He offers me water but I can’t get drunk on that so I ask for whiskey and he pours me wine. It will do and I will drink it but it isn’t what I wanted. Isn’t what I asked for, isn’t the way I hoped this would go.
Sometimes you need someone who will protect you from yourself which can be as much fun as dating a padded cell, but still. It can be good. Life-saving, even. Still…
To be a hazard just by living in your own skin is a kind of cosmic joke which takes too long to get old, if we are being honest. In all the years I have racked up I wonder how many more it will take before I understand it all. Does anyone ever understand it all? I cannot imagine so.
Still. I cannot help, it seems, but to try. I peel things from books, I pry open, I research, turn over stone over stone over stone, looking. Seeking. Sometimes I do get lucky. Sometimes I am frightened of myself. Not of my weaknesses, there are plenty and they are plenty sordid, trust me, but of the power one can sometimes summon with words.
There is power and there are benevolent ways to use it. There are cruel ways. There was that Midas guy, right, with the golden touch. It is not nice to hurt someone just because you can. It is not nice to impose. It is not nice to kill. Or to be-friend. Or to leave. Or to stay. Or to lie. Or to tell the tough truth. Be too big or too small or smart or stupid or silly or dumb or sexy or slutty or strong or clever. To take what you want or to leave it. You see what I mean? You cannot win, you can only lose. You can only ever, ultimately, fall short.
You cannot get any of this right. It is too complicated of a thing, this life and the ways you are supposed to live it. While he is messing around on his phone I pour the goddamn whiskey and light up a cigarette. I walk past the patio, lay down in the sweet grass and wait for the darkness, the purple sky, and the dead stars to show me the way, any way at all, to go home.