Thursday, July 27, 2017

Automatic Slims, circa 2003

She wore cutoff denim shorts tonight, a white summer top - Rachel - everywhere herself. 

She came tonight for dinner. I could have exhaled more. It seems so easy, dandelion dressed in cotton, then me with practiced strong cardio. Dandelioness - the sparkle parts, also spherical flower; meant for winds, awaiting breath. The abandon that breath offers - unstated escape.  

I had bought the boy a little chocolate cake that said RHYS in cursive font across the top in orange flavored frosting. Tasty curlicues where the letters might otherwise have begun or arrived at their frosty corkscrew end. 

For dinner, a chicken roast with quartered potatoes - butter, lemon, and lots of vampire denying garlic. From a recipe book the famous and enduring household name in housing, Sasha, gave me. He is an enviable cook. I miss living within walking distance of his kitchen and wine closet. Once I had robbed his wine cellar, we would talk casually about music in abstract terms with the occasional agreement on the specific goodness of certain new artists - to self-guarantee that we were and always had been serious about our tastes.

How long should I heat butter up, with which foods, prepared howAnd, what about the.. when do I know.. when.. the butter is it to bubble, is it? to sweeten, toffee, or burn? One can't ever truly know a stove, because of that Love Song. Is there no way back, once the butter fat has bubbled away from the flat heat of the pan? Is it just gone, was that the initial smell that you were pointing at when it happened?

Eventually I would try to convey to him a sense of my deep and abiding love for country music, or maybe jazz. Our culinary agreements could no longer hold us together in coherent conversation after such a blundering series of unshared assumptions. I blame gerrymandering, along invisible cultural lines.

Ah well, I love him nonetheless. 

One time, after a bitter and terrible late-night confrontation, I wooed him back to being buddies with a song.

In the beginning, middle, and end... friendships are luck that agrees upon itself, even after the worst arguments you can both offer against it. 

If your arguments keep failing then you just might be worthy of love.