Some random things
crossed blurred the line between
what was happening and what was just-in-our-heads
we got confused. Confused like the little girl
pushed under by a wave
body flailing, gravity non-existent, she cannot tell which way is up.
When you get confused, you get dangerous.
Dangerous like land mines are dangerous.
(neverknowing when they aregoing to explode)
When you are dangerous the rest of us worry because
his isn't Tyler Durden trying to light the world on fire and this isn't a parking lot attendant watching it burn.
This is you and your mind, working against each other not side-by-side.
When they forced you to read Catcher in the Rye, sophomore year, you did not learn anything about literature. You learned that Holden Caulfield is less like human and more like someone you'll meet in purgatory. You learned that children falling off cliffs sounds terrible even to someone with a mind like string cheese (put in a blender on high and then left to rot for days).
You would spend your sick days on the couch watching movies. Through the entired John Hughes section in less than a day, you wanted to be Watts from Some Kind Of Wonderful. You wanted androgeny and mystery, you wanted to be an outcast. You worked towards it. You modeled your room after hers. Bare minimum. A bed and some drums. You cut your hair like hers. You wore clothes like hers. You were so confused when your mother told you to cut that shit out and grow up.