2.16.2007
HOW I LOST AUDREY
I tried moving on. Leaving it. Whatever you do. When I next heard from Cee, her note mentioned fond memories and a warm night when we carried a sofa onto the June grass. The words stretched and touched my arm again.
Months passed. I remained in Latin America, learning to roll my r’s and finding Sandinistas and surfer colonies. Mangos came sliced every few miles and hand-me-down school buses sparkled down thin highways. The sun baked the impurities out and the salt water washed them away. The travels cleansed me. They stripped me down, embraced me, and pointed me home again. It was to Tennessee.
I collected things for Cee. I bought pocket mementos, sunny postcards, paperbacks with inscriptions. None were sent, but all were saved. For another day, I thought.
I almost handed her a beaded street vender’s bracelet when she came through town in late October. Instead, when her hand drew too close, or mine did, I bolted from dinner to meet Miss Green Dress.
Cee, the following day, somewhere north, phoned in tears. I could see them rolling down her tiny bright cheeks. The salt sunk into my skin.
I don’t know what this means, she said. It was quiet for a minute, and autumn broke.
Where have you been? I said. I’ve been here. •••
A full essay, "How I lost Audrey Hepburn," can be found in Portico Magazine, February's issue.
I tried moving on. Leaving it. Whatever you do. When I next heard from Cee, her note mentioned fond memories and a warm night when we carried a sofa onto the June grass. The words stretched and touched my arm again.
Months passed. I remained in Latin America, learning to roll my r’s and finding Sandinistas and surfer colonies. Mangos came sliced every few miles and hand-me-down school buses sparkled down thin highways. The sun baked the impurities out and the salt water washed them away. The travels cleansed me. They stripped me down, embraced me, and pointed me home again. It was to Tennessee.
I collected things for Cee. I bought pocket mementos, sunny postcards, paperbacks with inscriptions. None were sent, but all were saved. For another day, I thought.
I almost handed her a beaded street vender’s bracelet when she came through town in late October. Instead, when her hand drew too close, or mine did, I bolted from dinner to meet Miss Green Dress.
Cee, the following day, somewhere north, phoned in tears. I could see them rolling down her tiny bright cheeks. The salt sunk into my skin.
I don’t know what this means, she said. It was quiet for a minute, and autumn broke.
Where have you been? I said. I’ve been here. •••
A full essay, "How I lost Audrey Hepburn," can be found in Portico Magazine, February's issue.
posted by TB at 15:16
