
piece of glitter
on her face
it was christmastime
and to this day
i cannot hear
Rockin Around the Christmas Tree
or
Jingle Bell Rock
without thinking about
that time
(skipped heartbeat)
i'm left with a permanent
nostalgia for christmas
one not diminished
by age or the passage
of time
we were supposed
to go carolling
on a hay ride
that night
it was late december
and there was frost
on the palm fronds
my father drove
and picked her
and her friend
up at her house
in litchfield park
so it was my father -
me - her - and her friend
crammed in the front
seat of mt father's
pick-up truck
my father blasted
his stale music
trying to embarass
me - i think it was
Herman's Hermits
or something like that
and he sang
- loudly and badly
and i was mortified
but they just laughed
and i relaxed
... a little
her friend grabbed
my arm and put
it around my
girlfriend's shoulders
and after a bit
she pushed my hand
down the front
of my girlfriend's shirt
i pulled my hand
out immediately
and everybody
laughed
... except me
she just looked at
me and shrugged
her shoulders
and then we arrived ...
that night lives
on so vividly
in my memory
it was so cold
and she was so pretty
and the white lights
in the palm trees
and the horse drawn
wagon clip-clopping
through the streets
it's the kind
of memory
so beautiful
it makes your
heart ache to
think of it
we were like two
birds whose wing tips
touch for one fine
moment - swirling
in the clear blue
sky that stretches
out to infinity
it was
in a word
per-fect
my father picked
us up and drove
us back to her house
i got out with her
it was so cold
that night
the air so crisp
we kissed against
a fence post
under the blue
glow of a winter's
moon
my first kiss
and right then
i felt as if
i could die
my father and i
drove home
me in a daze
filled with
electricity
everything
changed after
that - swept
along mighty
streams never
to see the same
shores again
i don't know
how it ended
or why
when i try
to remember
my heart
closes the door
and will not
let me see
the next school year
began and she was
in my homeroom
and i said something
awful to her
something i wished
a thousand times
over i could take back
but life isn't
always like that
not everything
wraps up so
neatly with a bow
we're meant to carry
some things in our
hearts - some
memories
some regrets
i didn't date
anyone else
for about
seven years
all the way through high school
when we broke up
i sat alone in the
cafeteria eating
orange peels
she's married now
as am i
and she has a daughter
we've never spoken
i hope that she is
happy and that we
didn't hurt each
other too badly
sometimes on nights
i cannot sleep
i think about
how we cannot
truly know love
without first
knowing heartache
how we carry
both the scars
and memories
of days long past
and how we're
never really complete
always in a state
of becoming
always reaching for those
times when our hearts
were wild and free
undaunted
by the fury of storms
and the cruelty
of weather
1/23/2012
Great writing, by a great man.
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