writings about
walking around
the prom
moving forward
jamie fell asleep first, and i remember being annoyed with him for that
though i ended up dropping off second. i dont remember when i fell asleep
or the last thing i did before that. i remember that the honesty game began
suddenly and without warning, benny turned to jamie and told him "seriously,
i think most of what comes out of your mouth is bullshit."
and that was how it started. we all went around and told eachother what we really
didn't like about one another, and when someone spoke there was silence from all
other corners. first it was me and pete and jamie and benny, then maggie when she
came out of the bedroom, and finally chris, though that wasn't till much later.
richard bach, in "illusions", writes that very rarely do members of the same family
grow up under the same roof. when i think about all of us, our family, i realize that
we are just as dysfunctional as any group of people randomly assigned together
by genetics. maybe more. this is the part where i offer the moral, but i just haven't
got one figured out yet. all i know is that my head hurts, and my stomach hurts, and
i'm pretty sure if i ever drink that much whiskey straight out of the bottle again then
i will die. sometimes i dont know what the fuck is wrong with us, i wanted to cry
so badly and i just couldn't do it. maggie was crying and wanted so badly not
to be. by the end we had all been hurt, and had hurt people, and were seeing double.
there were no hugs, which was odd, we usually hug a lot. there was still some human
contact though, a brush on the side, a touch of hands at particularly strong words,
huddling bare feet close together when we went out into the cold to have a smoke and
step back from the game a moment. the game, my name for it, the rest of the family
has no idea. i wonder what they would think of that, if they would think i was writing
it off? i'm not. i just can't think of a better description for what happened last night,
when we all put down our shields and picked up our swords, just for a little. hmm, maybe
collective spontaneous poetry. yeah, that could work for me.

justin, 03/27/01

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