It's been about 15 years but I still remember us in the shitty little kitchen on State Street. It was evening and the sounds of summer filled the place- elevating our crappy college surroundings. We were clean from hot showers wrapped in white thick cotton towels and barefoot.
our skin red from the sun of the day sparkled
One of our roomies was blaring Bush from her bedroom. Glycerine. It was like on constant repeat that year and it got inside of my brain even though I knew damn well it was a bunch of malarky I was singing.
I'm never alone, I'm alone all the time
She held her Parliment light between the fingers of her left hand and in her right hand she held the long black khol pencil. I learned to line my eyes like tiny roads around the color there in that kitchen. Little roads that would lead people to me. Black smudges that held the history of another night of eating life.
She was good for all sorts of things like that. She gave me intense instruction and tutorials on oral sex as we shopped the local mini mart. She was the first woman to hand me a hand mirror and tell me to look between my legs. My own legs. My God this was epic. She was super. Like a hero. My own personal hero of sex and love and it's OK not to be a girl who confuses sex with love Amy. Just have fun. Just have fun.
and just this week as I applied eyeliner in my lovely bright white bathroom
the sounds of life all around me
thick like black lines
I thought of her.
My sweet hot blond super friend.