Again and Again and Again

Fiction-mostly

Lying here, I can still remember the first time we ever went somewhere together. I picked you up. There was another person with us, but that didn't necessarily matter. It was really only you and me, wasn't it?

From the second that car ride started, I knew. I knew that you were someone special. That even though you seemed the same as every other girl, that you were different. But maybe you were the same. Maybe we're all the same. Maybe everything and everyone is exactly the same.

"You aren't a perfect little snowflake"

We went to my friend Mike's house. Suburbia. It used to bother me how every house was every other house, but I guess you get used to those kind of things. We sat on that awkward little couch and watched a movie with everyone. I can't remember what movie it was but I know I hated it.

We watched so many movies. Rather, we didn't watch so many movies.

I think we payed attention to one. The rest of them are really just a blur. The same movie over and over again. On the same couch over and over again. Always cautious. Always wondering where your parents might be. The same night every night.

Maybe everything is exactly the same.

Then there was the time your mom got drunk and banged on my car windows. Or maybe the time she caught us holding hands and yelled at us for two hours. The time she yelled at my dad. The time she almost threw me out of your dad's airplane. Jokingly, of course.

She was always causing some sort of trouble. I do recall her making the best enchiladas. Even if that was the only thing she made. Enchiladas over and over again.

Maybe it's all just the same. Every awkward dinner we ever ate. The same food. The same conversations.

"You'll probably have to have your stomach lining scraped out."

But I guess things weren't that bad.

I remember the running, jump hug you gave me when you came home from Seattle. That was nice. Or maybe the time we saw those buffalo. The time we went to that coffee shop downtown.

Coffee shop after coffee shop after coffee shop. All the talks. The same one over and over.

"Constantly talking isn't necessarily communicating."

I remember the first time we met. It was raining. It was always raining. You had just had that arm surgery. You were funny. It was at Starbucks. You had on that Beatles shirt. I had brown hair. Your hair was gigantic. My shoes were velcro and you made fun of me. I thought you were gorgeous. The same thing over and over again.

"Please just let me keep this one memory."