Walking to San Elsewhere

I moved to this tiny town in 1992 at the age of ten. A few thousand people in 5 square miles, even then it seemed like there was nothing here.

Now 20 years later as i walked home from my friends place i spotted houses in places where a near 6 years ago there weren't. Just spans of dirt fields with large toughs of spherical tumbleweeds dotting the land, As i walked past the memory of one particular field that no longer exists; in the low orange hue of dusk i suddenly felt old and tired. Memories have that odd ability of transferring from only a thought to a physical pain.

I think what made the pain have a hardened edge was a song from my childhood came on my ipod at that time. In that instant i might have believed there is such a thing as time travel. It just takes an extreme set of circumstances: the right music, the correct coordinates, and bad timing.

I walked the rest of the way ignoring the music, my surroundings, and my age. I wanted to go home, but not this one, the one from 1999. Knowing that was impossible i suddenly wanted to get out and go back home to San Diego which was also impossible.

It was a weird day.

One of those.

God damn i woke up feeling weird today. I can't stop sighing.

Everything is good too. I cooked myself a nice meal of chicken and rice, i got plenty of sleep, got a decent score on my last test to finish up my Learning and Using Stand English class, the weather is gorgeous.....and i can't stop sighing.

Something is just off.

Anyway, it coming down to the last couple of weeks before i move from San Diego and return to my hometown, in hopes it will soon be time to move to Japan. It's hard to believe i have been writing in this thing for four years, i think that is the longest i have kept up with one of these - what would you call this? A journal?.........................................

I did it again.  I sighed.

I need a drink. It's been a long time since the last time i drank.

Some comfort by anything would be nice.

Just There Part 2

Feeling unexpectedly empty i started to drink. This town where i live isn't so bad, but the night calls for an aria of sirens; police, fire, and other, it can be peaceful, but on warm dusks they go on all night.

Maybe it is the music that has me feeling askew. I flipped on a channel of music i used to listen to nearly ravenously when i was younger, like it was part of a misleading ceremony that i couldn't live without; i would take the notes offered and let them fill me and shape my level of regard. My mid 20's were an exceptionally odd time; maybe that's the feeling this music conjures up; all my misunderstandings of myself.

Oddly relaxed, and confused, such a strange combo to feel. It's nearly hollow, this feeling. Like the beginning stages of when one knows they are about to have a headache.

But i came to here to speak of my second trip home. I was kissed. How, why, or who is not the part to reflect on, but where i didn't flinch. In the last 10 years a few girls have tried to kiss me and i have recoiled; not in fear or disgust, but in avoidence. Kissing, to me, always feels charished. And when it's done nearly prefuncatory it twists to an empty gesture. That's where i turn away.

The girl was drunk, which isn't surprising, no one tries to kiss me unless under the influence. I was tipsy but no where near close to drunk, hell i am drunker sitting typing this out than i was then. The kiss wasn't deep, long, or even sensual. It was........friendly. The first one left me stunned, and totally confused; to be honest it kinda pissed me off. There was a point in my mind where i felt taken advantage of, she was sad by her life and i listened, responed, and even gave some advice. At one point to calm her held her hand, which felt like a different empty gesture, and then later she kissed me as if that was a thing to do. It felt like it was my payment for being nice, it made me feel cheap. As if anyone, not me spicifically, but literally anyone else would have received the same "gift". I felt as if i had wasted emotions, my words, and my time only for this act to make her feel better.

But this doesn't even spark the fire of confusion.

I asked for another kiss. And was given another, just as quick and shallow. Immidiately i questioned myself why i did that. Some would say "Because you like being kissed." Thats the thing, i don't when i know when it's an emtpy gesture. When i know it will lead nowhere and it has nothing to do with who i am, i sincerely do not like it.

But i asked for another. That's like a person with a hatred of lizards getting a pet Komodo Dragon.

Just there.

I, in the time it took me to came back here and tick these keys to chart my life again, managed to visit "home" twice. The first visit was a burst of cool, welcoming bang; with friends quickly huddling to the spot i was to see, greet, and laugh with me. There was a momentary fear on the drive up that somewhere the area would have a negative effect. To my luck there was only one, and it so brief it made me smile.

The negative happened the night i went to visit Josh and Stephanie to see their new baby, i made it a point to make it to their home, where i even cancelled seeing another friend because i knew i needed to be there. I have very little interest in babies, as all my friends know, which i think made Josh a little surprised when i mentioned i had to see the little one. I figured when you have a friend you literally known for half of your life, seeing their new child is an unwritten obligation even i can't ignore. i met the newest addition, had some fun talking to her and watched her interact with amazement at everything in her world.

Later when Stephanie put the baby to sleep, Josh waved me over to his cluttered kitchen table and picked up a photo and handed it to me. Before i even looked at the photo i glanced at the table and noted the hodgepodge was all photos. Nearly every scrape of "paper" was a picture; a bedlam of memories. "My mom found these," Josh said, as i looked at the pic in my hand. My eye was drawn to three things; right off was the bean poll himself: Josh, standing arms folded, his signature half smile gleaming on his face, leaning on the still together wreaked Chevy Blazer he bought from my dad. The second was the Blazer itself, it was still partially smashed when my older sister crashed it years before the pic was taken. The last was myself. Beardless, less fat, and all smiles of a 17 year old who knows nothing. It wasn't the collective youth of the picture, or even the scene itself, it was my spring-tide smile that drove a point in me: "What have i been doing?" That was the first time nostalgia had a hardened edge, i nearly winced outwardly, and i felt old.

And weak.

I thanked him for the picture when he said i could keep it if i wanted. When i got back to my friends house where i was staying i placed the picture of us between the pages of a book (an absolute for me when i travel is to have a book) so it wouldn't get wrinkled.

My second trip wasn't as eventful. The excitement of my absence had waned, as all things do and i has a relatively calm stay. But one event on the second trip was so odd and surprising i might talk about it.

But for now, it's getting late and i feel i need a drink. Hopefully i'll write again soon.