a couple of weeks ago, my therapist suggested (i almost used the word 'accused' here...isn't THAT something) that i haven't told him very much about my past. the truth is, i hardly remember my past. i've blocked a lot. maybe on purpose. maybe because it was a long time ago. but i can't remember it as a continuous narrative. i remember only feelings or smells or things i hear or how the weather was on a given day and that makes me think of people or things.
i live in this web of my own significance that i spun myself and is held together by some sort of never ending free association matrix.
i've been particularly nostalgic lately.
i thought about a friend i knew when i was living in memphis. and i want to call and ask him does he remember the time we went to the blue monkey because you could smoke there and it poured rain. like a monsoon. and i drank raspberry vodka and orangejuice and he drank diet coke (because he didn't drink) and we smoked cigarette after cigarette and talked about philosophy while we watched the streets flood.
it was the night before thanksgiving. the thanksgiving that i worked all day and then ended by eating french toast with southern pecan syrup at ihop.
or something strikes me and i think about a guy i met on a train in paris over a decade ago, when i was just 18. he asked me for the time and i didn't understand what he said because the french classes i took in high school woefully underprepared me for actually HEARING people speak french. and he smiled and asked me in english and i said i didn't know. i didn't have a watch. and this was way before everyone had a cell phone. we rode on the train, looking at each other for three stops before i reached my destination. i still remember his eyes. the way he smiled. and how i wished that i wasn't with my family so that i could talk to him.
he was an artist. he had a portfolio of some sort under his arm. it's strange. i don't remember this morning, but i remember his eyes.
but mostly, and i'm sure you see already where this is going, when i walk into the blinding sunlight i think of the other. and i want to say 'do you remember?' do you remember how you were walking to meet me that day and i came out of the lingerie store and i saw you first. you were walking down the street and i don't think that you could see me yet and...you were the only person i saw on that busy street in that vaguely european city. the only one. we walked through chinatown, looking at the strange produce and wondering what the fruits tasted like.
and then we went into a bakery and i had cake for breakfast. sponge cake.
and how i wanted to reach for you, but i couldn't bring myself to do it. i sit here now wondering if i had, would things have turned out different? instead of me sitting here alone thinking of you, we could laugh together about that day. and you would tease me about something i did or said. and we would laugh some more.
maybe we would laugh about i said that the only thing that would make my sponge cake breakfast better would be champagne.
i love champagne for breakfast.