Melody is blind.

Jazz.

There's nothing quite like it. It's calming and relaxing and sexy and makes me feel lonelier than most things. While listening, and I realize I have no one to think of in that way. In that sexy jazzy you-are-mine-and-perfect-for-me way.

When I hear jazz, my mind's eye sees a small apartment and a city view of night lights. It's a solitary picture. Another scene of my own isolation. Something calm and rejuvenating and lonely. The same self image I have of myself alone, hidden from the world, in the quietness of jazz. And at the same time, lonely. The examination, thorough. The dichotomy, fascinating.

Barnes and Noble sounded quiet until I started working there. Now, I hear all the sounds my ears never picked up before. People being paged, phones ringing, PDTs beeping, same music, the constant hustle of the store being run. I was ignorant and unaccustomed. Now I sit in the overstuffed chairs and I hear two separate worlds. The quiet, undisturbed peace of a customer surrounded in books. The busy, hectic, noisy business of an employee running a bookstore.

Tea and jazz, the ultimatum of a quiet, lonely night.

Lonely isn't always bad.

I ramble on and on.

I said I needed a project.

I got one.

Something to consume my thoughts, my time, my energy. Obsession. Until I am touching a lip ring that isn't there.

My expression turns focused and my concentration narrows in and I'm no longer aware of time lapsing. And when it's over for a bit, my mind feels pleasantly blank.

Lately I surround myself with people. Catch the eyes of the regulars at the Flying M. Sometimes being around people just makes me feel more lonely though. I watch them smile at each other and laugh and talk together. Share their lives, their experiences.

And I'm flying along the freeway, it takes seconds for me to take off in my car. I don't unlock the passenger door for anyone. Don't wait for them to sit down and get comfortable. Don't wait for them to buckle their seatbelt. It's just me. It's alright, with the windows rolled down and some nostalgic Death Cab for Cutie.

And it's like this is how it has always been, like he never existed. Until I am cleaning out my email and see a message sent on April 12th.

"Hi, B." Look at this that I wrote.

I delete it before the memory surfaces. The mind is still blank.

This weird and totally different feeling I get deciding to take the longer drive home, driving down Harrison and having just been told that something I wrote was good. I see Tegan Ren out there walking her cat and yelling at people in their yards. We're both lonely as hell.

I spend a lot of time to myself.

But on the bright side, I'll be back in Phoenix in ten days.

Windows always open, a cross breeze.

Every time my alarm wakes me up, I want to keep sleeping. Cancel my plans, skip work, just sleep through it all. But I force myself to get up and I am always so glad afterwards. My life turns out to be worth waking up for.

At work, Bill English came in today. I was quite happy to see him, because I read his article in the Boise Weekly yesterday and wanted to tell him how much I enjoyed it. He did a feature on an upcoming writer who seemed quite insightful.

I've discovered there's a quiet hunger for books and literature throughout the state. I've gotten to meet hundreds of kids and hopefully, I've shown them that you don't have to be from Paris or New York to be a full-time writer.

He also said this: I doubt my work all the way through the process, and after it's published, I doubt it even more.

It feels nice to know I'm not the only one working in doubt.

Bill English told me he is basing a character off of me for his novel. I wonder about this girl. Does she have a boyfriend? Does she have a high self esteem? Is she tasteful? He said I should be his protege. I'd like that, since he is living the life I want, writing novels and articles for the Boise Weekly.

At work, I catch myself channeling my own insecurities through other people. Does Nancy think I don't sell enough memberships? Does Lynn think I am an idiot? Does she hate my tattoo? Does Carrie get irritated fixing my mistakes? Does Steve think I am unreasonable for asking for six days off? Does Heidi think I am bossy? Does everyone think I am incompetent? I know these are just my own fears about myself; I just hope I'm the only one that thinks them.

My alarm went off at 4:45, waking me up from a nap during the thunderstorm. I wanted to keep sleeping, to call off the creme brulee party, but I forced myself to get up. And I'm so glad I did; my evening was lovely. Tessa and her very nice boyfriend, Daniel came over and we made creme brulee and I played a great playlist. I told them about the past 13 months of my life involving Brian in about seven minutes. It's recapped so quickly. It's like fiction. We laughed a lot at different happenings in my recent life and Daniel asked me if I had a blog to write about it all.

We went to Dawson Taylor's while the creme brulee set, and Daniel helped a bee keeper take a huge nest down from a tree on the sidewalk. When I say help, I mean, he got stung some 10 or 15 times when the nest crashed to the ground and 50 bees swarmed around him. He sprinted away down the street, covered in bees. It started to rain again and we all got soaked instantly. Tess told me I could share her life.

We played a lazy game of Yahtzee and Tess looked at my favorite picture books. We torched the top of our brulee, and Daniel was a little overzealous with the torch. He made a very burnt smily face. The creme didn't set up enough and was a little watery, but it tasted good.

They left and I did the dishes quietly. I made my peace with being alone. I think about Tess and Daniel and how sweet they seem and how I had that and how he would make me eggs in a basket, but that time is over and I've made my peace. It will stay a bundle of good memories of a different time.

I painted my finger nails pink.

My mom called and told me about their visit to Colorado. She told me how she cried a lot yesterday at the prospect of moving, but how getting out in the world allows for new experiences and I noted how incredibly strong my mom is. I hope to be that strong someday. And I realized that it's not my place to resist this relocation anymore. She needs to do what is best for her and it's not my call.

Just like Brian needed to do what was best for him.

And I've made my peace with that.

I fly planes.

Sometimes it's good to look down at your life from 4,000 feet. And it's good to take hold of the yoke. To land and take off and land and take off and realize that you control your life. That when your hands twist left, your wings veer in the same direction. Look down at the lights. They are tiny. It's all black. It's 1:30 am.

When you pull back, the nose pulls back and you are climbing. When you push forward, your nose dips and the ground comes toward you and you could die or you could keep flying and the moon doesn't look very far away from up here.

"Pull back hard, hard, harder, there you go. Level off. Level off."

And all you have to do is get off the ground to see how beautiful it is.

Since I came back from college, my dad and I have had the best relationship so far. I start to see ways that I am his daughter, too.

We both like buttons.

We both like lights.

We both like buttons that light up.

I get a funny feeling in my stomach when he accelerates incredibly fast on his new crotch rocket. It builds up a sound in my throat, the only way to release the butterflies. The motorcycle can go as fast as the plane. If it had wings, my dad would fly that, too. We ride to the lake. Past Surprise Valley and I just look down at a different life.

Thousands of gallons of water shoots out of two holes in the dam, filling the Boise River until it floods the greenbelt. You would die instantly. You get the same feeling at 80 miles per hour on the motorcycle. Or 180 in an airplane. When I'm flying it.

Take the yoke, and level off.

Laugh it off.

Going to dinner with my grandpa always reminds me that life is here for us to enjoy. Over sushi and hot tea and mochi, we laugh and everything becomes a great story.

Why are you upset? There is nothing to be upset about. The sky is blue and everything around us is green. I just bought you ice cream. It's not worth being upset about.

The past few days have been a stretch of the arms. The eight-mile bike ride along the river, the greenbelt, the stops in the grass. I put my feet in the river. And then sitting at Sun Ray Cafe with delicious breadsticks and great company.

And yesterday, I started my day sitting outside the Flying M with Jared and his new puppy and my fat dog, Casey. Early morning vanilla lattes that taste so good. We talked and I love how well Jared knows me. So little I have to explain to him.

Then I walked down to Dawson Taylor, another seat outside, and my life is starting to feel like an Ernest Hemingway novel. I sat in my spot in the sun and talked to a different Jared in Phoenix, approximately 930 miles away. We talked on the phone.

Tess came to my table and we sat and talked for awhile before going to Lux, the best clothing shop in Boise. I bought a lovely hat for seven dollars. We walked around a used book store. We hugged good bye.

Casey and I continued to walk around before meeting Craig for a lunch, another outside place setting.

I open my eyes and I realize everyone is smiling at me.

Brian was a filling and delicious capris. Now I am forced to look at the rest of the menu and I realize it has splendid vanilla lattes and even better passion fruit creme brulee.

So we eat raw fish fearlessly and nothing seems quite so serious as I recount my life.

So why are you sad? The sky is blue and everything around us is green. The music is great and the people are even better.

I hope now that I will stretch my arms through a roof folded down and in the back of the car. Flying along a seven-lane freeway with sun that stops at nothing to make you feel warm.

I'm allergic to love.

The healing process.

I am good to go. My ACL was cleared yesterday morning and I am good to go. Cleared for wake surfing. Not that that matters now. Surgery never felt so unnecessary. Reconstructive surgery.

When I listen to Little Dragon, it's back to my spring break and I am wandering around Northern Arizona University's campus with one head phone perpetually stuck in my ear. It feels all the same, but it isn't.

But it is a love/hate relationship here in Boise.

There's no one to know.

There's nothing to do.

This is where I live, but

I've never felt less at home.

Yet the sun comes out and it feels like summer and I can't help but love it a little bit. An eight-mile bike ride, two stops to lay down in the grass and look up, one to dip my feet into the freezing cold river. And then breadsticks and raspberry lemonade and a refreshing sip of dark beer at a restaurant where the waitresses wear jeans and everyone has tattoos. How North End.

Today, early morning coffee. I've never been in a situation where I held so much of other people's hopes. And I don't like being the one that has to break them.

Permanence.

I just try to move past it every day.

But it's like a perpetual tattooing. I look down and see the needle and the ink and the blood. It doesn't feel like my own. I can't believe it's my own. Sometimes it hurts worse than others, but it always hurts and I am always aware of it. It's a feeling I've never felt before, it's unlike anything.

I'm not used to it. It feels adrenaline-pumping and painful and tingling and annoying and like a hot razor and like a good scratch and unbelievably permanent. It's the same disbelief that's been following me everywhere.

Is this really how things are now?

Has all this really happened?

This accusation is perplexing.

Nothing has ever hurt so badly in my life. But I can't just jerk away every time the artist starts drawing. I make myself sit still.

Will this tattoo turn out to be something beautiful?

Finally, jellyfish appeared.

Am I pregnant? Breast feeding? No.

Do I realize that it is in fact permanent, that infection is always possible? Yes.

The first hour, he drew with Sharpie. My hand fell asleep. Anticipation of a needle. I have no idea what this will feel like.

"It feels like someone pinching you over and over again."

"It feels like a sunburn."

"The first five minutes are the worst."

"The end is definitely the worst."

"Red hurts the most."

"It feels like a very angry wasp humping you."

It's a feeling I can't describe, and frankly, no one else can either. It's almost fun, almost exhilarating, almost sexy. It's annoying and making faces doesn't make it hurt less. It's gorgeous and I love it. It's too big to my parents, it's better than I imagined, it's a jellyfish.

The second hour, he dipped the tip in magenta. Here it goes. Oh, that's it? That's what it feels like. He outlined.

The third, he filled in with color. Pinks and white. Finally, jellyfish appeared.

Cancelled noise

I walked up to the security line at the Boise airport and called my mom.

"I'm screwed. There's no way I'll make my flight, security is way backed up and it'll be boarding in fifteen minutes. Stand by."

And I sprinted barefoot across the Boise airport, arriving in time and out of breath. One may call this trip lucky.

I sat looking out at the rain pouring down on the tarmac, and leaving tiny spots on my window. The guy behind me smelt strongly of cigarettes and alcohol. It was 7:25 in the morning. He talked to no one. He wouldn't stop talking. I blocked him out with Bose headphones. Cancelled noise.

As we arrived into Salt Lake City, much to my displeasure, he reached around and poked me. Why are you touching me? Why?

"Are those the great salt lakes?"

I looked down at what looked like a few flooded fields.

"I have no idea."

I hate being under ten thousand feet.

I got a bagel smothered in cream cheese in Salt Lake. The woman working told me she liked my smile. Strangely enough, that's not the first time I've been told that very thing in an airport. Last time, though, it was Heathrow. I struck up a conversation with a traveling college student. His backpack was covered in flag patches from all over the world. I only ate half my bagel. I hate how expensive airport food is. I threw the other half away guiltily.

The flight to Phoenix was pleasant, I slept most of it. That kind of sleep where as soon as your head starts to dip, you startle awake. Over and over and over again.

Upon arrival in Phoenix, I took of my sweater and wandered around Sky Harbor, which looks more like a mall than anything. Landing in Phoenix is one of the only ways to see how vast the valley is. It is mind boggling. The city seems to stretch on forever.

I sat at the curb twirling a bottle of water and watching all the posh cars go by. North curb, terminal four. There are only three terminals. Two through four. I saw no black convertible, though.

"Where are you?"

"North curb, terminal four."

"No you aren't."

I'm at departures. I realize this shortly after accusing Jared of not knowing his own airport. Hell if I know how to get down to the arrivals curb. Though I do think I remembered more taxis before.

We drove along the freeway and I finally felt warm and it felt liberating driving in a convertible. We pulled into a gated community and there was no doubt I was in Scottsdale. Jared's house was beautiful. 17-foot ceilings at least. Rock and stone and tile. And ceiling fans. A projector room. The "media" room. As many CDs as KBGA. Not quite. Big screen TVs and surround sound.

We sat on the floor looking through cookbooks before deciding it was easier to make other people cook for us, and decided to go to In'N'Out. A cheeseburger and pink lemonade. Absolutely delicious. I was starving.

We went to Blockbuster and rented Rock Band 2 because I have a distaste for Guitar Hero, and Jared is kind enough to let me have my way with absolutely everything. Including the top down in the car and the music exclusively mine. We went on a search for Raspberry Ginger Beer, stopping first at a store called BevMo, and then AJs and then Safeway. No luck and I settled for a case of Izzes.

We drove to another neighborhood buried in Scottsdale and picked up a boy with a striking resemblance to Cousin It in a trench coat. I deem the trench coat unnecessary in Phoenix's 105 degree weather, but he disagrees. His name is KC and he choked me with my seatbelt when attempting to jump into the back seat of the convertible.

I tagged behind these boys plus one other, named Koga, at the Fashion Square mall. A note on Fashion Square: holy shit. It must be four huge stories at least, and it's...indescribable. Huge and beautiful and posh. I wandered aimlessly, taking it all in. I ate dulce de leche ice cream. The boys threw insults at each other back and forth until I offered up a challenge.

"I bet you can't find a trench coat in this mall. I bet there isn't a single trench coat in this Phoenix mall in June."

And the challenge began. Starting with the major department stores. Jared seemed overly determined to prove me wrong. With little luck. He considers himself victorious though, on one small technicality.

"No, we don't have any trench coats here," a woman said in a British accent. "Try back in December."

"Ha, see? There's no sense in having a trench coat in a Phoenix mall in the summer time. It doesn't exist."

"Well, we do have one in the back. It's not for sale for another several months, though."

Apparently I wasn't clear in saying the trench coat had to be for sale. I thought that was implied. Jared gloated and I ranted and I still think it's BS.

The four of us returned to Jared's and played Rock Band and I blistered and I never realized how fun Rock Band could become when it's maxed out on players and the boys are attempting to sing. I refused to do so and played my drums.

We sat outside on Jared's very comfortable lawn furniture for a long time, talking and listening and I closed my eyes and just felt the sun. They claimed it was the longest they had been outside for a long time.

Eventually we went to a restaurant called Buffalo Wild Wings and I met three more members of Jared's gang. Jenn, Sara, and Teresa. Jenn and Sara are a pair of very entertaining, yet very sweet lesbians and they kiss in public and seem to have gratuitous amounts of love for each other. Teresa receives constant shit for her height, or lack there of, at four foot eight.

The waitress was terrible. We sat for probably an hour waiting for our check alone. But the table was alive with chatter and constant and loud laughter and jabs at one another. I remained quiet most of the time, simply observing this set of lives I sort of just plopped down in front of. However, I found the misters above us highly unnecessary, since it wasn't 105 anymore. KC gloated in his trench coat.

They all came over for a swim in the pool later, despite the pool filters being broken and the water being green. It doesn't look as bad at night though because you can't really see it. We alternated between the pool and the hot tub, surrounded by tiki torches and warm air.

That night, I slept hard after being awake for a total of 23 hours. And woke up to blue skies the following morning.

Jared and I drove to Barnes and Noble the next morning and picked up a book for Jenn's birthday. I used my employee discount, and glanced at their music section. Ours is bigger. We drove to Desert Ridge, an outdoor mall underneath palm trees and misters. I bought a smoothie and read, waiting to meet up with Alex Casady.

We drove through the desert to what I was beginning to consider butt-fuck no where until we reached a dirt road and a jumble of ranches. We got to a house with a screen door we couldn't see into, and picked up Jacob. They instantly started bashing a certain someone, and the bashing lasted the entire afternoon. I laughed and joined in, yet everything they said, I could totally see the person doing. I laughed but felt a strike of feeling, when I found all those quirks so endearing. But that didn't change the fact that he wants nothing to do with me, so I laugh along and shove the feelings aside. Screw drivers and martinis, the final nail in the coffin.

We went to a shoot off of PF Chang's called Pei Wei. It tasted quite good, and I felt a new excitement for NAU. Already, I have several friends, and I can't wait to spend more time with them.

I met up with Jared again at Desert Ridge, bringing him what I couldn't eat, but failing to bring chopsticks, and it went to waste anyway. We drove to the Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art and the artist had drawn a picture of what strangely seemed to resemble my brain. Maybe it was the beautiful and colorful swirls around the outside that represented to me Phoenix, or it might have been the huge blob of dark blue in the middle with the fire spurring from it, that represented a bit of a past I am working to overcome. But I looked at it for a long time. And then I looked at books of Banksy and we left.

I decided it was necessary to wrap Jenn's present in pictures from a Playboy, so after making Jared buy it, we went back and sat in the pool. I picked out the best pictures and we sat talking for a long time. We talked about me too much. We jumped off what we deemed the rock of indecision. We got ready for dinner.

Kona Grill sits in Fashion Square Mall, and it fit my definition of swanky. The food was delicious, the evening was beautiful, the company was excellent. The passion fruit creme brulee, though, couldn't have been more fabulous.

Jared and I walked to the theatre down the street afterwards and saw The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, which was not as good as the book, as expected. All throughout the movie, I couldn't stop thinking that's not how it went at all. But what can I do? We argued about it the entire car ride home, and then the lesbians came over and we sat on my bed, mostly tired.

I read by the pool the next morning, a lovely way to spend a morning in my opinion. We got ready and drove out to the Phx Zoo. The elephant was my favorite, the way he rocked back and forth and the way his trunk swung around him. I stopped at every drinking fountain we passed. The zoo was huge and delightful. Baboons really do have bright red butts. All the animals looked dead because of the heat. I picked hibiscuses. We ate at the Rain Forest Cafe.

We happened to be passing a World Market when I asked if we could stop. I figured it would be one last failed attempt to find a Raspberry Ginger Beer. It wasn't. I became ecstatic and we listened to loud music the rest of the way back. Jared and I then set to work on making chocolate covered strawberries. He blamed all the ugly looking ones on himself. He was lying.

We took the strawberries to Jenn's birthday party at Red Robin, along with our "charitable contribution," not a gift. The dinner was pleasant and even better, everyone came over for another pool party in the green, green water. There were ten of us, and it felt so great to be surrounded by people. A part of a group.

After much swimming, we made frozen pizza and played Rock Band. The night couldn't have been better. It only made me wish I could stay a lot longer. I love the people I met and I want to be a permanent fixture in their lives. Again, I am living my life wishing I was somewhere else. Consequently, it keeps being Arizona.

But the next day, Jared and I kept it quiet, only went to In'N'Out once again for lunch and a milkshake, and watched Law and Order SVU. On my request. He took me to the airport and being home has felt rather depressing. And cold.

Let the skin burn.

In Scottsdale, the speed limit is fast. And everyone goes faster. Because everyone has nice cars. And nice cars go fast.

In Scottsdale, everything is beautiful and fits perfectly in place. Clouds aren't allowed in this sky. The sun beats through anything.

We drive fast and I lose all control of my hair in a black convertible. The feeling is liberating. I've been in a state of oblivion since I arrived, having no idea where I am or where we're going or how to get around. In the desert, everything looks the same. I take in the scenery. I have no bearings.

I stepped into lives of people I don't know. Observed them, joined them, and I already love them. Three days won't be enough of them. Enough of this. I feel like I've been smiling since the plane touched down. Smiling and warm. Smiling, warm, and accepted.

And the heat. I've been cold for nine months. 112 degrees feels lovely. I've found for myself nothing short of a paradise.

Everything needs an emergency shut-off.

A full and packed weekend planned, starting with a flight departing Boise at 7:25 AM. A mini vacation and some exposure to the sun. A lot of exposure to the sun. Shorts and sunglasses, Bose headphones and a new book. Pack lightly.

Friday: 103. Lunch at In'n'Out. A trip to the grocery store and a walk around a mall with people I've never met before. Rock Band in someone else's house. A pool with no water, surrounded by tiki torches and speakers that look like rocks. I use my imagination to figure out what it looks like.

Saturday: 107. Lunch and Rock Band with Jacob and Alex. I have blisters on top of blisters, and try to play everything on Hard. It often results in multiple failures. Jared will take me to SMoCA. Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art. We'll drive a convertible. I have Ralph Lauren sunglasses. Swanky dinner of swank afterwards, and the Swedish version of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. It won't be as good as the book. But the company will enjoy it. And I'm excited.

Sunday: 110. Phoenix Proper. Every time we spell Phoenix, in our heads, we're all saying, Pho-Enix. You do it, too. You do now. We're going to the Phoenix Zoo. I find it "highly improbable" that they will have polar bears. But camels are for sure. As well as elephants. No spazzy crane. Downtown Phoenix. Four million people. 110 degrees Fahrenheit. We're going to cook dinner. Enjoy a case of Raspberry Ginger Beer. A treat, a special occasion.

Monday: 108. It's unplanned. A flight home. The next trip to start planning.

I'm excited.

I'll be at the D curb.

I won't be waiting for a blue Subaru.

It's Brian's school, without Brian. Brian's city without Brian. Brian's friends without Brian. Brian's life without Brian. I wonder how long until it feels less empty. I just try not to think about it anymore. Mourn it like it's dead. It is what it is.

Until it stops being the first thought I wake up to every morning.