Delicate and Deafening

This city can be a beautiful place some days, most nights. On my bicycle the streets feel much safer and I see this place, this over sized town, differently than most. I see the people, the streets, the lights, the shops, the bus stops, the restaurants all blurring past my peripherals. At times all I pay attention to is the steady pace of breath escaping my open lips, or the sound of the buses and sometimes the banter of pedestrians that means so much to them, so much.

When the snow falls, the streets are much more still as though every single flake absorbs a bit of sound, encompassing that very sonance to calm the air. I feel warmer when snow falls; safe. I remember watching the three red lights of the radio tower from my window when I was much younger. Two flash, then one, two, one, taking turns, but always the same. Those lights looked at their best when snow was falling and made for a feeling of security.

Alison.

Giggle Beatbox

Last night before I fell asleep I thought about you. I think about you everyday, but last night was different; my heart ached. I wondered exactly where you were. I know where you are, but I have never seen where you sleep. I knew, just like me, you were laying in a bed, because the time was too late for your brown eyes to be open. I thought about the type of bed you were laying in and what the surrounding room had in it. And I hurt because I did not know, but mostly because I will never know.

Then I wondered if you still were chronic about brushing your teeth. I wanted to tell you that I carry a toothbrush with me now. You do not know my toothbrush is black and made from 100% recycled plastics. Yogurt cups, mostly. I brush my teeth with recycled yogurt cups.

I get ready on the weekends and am forced to make judgements about the ridiculousness of my outfits by myself. I wonder if you do the same?

I really miss you.

Love,
Alison.

Enamor

In order of relevance:

1) Oh, hi there. I do not quite remember the last time I saw you, but I do remember how beautiful the sunrise was. Having you back is so bittersweet.

2) Then you. Your letter made me cry for near an hour, but that was perfect. I will need to see you tomorrow.

3) Just when I thought you had forgotten about me, you come around again. Your timing is inexplicably wrong, but you have me.

4) You. Well, you are too unversed to understand.

5) I will always care about you; because of the lot, you were the start of something.

Intricately yours,
Alison

Autumn is Impermanent

Four AM and why am I awake?

I am so excited and hurt and anxious and scared. Life is too thrilling, too fast, too here. Everyday has been good to me; some thing's wrong, or bound to be.

My head under your chin, dizzy with wine, watching a man sing and this could be perfect till you leave again. And you left again.

On the lawn of the capital, holding hands, drinking coffee and laying in leaves as a couple just got married.

"I want to get married...



...more than once."


We laughed, we always do.

And then goodbye, till Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Summer. Holidays and seasons bring us together. In between are unanswered letters written with ultra fine point pens, again and again.

Love,
Alison.

I sign.

Just Because We're Gone

Dearest Carnivore,

It isn't that I find you dense,
just your reasoning could be better.
Altogether quite precious, though really.
If I had a pretty singing voice, or wait,
maybe now it's called confidence,
then I'd write you perfect melodies,
and send them to you electronically.
I remember yummy yummy
and nighttime public access television.
And the days of eye appointments
and you calling my professors,
informing them I would not be making it to class.
Now, you see, it's seven pills a day,
with an 8oz glass of filtered water.
Not watching weight, but watching you wait.

Best,
Herbivore

Dirty Mini Blinds

The fog kept me company on the drive home, along with the awful songs I put in the middle of a mix for someone eight hours away. Only the moon watched me blush as I sat driving and embarrassed. The semitrailers stayed to my right at a steady pace and I kept my cruise control at the tip of my thumb. I smelled of weak coffee, made an hour earlier by a close friend with a new French press, that poured from a secondhand mug onto my decidedly third or fourth hand, hounds tooth, dry clean only skirt. I found this circumstance suitably typical, as everything I own has a trace of coffee, somewhere.

Two hours from my apartment to my home is not a long time, but long enough to wander in thought.

Every single day since then, I've thought about two Friday's ago. The day at the Clicquot Club when the woman in the white pickup truck drove over four tables of people eating on the patio and killed that man. His name was Jerome. Every now and then I imagine the accident in my head, hear the families screaming and crying, see his dead body revealed as the truck is pushed off, and feel Grace holding me as I shake and begin to form tears. Most of the time, I think about how that could of been Grace or Alex or me, but I try not to think that way. We were fortunate. You'll be in the garden, right? Yes, the garden.

Alyssa has not moved in yet. Her belongings are there, but she is not. I spend mornings and most of afternoons in my bed with the sun just peeking through the shades, wishing I were out shining with it. Usually I sleep, but at times I simply lay there.

Tonight, I read every single word Grace wrote about Quito. I was beaming the entire time. At the end of day four I felt just as lonely as I was before I started reading, but more content. I am so thrilled about her life in Ecuador. When she left, I told her she would meet the South American version of Alison, and that they would be best friends. She agreed and said "It will probably be a guy." Es la verdad solomente si él es rubio. Usted es siempre mi mujer de amazonas. Baile para nosotros, por favor mi amor.

And you, you've been so busy making plans, you forgot to put me in them. But maybe that was the both of us, complaining in space.

Alison.

Feta Cheese Made You Like Me

I received a surprise visit at the Box Office today. This person, I am in love with. Her name is Jane, she is my mother. Apparently contract negotiations for the state are going on and this brought her to Madison; to me. She handed me a raspberry muffin through the small rectangular opening in the glass, along with some opinions through the circular one. Really though, the window is not made of glass at all. The window is more of a Plexiglass, glass is just easier on the eyes (while reading). She hates my new haircut, which only inspired me to cut it shorter tonight. I adore her, she makes me smile and presumably spiteful.

I have been employed by the University Theatre since October; not once since then has any of my managerial staff shown much interest in getting to know who I am. Not until today. I am not sure if he got to know me because I overheard him tell my manager I was "cute," or because he was bored. More than likely, he was tired of staring at beige and high on paint fumes. The Director of Theatre just moved in the end of last week. Since then he has repainted his new office, removed every filing cabinet in sight, rearranged the carpeting and given me coffee. The last part won me over instantly. He also met my mother. In order to truly understand who I am, you need to know Jane. She might even tell you this.

And so, he sat with me today for what could have been anywhere between twenty minutes and an hour and just talked. He ate a homemade salad as I fumbled with the corner pages of my book. We talked about my years of ballet, Afghan restaurants, New York, having children, timeless literature, Greek heritage, street fashion and of course, theatre. I was almost sad when he had to leave, but not exactly. I was sorry that a man like him never had any children. Hopefully one day, someone feels that way about me. I felt upset for about a minute and then continued to read.

I lied. I probably will have children someday and they will be the ones feeling sorry for me. I like babies too goddamned much not to.

Alison.