From December 11, 2011

I look at the photographs to tell me about my experience. Well this looks like it was a good time, I think to myself.

Now the cake is being cut
Now the bride is sideways—so thin, so Grecian, so relaxed.
Now I’m listening to that Steve Miller song on repeat in my car.

I try to switch to a new CD, but it sounds like a tin can in here. I can’t find good bass. Did you feel the love that was in the air? Wake up wake up, and look all around you. In the parking lot, I see the lesbian couple head to their car for hormone shots. Kay injects it in Ina’s stomach, and they invite me into the backseat, to watch.

Eventually, they take their hormones and leave. As I begin to double back on the party to look for a ride, I see a few hikers come from the trees at one edge of the party, a little shocked at where they have landed. The man comes out of the woods with a walking stick and a bandana, carrying a large backpack with a frame. The woman wears a sweater and has a poodle in her arm. Somehow, this makes me feel better. By comparison, they don’t belong. And yet I also feel that they’re my fellow travelers. I admire the specificity of their clothing.

The road is my friend. I drive it home, sober, with Lila beside me. Though I was eager to leave, I now think of staying here permanently. I am always resistant upon arrival and wistful upon departure. I wonder if I should pretend to barf at the side of the car. Though I admire this strategy, I don’t know how to use it. I ask Lila, “Do you like this song?” You’re lost in space and the earth is your home. She nods. She motions toward the window and I lower it.