" -But I've just realized that my mind is asleep. " -- Arthur
Los Angeles. I only went there once but the way it moved, the way the
lights danced through the smoke and palm trees, would stay with me forever.
The way the land curved like a voluptuous starlet, the colours, the
people.it's hard to forget. But then it was hardest to remember. I learned
a new way of walking when I went to LA. As if you owned the world, as if
your eyes were glittering rhinestones, as if you were a tiger stalking its
And it was there that I almost drowned into the cracks beneath the
pavement. That's what happens when you don't have the faintest clue as to
who you are and you go to a place like that. You disappear; become the foam
of the sea or the stars that no one can see in the sky.
I guess you could say that Seattle kept me grounded, kept me safe,
inside it's green arms and calla lily tongue. I don't know if it was
Seattle or just the fact that I was home again and I was already changing
from the sun exposure I had finally received in Los Angeles. I don't know
if it was the fact that I was on a roll and no one could stop me even if
they tried; but I finally became me.
I finally saw myself clearly. Maybe it was that here, in Seattle, the
stars are visible even downtown or that the cracks in the pavement are
filled with moss.
Maybe the same thing would've happened if I had been in New Orleans,
New York, Toronto, or even Amsterdam. I have a feeling that I would have
become myself no matter where I was.because it was my choice to begin with.
It was my choice to move on and grow. To stash my memories like drugs
beneath my mattress.
The air pulsated with sound as the humidity continued to close
it's sly hand around my throat. I kept my distance, walking with my hair
tied back, clear and out of my face. I was always so painfully aware of
everything. The sweat trickling down the front of my dress to pool beneath
my breasts as I crossed my arms over my chest trying to ignore the way the
heat made my mascara run, blurring everything into one huge sea of colour.
I felt so lost there, by myself. Not knowing what to expect. I tried
to focus on the sound my sandals made against the pavement, on the way the
petals were falling like snow from the cherry trees. I remember once I
walked down this way with Ezra, hair in his eyes as he told me about
Judaism; about how different it was before his father left. When I was
younger I would become jealous of him because his family had so much
history, but then I realized that everything comes at a price. Everyone in
his family had names that reminded me of deserts and colours that could
breathe in the sun.
Sometimes, I would hold him, when he let me. It was almost like he
was afraid to show his emotions, afraid of letting his guard slip. But
there are times when you can't keep everything inside for fear of breaking.
I was always there, ready to take it in, drink his tears. For I would give
anything to feel the real Ezra. The real Ezra, well, after a while it
occurred to me that he was different with everyone and if anyone ever told
you that they truly knew him, then they didn't know him at all.
Shaking my head, my hair in my eyes, shielding me from the sun, I
wondered why I always thought about him in past tense.