23 January 2011
I'm a Rocket, Man.
This is the pack I've ran with the longest; my sister, my Azeri, and my Nerdy-Whirl. We were formed in Senior year Physics class, sitting at the front table because of Aydan's terrible eyesight. She's a beautiful foreign perfectionist, prone to spells in which she threatens to suicide. We never believe her. Heather, I went to kindergarten with her, then we met back up in high school. She has this wonderfully fanciful side to her, with all of her math and science smarts, and she is one of the most fearless people I know. Hypnosis? She's got the book. Vivid dreaming? Yeah, she's tried it. Oh, and spider season? That might be her favorite time of year. Kylie is my twin, the one who always gets my jokes.
We've stood in the rain together, singing and dancing, and looking at the town lights from Heather's hill. We share Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte, the characters acting as stand-ins for Aydan and myself, the ones who haven't had a boyfriend. And now I use them as substitutes for Heather and Aydan, gone to different colleges. When Heath is in town, we always pick right back up where we left off, going out for coffee and talking about every little thing. In fact, Heather has her own blog, still with that new blog smell, that I check religiously (http://thorachu.tumblr.com/). Aydan, she has my heart with her in Dubai, even though we don't get to talk much. Before she left Ontario to fly back to Azerbaijan, we all went to the mall. Aydan was close to a melt down, needing a new carry on bag, and not being able to find one. One of my favorite memories is picking out her bag with her, just the two of us.
I’ve missed your lovely face smiling
and round, your dark hair lightening my moods.
my hand is empty
without yours.
Until you return, the ache
will keep, fresh and cold in the ice box,
shoved deep behind
cartons of double fudge
and cookie dough.
I stand in the rain talking
to your empty form as
my dark hair soaks
and clings. my teeth chatter
and gossip, describe,
worry the beads of our life.
I picture you reading my
damp spotted letter in a red sun
dress at a window warm and beaming.
I do not mean to make
you sad. Laugh so that I may
hear you
six thousand eighty one miles away.
We've stood in the rain together, singing and dancing, and looking at the town lights from Heather's hill. We share Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte, the characters acting as stand-ins for Aydan and myself, the ones who haven't had a boyfriend. And now I use them as substitutes for Heather and Aydan, gone to different colleges. When Heath is in town, we always pick right back up where we left off, going out for coffee and talking about every little thing. In fact, Heather has her own blog, still with that new blog smell, that I check religiously (http://thorachu.tumblr.com/). Aydan, she has my heart with her in Dubai, even though we don't get to talk much. Before she left Ontario to fly back to Azerbaijan, we all went to the mall. Aydan was close to a melt down, needing a new carry on bag, and not being able to find one. One of my favorite memories is picking out her bag with her, just the two of us.
So, these are my friends. My dear, dear friends. Last year, first college year, I wrote a poem for Aydan in my Creative Writing class. A little cheesy? Why, yes. But she liked it.
To Aydan--
sweet friend I’ve missed your lovely face smiling
and round, your dark hair lightening my moods.
my hand is empty
without yours.
Until you return, the ache
will keep, fresh and cold in the ice box,
shoved deep behind
cartons of double fudge
and cookie dough.
I stand in the rain talking
to your empty form as
my dark hair soaks
and clings. my teeth chatter
and gossip, describe,
worry the beads of our life.
I picture you reading my
damp spotted letter in a red sun
dress at a window warm and beaming.
I do not mean to make
you sad. Laugh so that I may
hear you
six thousand eighty one miles away.
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