17 january

Today the roads are frozen over: slick with precarious patches of black-and-clear ice; and my insides are beginning to de-fog and clear. Last night was flipped on its belly: the road flicked by clearly and cleanly, but all of our insides were going gangrene with ice.

Last night-- the school dance-- oh, the local Christian music station played, under the hip and glorious discretion of the PTO moms, and there were about two danceable songs. so we--there were ten of us-- left in a cinderella dust of dirt and tinsel for something more stimulating. banged our way down the black-lighted highway in bena's two door civic, five of us, singing Hellogoodbye to-beat-the-band; played wal-mart tag-- oh adrenaline adrenaline, so many faces and hearts bumping into each other.

hearts bumping into each other. a noise like a wail shoots firecrackers from the nursery, thick hot lightening spilling from the crack like an egg yolk. i heard the words and my insides turned to fire because i knew, i knew, i knew.

stacked like Pringles in the backseat-- under the same skin, on the same cold grey vinyl, but different people; breathing in black ice instead of air. something hangs dark and heavy in the air, like being smothered with hot black wool. i wanted to burst into hysterical laughter or tears, there was so much raw pain in his face, dripping down his face. i felt my nerves anchor and rip apart. i could rip whoever caused this to peices.

but i knew. who do you think you are, you strange girl, cupping the secrets of the world in your palm and watching them set on fire? watching him pick at them, turn them over, knowing-- watching without glasses that he wants to no longer believe in love? he is resilient; he will quickly heal. but there still sits the impetus-- how much longer can we hold our palm against these wounds on the world?