Port Perry

The one thing I do miss is the boat. You lived along a river, in a two-story house, where you had a boat. It was small, easy to handle, with that classic white plastic of a bargain. Shaped like a shark with a yellow tarp, dusty and triangular. You had to pedal it yourself, and it could fit three people at most, but once you climbed in- it was all yours. You get lost in the water. It's like space, or a strong anesthetic. All of your problems and stresses are separate, a distant memory, belonging to someone else somewhere else. You're on water not land. The first time I went, I was with you- I remember it went awful, we got into a fight about who would pedal, you wanted to go fast, I wanted to stay still. But then we loved it. We smoked weed in the middle of the river. We listened to John Frusciante. I heroically dragged the boat in when it was stuck in the shore's congested algae. I wanted more. I made myself memorize the shore. The wood of the pier, soft and damp, under my bare feet. Nothing is like the air swirling above the water, that universal, salty sting as a tease to what lies underneath. The turquoise glass, flawless, its own ambivalent pulse of serene chaos. The river seemed so mysterious, esoteric, like it knew everything and might love you enough to tell you, or might love you enough to take you down to its teeth. The second time I went, I was alone. I chose to bring Alice by Tom Waits with me & it was perfection; the songs' slinky piano mirrored the delicate mist, and Tom Waits' signature scratch of the throat was just as familiar as home. I can never hear one without breathing in the other. I cemented everything in my memory. The foxes that hid under the steps to the pier, the algae that got the boat stuck every time. The cemetery with the crimson-licked farmhouse that was on the other side of the river, where I got a few puzzled looks from the woman standing there on the mud. The endless, endless sky. No skyscrapers, just mountains. It was bliss for a city girl like me. It was heaven. It was the best escape. It was the only moment I've felt I could know myself- myself, without any point of reference. Too bad I was a hellkite and pushed you away. We got in an argument. I went outside, straight to the boat. When you cooled off, I was in the middle of the river. I was in heaven. I was in my bliss. You stood at the shore. You yelled I'M SORRY. I pedaled back to you as fast I could, my thighs burning, but I wasn't happy to return to land. “Wrote this today (so I will most likely edit later)- Critique appreciated!” December 1st, 2010