Looking at the mountains feels like drinking a glass of water.



I don't know if I'm ready for the coast just yet.


I won't miss that cafe that lives next to the Chevron, but I'll miss the funny looking house just down the road.

brew.

My brother walks by and witnesses my turning the coffee pot wrong side up to get the last bits into my favorite green mug. "Addict" he mumbles as he passes by.

"UhhhhIiiii I just like the way it tastes."

Hmmph.




This summer I've done some untangling.
My ideas tend to run aimless laps in my head into a big fat knot. I usually don't know where to put things and what ideas should stay ideas and what ideas I should embrace and be challenged by.

But it's less and less scary every day. The whole idea-sorting process. Sure, I feel a lot of pressure right now in my decision making, but I'm sure the majority of the pressure is coming from me. The world might be smaller than I see it in my head. I sat under a tree with maggie gyllenhaal, for goodness sake. It can't be that big. I'll do fine. Yeah, I may not know whhhaat I'll do, but I know I'm capable. Truth is, I have a lot of time. Not just 3 years left to decide what the rest of my life will look like. And I won't be stuck. That's why I'm going to college, right? So I have options. Options have always scared me in the past, but now I'm so grateful they'll exist after this whole college things passes me by.
I'm not gonna rush or worry. What do I want to study? That I can figure out. What will I be passionate about when I'm older? No idea. Older me needs some room to grow.

today.

It's supposed to be a rocketship. But if you think it's a snowmobile, that's cool too.
You really only want mayo on your sandwich again?
I wonder if you remember me from before. But I don't know if you want to remember some of the things that come along with that time in your life. So I won't ask. It's good to know you, little man. You're stronger than most.
You don't smile much. But when you do, it's brighter than yellow.
Your grandparents are lucky to have you as their own- but dear little boy, please be good to them. They carry you in the center of their hearts. They rescued you, did you know? Maybe one day you'll know.




Phone call.
Downtown. 7 o'clock. I'll be there.
You funny humans. We had a good time by that ping pong table once upon a time. We made a circle. Here we are eating enchiladas like we always did before.

The one who wants to be a fighter sits and shakes his shoulders and refuses to take conversation seriously just as i remembered. Girl crazy and always bored, he tells the one next to him to invite that girl he met that one time at that thing.


The one next to me has always been around. Not a thing in common, conversation is an incredible adventure. She and I had so many plans when we were youngins barely menstruating. We'd study psychology and become avid trail runners with more opinions, heavy textbooks, and college boys than we'd know what to do with.
We used to play Weezer in that old gold Toyota with the windows down and green chile vegetarian breakfast burritos in hand. We stayed up all night and watched movies in her little house filled with buddhas and incense.
We never knew why, but we always felt alive when we were together.


You? I haven't seen you in years. I knew I'd run into you eventually. Remember those days we brought our guitars to school and played Eagles and Eric Clapton in the atrium? We all sat around and ate gobbstoppers. So many gobbstoppers. The world was out to get us all. So we played ping pong and guitar and climbed through those cobb-webbed tunnels... remember those tunnels? I named you peaches and I don't remember why. It's really unfortunate that it stuck. And that you always ate those mysterious circus peanuts from the bookstore.

Today I wanted more than anything to trace my world in black ink. I wanted to show someone where they're standing by the angles of lines and the way that they meet.

Drawing makes sense. From eyes to mind to hand.

It makes everything else so quiet. All I hear is the strange language that my hand and my mind speak back and forth.

Quiet.
My head is never quiet.

we lived in a cloud.

Walked through my old school today.
It looked different from my less-terrified perspective.



Doris Day, Andrews Sisters, Perry Como, Nat King Cole.
Their songs spin inside of my record player and I got a little tangled in thoughts just like I used to. Fifteen year old me making up a pretty world in my head all over again.

Cigarette smoking, hair-combed boys with shiny shoes. The art, the music filled with more joy than angst. The cars colored lipstick red and behind the clouds blue. Novels, variety shows and velvet couches.


Poof.

Walk out my bedroom door and back into 2008. A beat up sports utility vehicle the color of grape jelly beans and a sack over my shoulder filled with more tiny contraptions with buttons than any human could really ever need. I'm not wearing a patterned dress snug in the waist, but faded jeans and sandals made of cork. Pfff.

A lot of life happened in the last bit of time.

Beautiful faces and wonderful afternoons spent living together under this bright blue sky dome.


But.
A part of the team is in the hospital. This old compound just isn't the same. There's one mug's worth of coffee left in the pot.
But time will keep moving and a guess will be made. No one will ever know what's best. And predicting is a waste of time. Right now Papa isn't well. Right now my mom isn't a nurse. Right now my mom shouldn't do this alone. Right now some changes will come. Right now we'll keep our heads up and keep learning to take care of each other. Right now? Simple, really.






We sure do miss those Chapman folk. The world is a little different when they're around. Not that we're not capable of making fun by ourselves... but it's like the we reflect the light in each other or something. That whole bringing out the best in someone... it's like that times 2378675. It's a combination of so many things that it makes it hard to just answer 'yeah' to a, "did you have a nice time with your family?" question. I'd rather say, "Mmmmm you'll read about them in my book one day."

Chewy pasta and light pink socks. And we'll just say that the splotchy bleached sleeve is a fashion statement.

Ooops.


I CAN make coffee. If you want ramen with an egg or a mug of coffee. Or both. I'm your woman.

I smile at old people for 8 hour chunks of time.

Yes, I enjoyed the Northwest very much. No, I don't know what to do with the rest of my life. Today the red is hotter than the green. Yeah, working here is great. Sure, I'd love to freshen your decaf. Multigrain or sourdough? It's spelled r.a.n.i. True, it is kind of ironic living in Seattle and all. Bacon or sausage? Yeah, I'll tell my dad you say hello. Order in. Check for 7 please. Have a pretty afternoon.

You strange old humans, I don't know why you get a kick out of my saying no when you ask for a refill or a fork, but you do.

Also, dear humans, staring at me with your eyebrows wrinkled into your forehead doesn't make your enchiladas cook faster.

Ten percent might have been a generous tip back in your day so I won't resent you for this dollar fifty tip. I don't know if you get out much.

Good morning, Blue Moon Cafe. Your name is far more charming than your reality. Silverware scratching plates and mega oldies blaring in the hot kitchen. French fries on the floor and there may or may not be coffee grounds in my shoe. I think the cash register was born before me. Open, you tired machine printing faded receipts. No more playing tricks on me.