I've spent a lot of time listening in the last few days. Listening to everyone's stories, piecing together their lives, their pasts, their families, and who they are.
Tess and I sit together outside Dawson Taylor's where everyone pets my fat dog and compliments our tattoos. I smile at the way her life has fallen into place. A sweet boyfriend, a good life in Boise, a good new boyfriend for her mom, an upcoming rafting trip.
Austin and I sit at Camel's Back on a blanket in the sunshine and he explains music to me, the way it works and the people involved. His life about to change, a move back home, a close family, a potential to save up some money.
Michael and I sit outside Pie Hole with greasy cheap pizza by the slice, with soda. He tells me about moving to Boise a few weeks go, about marriage of his parents, of himself, of people he knows. I try my hardest not to notice Brian's good friend Kate sitting at the next table over.
When I talk, I feel like the words are rushed and lately, it just feels better to sit back and listen. I realize how everyone are in different places in their lives, just trying to figure out each passing moment. Tess has lived in Boise for almost a lifetime. Austin prepares to leave it in a month. Michael arrived three weeks ago. And here I am, in the mist of all these people. Listening. Anymore, when I talk, I feel like I only have a vague idea what I am talking about. A brief, but accurate explanation of Brian. Recited facts. Maybe I am just emotionally drained.
Two and a half miles of walking without shoes, a cell phone, keys, or money, wondering why things are sometimes fucked up while it rains will do that to you.
But my mom and I eat milk duds and watch TV and she makes me laugh. I get letters in the mail and they make me smile. My dad and I make plans to go out on the boat and float the river and that makes me glad. The air is warm, and that makes everything a little more bearable.
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