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Warning: Maudlin and Depressed
Aug. 17th, 2003 03:01 pmIn first year, six and alone, too geeky and scrawny to have any friends, I met Danny. Danny was tiny and blonde, and spoke with a strange Philippine accent, and neither of us had anyone to sit with at lunchtime. We walked home together, and read ahead of our lessons and made up crazy games of elves and knights and pirates.
He wrote me letters when I moved. He called and visited and drew me a picture of a cardboard dragon.
Danny is taller now, and dyes his hair rainbow colours, purple and pink and blue and green, and speaks low and rumbles. He listens to Rufus Wainwright and Cher and watches the Fraggles, and dances to Rocky Horror. And I love him, and you can't imagine someone with a better laugh or sense of humor, someone better to walk with at midnight through empty streets, just being quiet together.
He left yesterday for VMI, and now he can't write or call and it feels like he's dead. He didn't want to go; he cried and sat silent on his bed surrounded by white shoes and empty trunks, but he left. He's gone.
I guess I'm being over-dramatic, and military school can't be completely terrible, but he's so skinny, and he hums showtunes when he’s stressed, and he flirts with cute boys and falls for the straight ones, and I'm worried about him. I'm worried he'll be hurt, that when I see him again I won't recognize him, that he’ll have been stretched and cropped and molded away, that he won't remember who I am.
He made me a CD before he left, one of happy goodbyes and one of sad goodbyes. And it's crying and laughing at the same time, because it's got the Fraggles catching the tail by the tiger, and the QAF theme song, and 'In the Navy' by the Village people and Rufus Wainwright cigarettes and chocolate, and Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling.
It's like he's dead. And I miss him so much. I miss him, and I want him to be here right now. And I want to go home.
Also, it's strange and delusional, but it seems like he's still here. When a song plays on the radio, or a sign has his name on it, or when I'm lost and follow a teal and purple truck, and it somehow leads me back home. Rationally, I know it's insane. I do, but it's comforting anyway.
When he starts responding when I talk to his empty chair, then I'll know to be actually worried. But for now, I'll just follow my purple trucks and think he's laughing at my stupidity, and feel better.
I know no one is interested in reading such sappy dribble, but I feel less empty having written it. So yes. Life goes on.
He wrote me letters when I moved. He called and visited and drew me a picture of a cardboard dragon.
Danny is taller now, and dyes his hair rainbow colours, purple and pink and blue and green, and speaks low and rumbles. He listens to Rufus Wainwright and Cher and watches the Fraggles, and dances to Rocky Horror. And I love him, and you can't imagine someone with a better laugh or sense of humor, someone better to walk with at midnight through empty streets, just being quiet together.
He left yesterday for VMI, and now he can't write or call and it feels like he's dead. He didn't want to go; he cried and sat silent on his bed surrounded by white shoes and empty trunks, but he left. He's gone.
I guess I'm being over-dramatic, and military school can't be completely terrible, but he's so skinny, and he hums showtunes when he’s stressed, and he flirts with cute boys and falls for the straight ones, and I'm worried about him. I'm worried he'll be hurt, that when I see him again I won't recognize him, that he’ll have been stretched and cropped and molded away, that he won't remember who I am.
He made me a CD before he left, one of happy goodbyes and one of sad goodbyes. And it's crying and laughing at the same time, because it's got the Fraggles catching the tail by the tiger, and the QAF theme song, and 'In the Navy' by the Village people and Rufus Wainwright cigarettes and chocolate, and Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling.
It's like he's dead. And I miss him so much. I miss him, and I want him to be here right now. And I want to go home.
Also, it's strange and delusional, but it seems like he's still here. When a song plays on the radio, or a sign has his name on it, or when I'm lost and follow a teal and purple truck, and it somehow leads me back home. Rationally, I know it's insane. I do, but it's comforting anyway.
When he starts responding when I talk to his empty chair, then I'll know to be actually worried. But for now, I'll just follow my purple trucks and think he's laughing at my stupidity, and feel better.
I know no one is interested in reading such sappy dribble, but I feel less empty having written it. So yes. Life goes on.
