[part of Running Away]
10/17/11 — a monday,
morro bay floats on a cloud of fog and atop black hill i see rolling green rock in one direction and melancholy waves rocking blue in the other. they both cap white when washed and the difference between sand and dirt remains to be seen, but of course, once i climb down around the ocean and remove my shoes, bare feet make these two worlds all the different. my toes are swallowed alive in cool sand and picked clean by dying waves. in and out we go. my little piggies collect debris all the way back to someone or another’s home…
deep breaths. salty air. wipe feet clean on matt’s doormat and take a beer from the fridge. relax. it’s cooler than an ocean’s breeze in here and the taste of salt lingers on my tongue. there’s a party tonight so i say, “happy birthday trey” and offer him drinks upon arrival. i’m glad he accepts because this means i can help myself—can’t help myself, “and another?” we take our seats on the couch and wait for his friends, my fellow strangers, to arrive.
a surfer dude enters, a platinum blonde chick follows, then neighbor girl, along with a collection of other characters set to play a supporting role in my life, at least for tonight—which is all you ever know for sure anyway. i play beer pong one-on-one with matt in the dark and after we crank up the fog machine, we’re all one in the same—wandering souls lost in a sea of cloudy spirits.
the smoke clears and surfer dude asks me to join his team. right on. we’re competent enough to win at least a case worth of games before he leaves for more beer, or a blunt, and i replace him with the blonde chick. she’s my first choice in partner despite watching her miss every cup so far. it’s just a game. but since we’re winning, our displays of team spirit include the high five, the back pat&rub and after a particularly spectacular shot, the friendly butt squeeze. i wouldn’t dare say who squeezes but…aye.
everyone loses to someone and i’m recast from beer pong player to casual party goer. as i wander about, no longer sure of my motivation, fresh bodies displace air pacific to this coast. i suppose as casual party goer, it’s my place to take shots with the birthday boy, pass this joint and tell people who i just met a little bit about myself. “about me?” what do i know?
well lemme see, “i’m a confused little boy running from home, not that i have a home per say, but more like the concept of home—don’t want one right now, don’t want anyone really.” to which they say, “uh, well—” and run away. godspeed and bless you.
desperate to escape, i video chat with a friend from austin on the front porch. i introduce her to people on the way out—end scene—and promise to visit austin. i mean it; i’m also drunk.
back inside, people shotgun themselves in the face with beer, crash into hookahs and make out in the corner, including blonde girl. i eat once-fresh guacamole on taco chips and chew around candle stubs on chocolate ninja cake—wash it all down with beer and hash and just one more slice. happy birthday to me; turn over the same old leaf.
neighbor girl sits alone on the floor; i sit down beside and we browse netflix. tis’ the season for witches so i play the craft and we peek out from under the covers—not that this movie is scary, but the act of seeking is. thus i hide.
[more Running Away]
