Thursday, February 01, 2007
John Denver
I said I wanted to be alone and she left work anyway. She came and sat with me and watched me. In the doorway as she smoked a cigarette, as I played with Louis on the floor, as I made some weird dinner with soba noodles and frozen peas, as I smeared tears and snot off my face with the sleeve of my coat.
She rested her hand on my knee and said she'd come kick my ass. She said she'd make sure to get herself killed and come kick my ass in heaven. I said you only kick my ass when you're drunk. She said "Well then I'll be sure to get drunk before I die so I can kick your ass there."
We talked about what made us angry. She pushed the hair out of my eyes. We laid down and she buried herself in my arms and I rubbed my face against her head and she pressed her butt into my lap sideways and everything fell away as I rested my lips behind her ear and breathed in.
Then we left together and I walked into Duane Reade as she got in a cab. I opened the door, walked to the back, and that damn John Denver song came on. She once said that whoever played it for her would be her wife. On the morning of her 26th birthday in Vegas, I got up at six am to get to the nearest open record shop where I could buy it for her so it would be the first thing she heard when she woke up. When I got back she was already awake. She was drinking coffee and watching tv in her underwear. She looked sad. She thought I had forgotten her birthday. I told her to close her eyes and played her the song.
She rested her hand on my knee and said she'd come kick my ass. She said she'd make sure to get herself killed and come kick my ass in heaven. I said you only kick my ass when you're drunk. She said "Well then I'll be sure to get drunk before I die so I can kick your ass there."
We talked about what made us angry. She pushed the hair out of my eyes. We laid down and she buried herself in my arms and I rubbed my face against her head and she pressed her butt into my lap sideways and everything fell away as I rested my lips behind her ear and breathed in.
Then we left together and I walked into Duane Reade as she got in a cab. I opened the door, walked to the back, and that damn John Denver song came on. She once said that whoever played it for her would be her wife. On the morning of her 26th birthday in Vegas, I got up at six am to get to the nearest open record shop where I could buy it for her so it would be the first thing she heard when she woke up. When I got back she was already awake. She was drinking coffee and watching tv in her underwear. She looked sad. She thought I had forgotten her birthday. I told her to close her eyes and played her the song.
# posted by Katie @ 9:13 PM 
Comments:
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I just came across your blog, and after reading a few entries ... it's fantastic, and refreshing, and genuine, and I don't know how you get the courage to write about some of the things you do. Anyway, thanks for giving me something to read when I am at sea, surrounded by clean-cut, like-minded, hetero males.
Katie, I have a question for you. I came across this book written by a lesbian who decided to pose as a man for a while, I think its called "Self-made Man". I read a little bit of it on my lunch break and it seemed interesting, so I was wondering if you had read it and if it's worth buying. My email is aacuomo@gmail.com, let me know, thanks.
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