Quincy

We all traveled to Quincy over the weekend.

High out of our goddamn minds, in the dusk, in the smoky morning we emerged with smoldering eyes and restless hearts.
 I packed nothing but my black pants and an array of scarves. It didn't occur to me that I'd need any shirts. Writing all over my arms. Maria. She gets artistic when she's wasted.
I woke up holding her in my arms. She smelled like pink roses and orange-peel. I snuggled into her hair and slept thirty minutes more before turning off the radiator and calling on Sam.

Sam had passed out over a [thoroughly annotated] copy of Chaucer. He loves "natural" humour once he gets going.
Tommy. Tommy in a corner curled up beside his guitar. In plaid. Such a handsome lad.
I stand in a dizzy spell and look at him. My throat burns and I'm dehydrated. So fantastic to look at a man you once cared for without a feeling left at all. The sleepless nights on his couch, the music like honey drip, the vodka, the vodka, the vodka and the music like honey.
I remember the last night we spent together and it feels like millennia have passed since. He's been sleeping with the blonde from Norway I think. He always did like blondes. Or revere them rather. I'm happy we're friends.


Me, Maria, Sam, Tommy. Even Tommy made it to this one.  How incredible.
I've not eaten anything in days. I'd like a big portion of fries. Or mushroom soup with a generous loaf of bread. But we'd have to leave before the caf opens. I'll scavange for something. Tommy might buy me a burger. He always fed me.

Tommy wakes up, looks at me with one crinkley eye open and motions that I come to him. I help him get up. We stand there and he hugs me tight. I smell his white shirt and it smells like vinyl. He asks if I'm sleepy. I say I'm hungry. He laughs and lightly kicks Sam.

Groaning, clutching all of Chaucer to him, Sam manages to raise himself and I know he's looking for Maria.

-

We stumble out of our place and decide to hitch a ride.
"Joce, you've got those great legs. Why the black pants Joce?" Sam winks and thinks he's being the most clever boy to think of that one.
Maria pouts a little. She's so adorable.
"Maria's got some great ones too" I yell, "...beside, no more skirts for me till next year. I made it clear didn't I?"
"Chastity belt, remember?" Tom grabs my hand and holds it tight. I'm thankful for him. I'm his sister. I've earned it.  After the hell we put each other through that lonely winter and lonely spring on the east coast.
I know I've outgrown it but Tommy makes me feel glamorous. Like I'm a badass little girl who can smoke one beside a surgeon performing open-heart and that I'd laugh and just walk out. In high heels.

I go on ahead and run to the open highway. I'm wearing Tom's plaid cuz I didn't bring any shirts except the thin cream undershirt. I'm so cold.
I stick out my thumb, and twirl loads. By the road. I just want to twirl. I pretend I'm an umbrella and I'm open with patterns inviting rain.

I see stars. Cars flash by. Water splash. Cars, cars, cars, cars.

A red pick-up stops and a tanned face from the midwest begins speaking at me. I say there's four of us and he laughs and accelerates off. His loss. Maria woulda sat in his lap the entire way.

Finally, a white run-down sedan stops. Green eyes. Focus. Cruel. Ah, weakness.
"Hiya stranger. We're off to Quincy. Help us halfway or somethin'?"
I always do my stupid drawl when I'm nervous.
He smiles, "Sure"

The others catch up and they huddle in the back. Maria's found some biscuits at the grocery across our place and she's sharing with Sam. Tommy just wants a steak.

I sit at the front and talk about music the entire way. I put my hand out and make wave patterns. Trees trees trees. I let my hair out. It flutters.
I breathe. The sun is beginning to come out. I light one and ask if he wants to share it. We share it.
His drags are huge. By the time it comes round, there's barely anything left. I light another. We share it. I linger longer with it. I get dizzy, I cough.
He laughs. I laugh. We all recreate what we know don't we? Incapable of writing our own fates, we resume to paraphrasing experiences we've been coaxed into. By family, by circumstance. By chance. Luck? Like fuck.
Fuck luck.
I don't give a fuck.

The water begins shining in the distance. Seagulls dip and dip out. They look like precise needles working their way through a great piece of fabric. No end in sight. Dip in, dip out.
Dip in, dip out.

He lets us out near the docks. It's still quite dark out. I take off my shoes and start running toward the water. Sam trips Tommy and they begin wrestling near the lifeguard chairs. Maria has braided her hair and is wearing just Sam's overcoat. She laughs at them and begins asking her silly questions like "where will we stay?" or "what will we do?"

I take off my clothes and dive in. I don't wait for the sun. I just take the plunge and grit through the cold cold cold. I'm free. I'm moving around a lot to forget the freezing. I'm awake. I'm not sleepy anymore. I reach the point where I can't touch the bottom anywhere.

Maria comes in with me. She wraps her limbs around me. She's so warm. I cling to her. I look up and the stars are fading quickly into the darkest blue.

We spend the next few days in a bed&breakfast close to the shore. Tommy's parents have a cabin near the area so he knows everyone around here. We don't pay anything. Tom buys us fresh lobster and I make baked beans and Maria manages to buy some apple juice. I smoke loads so I'm not that hungry anymore. We make a great fire at night and roast marshmallows and make hand puppets on the great rocks beside the beach.

I only make great birds. Sam makes elephants and elephant noises. He gets all red in the face and grabs for the beer but he misses and spills and we all laugh at him. He begins to tickle me and I can't catch my breath. I'm laughing so hard. Maria and Tommy are making out and I roll my eyes. I'm happy.
I fall asleep underneath a great quilt depicting the twelve days of Christmas.
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me...

In the morning, I go for a great swim. I wake up at seven and dive off the dock. Professional, Ryan would say.

Ryan. I wonder what he's doing. I want to write him, to ask for a chance to explain. Why I left so suddenly, why I didn't give it a chance. Why I ran away.
I do more laps. I hear mourning doves croon and I love their clicks and crrooo's so much. They sound like when I'm biting through sticky crunchy cartilage.

By the time noon comes, it's time to go home. I look back. The dock is staring at me through the forest clearing. I want to jump off the dock forever. Trapped in the verticality of a dive, I want to be a stroke against the horizon. The dock isn't going anywhere.
I am.