How's that Novel Coming?

I had a boy say to me
in high school
"That's why you don't have any friends--you're so angry"
And I remember I was shocked
I thought: he's considered me at all.

This boy and I, we're adults now.
We aren't friends on Facebook.
And I'm sure he doesn't remember
that I lent him a copy of a Camus novel
in study hall.
I think I thought we were supposed to be friends. Which is the sad part,
At some point after college I ran into his older brother at a bar in Uptown.
We sat in a booth
and talked and maybe flirted in a depressing way. Like, half-hearted.
He told me how his brother was writing a novel.
I could tell he thought that was pretty much incredible
as well as, legitimate
Akin to running for office or sailing around the world. Anyway,
something pretty miraculous.
I said, wow, that's great. I might've asked what it was about.

The older brother called me a few days later
and left a message on my answering machine
But I didn't call him back.
I wanted the mean one to call
and tell me about his stupid book that was probably beat up Kerouac bullshit. I wanted him to say
"I was always in love with you."

Which explains a lot.

Photo by Josh Rosenzweig


K==gan said...

I was...gleefully entertained...with the sorrowful optimism in this that you wrote...

It was touching yet lancing, lulling yet wavering, and definitely brought about some reminiscing over connections once made -and ones oNLY once made before they exhaled on to their next breath...

I enjoyed it Abbi, as much as maybe oNe can be allowed to with such a flutter of thoughts passing through while reading this.

*Full, yet yielding, smile here*

abbimireilledion said...

Keegan, this comment is everything. Thinking of you now, and Minneapolis. Tanti Baci, Abbi