Rich

Rich collided into me. Or maybe I collided into him.
I remember opening my eyes very slowly to bright bright lights coming from the left side.

Ferris wheeling, broken jazzy pieces of brightness pouring like honey on my hands, on my hair, in my eyes. The vodka glass sweating in my hand.
My hand sweating on the vodka glass.

"I'm in my second year"
"You live downtown?"
"I live downtown"
"You're too feisty"
"I'm feisty"
"You like dogs?"
"I love dogs"
"I have four"
Class.
"Four?"
"Four"
Heartbeat.
"You should come visit them sometime. Mom will make tea. The works. You ever been to England?"
"No, but I'd love to go. I imagine Oxford lawns and green green green"
"Yeah, well don't get too excited. It's mostly just rain. You like rain?"
"I love rain"
"You won't in time"
"In time, we'll cease loving in general"
"You're so young"
"I'm almost 20, old man. I know the secrets of this world. They're written on the inside of my hand. They're written on the inside of your hand"
"You're weird. Listen, my buddy's gotta go. What college you at? I'll come find you tomorrow night."
"I don't know you"
"Yes you do. What college?"
"The best one. Find me"

 I take his hand.
Write something on the inside.
His friend rushes in with rain on his jacket and the biggest black eye I've ever seen. Rich grins.
He mouths the words what.college. but all I hear is the music and I'm all in. Body, soul, everything. I'm all in with him.
His friend's name was Foxy (Nick Fox) and he had the best stories after 2 or three vodkas. He had broken his shoulder from baseball so he had that strong-man-but-now-injured glow about him. Rich pitched on his team and apparently wanted to make it big. No plans. Just rich. Rich Rich from a good family with a stern dad who told me I could do better than him one lonely April morning when I was unrecognizable. When I'd wake up so I could get back into Rich's bed again.

*
But that was later.

*

My hands are sticky with jam. I've got it all over myself, my white dress, my cheek in a careless stroke towards my chin. A swipe of strawberry.
Rich watches me from his chair at the head of the breakfast table. Blond and tall. Very tall. The sun washes over him and holds him still. Perfect. Golden boy.

I've met many beautiful people before but Rich is the first one who surprised me. He is like a favourite child, doted on by the world. He does not take. He is given.
The world said, "Come. Here. Boy. and drink"
Just like that, I imagine a great voice booming from above and Rich giving me a weird golden boy look, raising one eyebrow, making a funny face, his pants loose, his nonchalant step, his lazy gaze, his long stride, his hands, his hands...his golden hands.

"Joce"
He is speaking but I don't hear a thing. I hear summer heat, crickets, moon locusts stretching their elastic legs in shimmery corners, beetles snoozing. He is still speaking.
He takes my hand and we go in the forest.

Luscious green spreads like an old-school Japanese perfumed paper fan with flamingos and birds of paradise adorning the krinkley folds. The kind grandma hid in them old closets in Jackson. From many years ago, brought on ships, on ships on ships.
"Joce"

We find a lowered branch that looks like an ancient swing. We cuddle on it a long time. I look for clovers while he braids my hair. I give them to him and he puts them in.
The summer Rich asks me to marry him is the summer I'm offered a scholarship to go to England for the first time.
Naturally, I go. I run. I don't really look back.
*I look back.


Madalena feels the earth turn and twist.  Horses. Horses running. Thunder. Something's changing. No. Everything stays the same. Someone is coming. 
So, someone else has left. 

*
Misha turns away. Misha turns away. Turns away. The angry, evading behaviour of the experienced, soulful horse. Of the owned horse. Who belongs. To someone. Who belongs.
Ada finds the base of the mane. There is no horn when one rides English. Hurls her light body for the last time. Rides. She rides the distance.
The distance between her temples - a garden. All the flowers imaginable hosting a summer party. Guest of honour. Ada. Ada, blooming. Ada, the beautiful one. Ada, the one with curious eyes born in the summer. Ada ada ada ada 
All the magic finds its centre. Stands still. In the stillness, she finds a piece of ribbon. She unfolds, reads it. Finds another. Ribbons with rhymes written through the thread.

Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again, 
Take me to you, imprison me, for I 
Except you enthral me, never shall be free, 
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
   So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
   So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Death, be not proud, 
though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, 
for thou are not so

And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--

Look whom she best endowed, she gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
   She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
   Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.

Every ribbon read,

Intertwined colourful thread,

She ran the distance,

Out it bled. 

And when they come 

to search the fallen,

her hands, her words will always read

I'm born again. I'm born again.

*
Adam looks around.  Takes a breath. Spits. Cowboys are born when gentlemen spill their excess. Cowboys are born when the centre no longer holds.

*
Cowboys are born.
Cowboys are born.
Rejoice boy,
fire that gun and take the horn
cuz cowboys are born.

Rich is mouthing the words what.college. but all I hear is this stupid song and I don't know why something tells me to run. Something tells me to stay. I can't bear leaving without staying a while. I want to remember what I've forgotten. What have I forgotten? Nothing, nothing at all.
*

"Babe, just wear my sweater"
Imagine that. Me, wearing his sweater.

I walk home naked.

*

When I say walk, I mean run.
The rest stays the same.
Cowboys are born.
Cowboys are born.
Rejouce boy,
fire that gun and take the horn
cuz cowboys are born
cowboys are born.