If You Love Me
if you love me
be the one to
snare the sun
if you love me
be the voice to
sing the sweetness
of
sustained devotions
themed declarations
if you love me
be the hand to
touch my heart
if you love me
be the one to
trace the distance
of
the writing of your body
the writing of my body
if you love me
be the single face
that remains still
be the only one
to restore my faith
in a dark world
if you love me
if you love me
tell me so
**
Growing up the fat kid, clothes were always extra special
to me because rarely was it I was allowed to buy new things and when something
really fabulous fit I didn’t feel like the fat kid. Case in point, my pink jeans I bought as part
of my tiny 6th grade wardrobe.
This school year was particularly important for a few reasons, the first
being they were placing our grade for that one year in the junior high building
so that meant going to school as an elementary student with all the cool
intimidating junior high kids including the grade 9s (who looked like giants to
me back then and scared my socks off) and the second reason was, obviously, a boy. My dear friend Kenny and I, in the last part
of summer leading up to the first days of school at Eastern Passage Junior High
started spending a fair amount of time together. There were days when we’d be sitting out on
the front walk way, batting eyes at one another and laughing at everything that
was said, complete innocence of the time and my sister would poke her head out
the door and whistle or tease us. He’d
retort by calling her a ‘faggot’ because he was embarrassed by being heckled
but the one day she asked him if he knew what a faggot was (and he didn’t) he
threw up her middle finger and blushed.
Kenny was a sweet boy and at that time in my life I was
sure he’d be the boy I’d grow up and marry.
So as you can imagine, I certainly wasn’t feeling like the fat kid but
rather someone who felt happy and wanted to dress as such. In my school clothes shopping, such as it
was, I bought myself two pairs of jeans.
One pair were blue and black checkered and other were pink. I was quite excited and for the first few
days of school I planned my outfits very carefully. The first day of school I wore the checkered
jeans and my fancy white shirt. The second
I stepped onto the bus that morning of the first day, Kenny said, “I like your
outfit.” I’m pretty sure my feet didn’t
hit the ground all day. The day was only
made better by the fact that Kenny’s desk was right beside mine, just as it had
been for 4th and 5th grade. Things were looking up.
I don’t remember what I wore to school on the second day
but on our third day of school I selected my pink jeans. I adored them and they made me feel like a
million bucks. I had no idea that the day
would end in tragedy. To make a long
story short, while we were all waiting for the school bus to go to school,
there was an accident. I didn’t see it
because it was down the road a stretch but I sure as hell saw the ambulance and
police cars speed by and toward the general area where all of my friends were
at their bus stops. That morning, while
waiting for the school bus, my friend Kenny with the long dark eyelashes and
the most beautiful smile was struck by a car and killed. I didn’t know any details about what happened
until we were seated in our classrooms and announcements started. I took full notice that he wasn’t in his seat
but the rumor on the bus was that his sister had been hurt so it made sense for
him not to be there. Truth was, it was
actually Kenny. I will never forget the
feeling when our principal delivered the news over the intercom. I felt the world slow down and start to tilt. At that age I had no idea what I was feeling
but I bolted up from my seat and ran to the bathroom because I felt like I was
going to be sick. It was a tough days of
heavy emotion that at my age, couldn’t truly understand.
At the end of the school day I was anxious to get home to
my mother to tell her about my friend.
The bus dropped me off at my usual spot and I just started running,
running so fast and hard my heart might explode. Instead, I fell. On the gravel. I ripped a large irreparable hole in the
right knee of my pink jeans rushing home to the comfort of my family. It was the first and only day I wore my pink
jeans.
I ran to the mall yesterday on my way home from
work. The Body Shop had a 50% off sale
on all of their make-up and I was desperate for a new All in one Face
Base. I also treated myself to a new
blush and a new kabuki brush for loose powder.
Body Shop make-up brushes are dreamy soft and since they are fairly
pricey I thought I’d spring for one while the sale was on. On my way out of the mall I did my usual
walk-through at Winners. I haven’t been
feeling like buying new clothes lately but I strolled by the racks anyway. There, on the rack, hung a pair of petite hot
pink jeans. In MY size. I grabbed them and proceeded straight to the dressing
room. And, guess what? They fit like a glove. I have wanted another pair of pink jeans
since the 6th grade and yesterday I made it happen. I wear them with happiness and I have to tell
you, the bright cheerful pink adds a bit of a spring to my step (no pun
intended). They make me feel like a
million bucks and they buoy my spirit and they also make me think fondly of my
friend whose bright shiny smile beams from an oval picture frame in my writing
room and the same smile attached to my keys so that he’s with me wherever I go.
In writing news, I’m still plugging away at ‘Mute’. Several things became clear to me yesterday
on the drive home. I just need to
formulate the words and make sure I have the sequence of events that the
characters have told me about in the proper order. See, the end of the story was made known to
me before any other part so it’s been hard for me to focus. What a fun challenge they have become. So, watch this space.
Happy sunny Spring Thursday!
In propinquity,
Nic
