Dina Kay -

Night-time Lover

2010-05-14T23:50:00.001-07:00

She was the kind of girl that tried too hard.

She sold her soul daily for a little affection, a kind glance, a sweet smile.

She didn't realize it, and no one around had the decency

To stop her from making a fool of herself.

So she kept on trying to impress those who didn't care

With cheap tricks and jokes she herself barely understood.

She smiled at strangers, throwing honeyed glances around,

And told everyone that she liked this and enjoyed that,

Trying to find common ground in an uneven world.

She's grin around every bland mouthful,

Moaning

Faking her enjoyment of the act.

But lying in bed at night, having brushed her teeth a dozen times,

The salty-bitter aftertaste still lingered at the back of her throat.

In the early hours, her enthusiastic lies would slide off her face

Like a cheap carnival mask, crumbling in the moonlight,

And terror would squeeze her in its grasp.

She was alone.

...that was the thing that scared her most of all.

Not the Johns that came to her when she bent over to say hello,

revealing her cleavage in hopes of enticing them enough to follow her.

Those shallow, lecherous men with cigarette breath

And calloused fingers that tugged, probed, and prodded her with insistent need.

Nor the slow trickle of men who shoved their way through her life,

Angry, abusive men, drinkers and maimers,

Like her father, the bastard, who beat her mother and her countless times

Leaving both bruised and bloodied, and cradling each others' broken bodies.

No, the loneliness was worst of all.

It was with her always, roiling underneath the surface,

Easily enough suppressed during the day when she consciously tried to,

But excruciatingly persistent at night.

There, always there. Waiting for her to put her guard down.

It gnawed at her, curling up like a lover next to her in bed,

Stroking her skin, touching her in places the others never tried to reach.

It made her feel special, the way no man had before.

That feeling coated her skin like a layer of oil,

The kind of dirty sensation unlike any other,

The kind that her compulsive washing could never erase.

It lit her heart on fire, the pain of it lacing the blood pumping through her.

It made her shake with need and deep-rooted tears leaked from her eyes.

It stayed with her all night,

Until she could see the first rays of sun tickle the rooftops across from her window.

Then it crept out, like a lover realizing that it was time to go,

Leaving the bed empty, and her emptier still.

Alone again. Forsaken.

Photo copyright Vivi Kalomiri

Letting Go

2010-05-04T02:36:00.000-07:00

"Depression is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign that you have been trying to be strong for too long."

Best quote I've heard so far to describe what it actually feels like to be depressed sometimes.

It's late, and I'm not sad enough to really get into this right now, but that quote did get me thinking which, at this time of night, probably means that whatever I come up with really isn't worth being published, but I'll be damned if I care. No one really reads this thing anyway. Sometimes, you live life the same way, following the same path daily, and never notice that you're wearing a groove into the ground, just digging your rut deeper and deeper. That's what depression is like. You dig-dig-dig, trying to find something relevant, and in your single-minded focus, you lose sight and track of the big picture.

It's impossible not to let yourself go, when your focus is wrong and your eyes blurred by tears and dust. But even if all the attempts are futile, and lead to nothing constructive or positive, it;s still worth it to step back and evaluate your handiwork. Sure, you may have dug a ditch which is useless and stupid, but at the same time, you dug a ditch, which is impressive in it's size and dedication.

It's hard to find joy in the little things when nothing's going your way. Negativity breeds negativity. But it only takes one smile to light up a gloomy sky, and the cup isn't always half-empty. Sometimes, all it really takes is a good night's sleep and a fresh perspective to make everything seem better.

Sometimes it's best just to let go of everything that bothers you or doesn't satisfy your soul and start anew, making everything fit your life the way you want it (and need it) to.

That's all that comes to mind right now. Good night.

Dig You

2010-04-23T03:49:00.000-07:00

I dig you like a little kid with a bright red plastic shovel digs for treasure in the sandbox. Except I don't need to dig any more: I already found my treasure, and it was totally worth all the broken nails and long hours digging.

Worrytrain

2010-04-20T18:37:00.000-07:00

I'm listening to sheets of rain and wind hammer on my french doors. I don't want to listen to music. Or maybe I should to drown out the world. Drown out the thoughts and the rain.

Worrytrain drills screws of agony into my mind. My stomach turns, bile rises, burning me from the inside out, drenching my soul in acid.

My ears want to bleed, my head throbs like a festering wound, but the dissonance is somehow soothing. The torment is pleasure.

Last time I applied Worrytrain to my pain, I was ripped apart. I seem to have hardened, toughened, learned to manage the music. I need this.

I need the pain. I need it to feel alive, to burn and scream with every cell of my being. I need the ecstatic agony to lift me up out of myself, to see things clearer.

I want to surround myself in it, to feel it course through me, making my heart pulse with its beat.

I want it to play me, make me vibrate with emotion like a violin string pulled tight and plucked until it unravels and eventually breaks.

I let the music's frenzied climax explode in me. Breathless. Fulfilled, yet empty. Closer to god through sacrilege and sin. I feel wrong. And good.

Like murder in a church or the rape of a nun, I draw a euphoric joy from it. The music feels wrong, and would probable make me hemorrhage if played loudly enough.

But the pain brings release and quiet with it. Mind-numbing pain, a paralyzing poison - the final escape for those desperate enough to seek it.

The wave has broken over me and retreats. My stomach settles, the hair on my arms lowers, and the electric current pulling my body taunt fades away.

As the dust settles and the music ends, I am left alone, breathing hard, sweat-drenched, and oddly satiated.

Comic book

2010-04-09T19:57:00.001-07:00

I want to be the Betty Ross to your Hulk.
Make you really happy so you wouldn't have to sulk.
I wouldn't even bother me if you got mean,
Fell into a rage and turned really green.

All I want is you, be your comic book love,
I bet I'd fit you better than your favorite glove.
All I want is you, will you be my dude?
I can be your mood ring and read your mood.

If you'd be Iron Man, I'd be Pepper Potts,
I would be the secretary and you'd call the shots.
You'd save the world a whole bunch of times,
And I'd sit in my office, writing rhymes.

All I want is you, be your comic book love,
I bet I'd fit you better than your favorite glove.
All I want is you, will you be my dude?
I can be your mood ring and read your mood.

Sometimes I could imagine you as Spider-Man,
Swinging from building the way no one else can.
And I'd live next door, be your Mary Jane,
Just be your best friend and never complain.

All I want is you, be your comic book love,
I bet I'd fit you better than your favorite glove.
All I want is you, will you be my dude?
I can be your mood ring and read your mood.

Weather Patterns

2010-04-09T19:57:00.000-07:00

When clouds roll in, you can't do anything.
You can jump around and wave your umbrella and yell at the skies,
But in the end you'll just get wet and the clouds will still be there.

Contrast

2010-04-07T22:00:00.000-07:00

The stubborn inevitability of the morning looms in front of my closed eyelids,
A ridiculous notion in the dark of my bedroom.

A low growling noise makes its way up from my stomach.

Getting more comfortable, I'm nestled into the soft blanket embrace of my bed.
I flip my pillow over to the cool side.
The cold linen feels like a sweet surprise against my flushed skin.

Goodbye

2010-02-25T16:59:00.001-08:00

Gather 'round, little children.
It's time for farewells.
Girls get your handkerchiefs,
Boys grab your hats.
It's leaving time now,
So let's practice our waves.
Remember the last things
We each want to say.

Get ready now, kiddies,
The train's just pulled in.
It seems a new journey
Is about to begin.
Go on, find your seats
And peer out of the windows.
Wave bye to your mommies
And daddies and friends.

North

2010-02-18T21:32:00.000-08:00

I took a walk one winter day and met a man in furs.
A kindly, grandfatherly man, he offered me a choice.
"Stay here", said he, "and live your life, as dully as it is,
Or come with me and see the world, the lands that I come from."

I stood there long, and pondered this, not knowing what to choose.
A voice within spoke up in fright, with caution did it tell
That if I left my home today it might be a mistake.
My cowardice would guide me naught, I reasoned with myself.
This once, just once, I'll take a leap and I will not look back.

With my choice made, I turned to him, "Please let me come with you.
See sights and sounds not seen before- I wish to see this through."
He took my hand and led me north, toward the icy plains.
The cliffs were steep, the waters deep, and snow covered the trees.

The journey was quite treacherous, a slipp'ry, long sojourn.
The man moved fast, his footing sure, his movements were precise.
The landscape was all white and bleak, no life was there in sight.
My fingers numbed and my nose froze as mist rose from my mouth.

With every step away from home, my heart and spirit soared.
Adventure, like a vibrant bird, had nested in my soul.
I'm poised for flight, my head held high, my wings are far outstretched.
I'm heading north, to snows and frost, toward new poss'bilities.

More Alive Than Fantasy

2010-02-16T01:31:00.000-08:00

Help, I'm drowning in my dreams. Wake me up and tell me none of it was real.
Shake the dream-webs off my face and sit with me as the sun rises.
All I need is someone to lean on as the dark disintegrates around us.
All I need is someone who will name the wilting stars with me.

Help, I'm drowning in my words. Pull me close and make me listen to the silence.
Let's close our eyes and wish ourselves into another place.
Wrap me up in your arms and remind me of what makes the world so beautiful.
Wrap me up in you and show me things I've never dreamt before.

Help, I'm drowning in my thoughts. Call my name and tell me not to frown so much.
Draw open the curtains and let the light illuminate my thoughts.
Be the one who takes my hand and brings me back into the real world.
Be the one who braves the furthest corners of my mind to find where I hide and pull me back.

Help, I'm drowning in my mind. I've gone so far into myself that now I'm lost.
Inside I'm cradling the perfect world, but without you there, it's black and white.
Find me and take my hand, lead me out of the darkness and into the light.
Find me and pull me back from the edge, show me that I can live in the real world too. With you.

Help, I'm drowning in you. Bigger than life, and more alive than fantasy.
With you, I wouldn't know if I were dreaming or awake, in my mind or living.
You pull me back and hold me tight, you show me life in technicolor.
You pull me from my mind into a world I could never have imagined. Without you.

Waiting 2

2010-02-14T11:04:00.000-08:00

My time here is numbered,
And seems much too short.
Yet I sit here, do nothing,
And don't say a word.
The others - they do things,
they live out their lives.
While I sit here watching
As the other half thrives.

Photo copyright Ulf Buschmann

If We Run

2010-02-13T20:45:00.000-08:00

What if you and I ran away together
Forget out duties and our friends
All we need is you and me and the sky
The stars will keep us from being lonely
And the trees will give us shelter.

Together we will run from this
And our souls will soar.

But they'll come after us
There can be no escape without consequences.
We might not have any peace,
But at least we'll have an adventure.
It might be dangerous, it's no matter.

Run, dodge, fight. We'll beat them back.
They can't win. We won't let them.
You'll be my guardian, my protector.
You'll keep me safe and sound.

And I will tend to you,
Your Guenevere, your queen.
I'll keep you company, I'll run with you.
At last we'll be together in all we do.

I don't need danger, I only need you.
But this is the only way we can be.
I don't need to run, dodge, fight.
If you're there, my heart's already set flight.

Let Me Go

2010-02-05T11:48:00.000-08:00

Let the rain come down and erase the thoughts within.
Clean the windows and the roofs and soak me to the skin.
Let it wash away my tears and the make-up I wear
Leave me shivering and naked in the frigid air.
Leave me bare.

And oh, the wind, it calls my name in a lover's voice
And I don't think that I have that much a choice

So I must get up, get out,
Let me out of here
If you open the door I just might disappear
But if you hold me tight I just might stay with you one more night.

Until I get up, get out,
Let myself fly free
You can try to catch me but there's no catching me.
So stow your butterfly nets and your empty threats
And let me go.

Oh the pitter-pat of rain matches the beating of my heart
As I sit by the window waiting for the thunder to start.
When the skies shake and shatter with the lightning bolt's heat
You'll wrap your arms abound me and I'll feel complete.

And oh, the wind, it calls my name in a lover's voice
And I don't think that I have that much a choice

So I must get up, get out,
Let me out of here
If you open the door I just might disappear
But if you hold me tight I just might stay with you one more night.

Until I get up, get out,
Let myself fly free
You can try to catch me but there's no catching me.
So stow your butterfly nets and your empty threats
And let me go.
Tonight.

Touch

2010-02-01T15:44:00.000-08:00

Like a dog, she leaned into every touch. Every careless caress or accidental brush of hands, the unexpected warmth coming in contact with her skin, brought with it a shiver she tried to contain within. Shudders and goose bumps - every touch was incredible. Its simple human-ness and kindness, however sincere, brought her one step back from the edge, coloring the world with one more vibrant shade.

Tonight

2010-01-29T20:29:00.000-08:00

Stay with me, if only for one night.
Forget your worries and your cares
And just lie next to me.
Hold me in your arms and whisper to me;
Tell me your hopes and your dreams.
Tonight, this night,
Let's make it feel like forever.
Forget the clock and your problems.
Right here, right now,
It's only you and me and the moon.
Its light on our skin making us glow
Like two fireflies in an eternal embrace.

2010-01-26T20:47:00.000-08:00

The ray of sunlight shining through the dirty window fell onto her desk and time stood still. Motes of dust swirled in the light, creating kaleidoscopic patterns. Her fingers crept across the table top toward the beam of warmth, searching for the edge between the cool wood and heated-up parchment. She lifted her hands and fluttered them in the light, ruining the intricate patterns and scattering dust everywhere.The light shone on her skin, illuminating the delicate hairs on her arms and turning them into golden threads. She rotated her hands slowly, fascinated by how the intensity of the beam exaggerated the wrinkles and lines on her hands. Her lifeline loomed like a crevasse, running parallel to her heart line. Nose inches away from her palms, she examined the rifts in her skin. Her breath stirred the dust into a frenzy.

*****

Infestation

2010-01-24T23:45:00.000-08:00

The endless days and nights of tortured thoughts
Nightmares in waking and in sleep
A continuous whirlwind of manic anxiety
An infestation of fervent thought
A hostile take-over of an empty house
A pointless maneuver, done wrong.

Mock

2010-01-24T13:40:00.000-08:00

I don't need pity
It's not real.
There's no appeal
In you pretending to care.
It's not what you feel
It's a fake emotion
You force onto your face
To make it look like
What I feel actually matters.

Photo Copyright Nicole Wiedig

Gone

2010-01-24T02:15:00.000-08:00

Hide and seek

Where is the princess and her freak?

Photo Copyright Lizzie Morrison

Flow

2010-01-24T01:44:00.000-08:00

All the words I wish your fingers could feel
All the times I've wished you could know
The mute despair
Lying stiff in my throat
Like broken teeth and viscous blood

I wish you could speak to my fear

I wish you could hold me
In your arms like oceans
And sooth what my weary muscles remember
All the bruises, all the sour hope
All the screams, all the shattered bones

Erase it all

Years wasted away on the shelf
Gathering dust and growing lackluster
The spark of life within me growing dark
As I sit and wait for the tide to come in
And you to enfold me in your arms like oceans

Photo Copyright Jessica Tremp

2010-01-24T00:41:00.000-08:00

I cannot take it; I can't ignore
The desert just inside the door.

I want to go out now, please let me go
To places where the waters flow.

Photo Copyright Bente Agerup

Spin Spin

2010-01-24T00:30:00.000-08:00

Inside my head a whirligig
Twirls with ballerina grace,
Its drunken joy unabated,
All sound and color and
Exquisitely vibrant dementia.

Photo copyright Mark Warnes

Waiting

2010-01-24T00:20:00.000-08:00

Alone is not an adjective
But a State of Being.
A cage of impregnable force
With a might beyond belief
Harder than a diamond
And as impossible to imagine
As a better day on the horizon.
A fortress of solitude
With a plethora of eternally-empty rooms
Made-up and ready
But housing only me.

Photo Copyright Jamari Lior

Drawn

2010-01-22T11:46:00.001-08:00

Sweet damnation.
Sin by association.
Yet something more
Keeps me coming back
To you.
Drawn,
Like a moth to a flame.
Self-destruction
Most sweet.

Photo copyright Jessica Tremp

Vegas

2010-01-22T00:48:00.000-08:00

This city has stolen the wind from my wings
And promised me plenty of wonderful things.
Yet nothing to gain here,
and everything to lose
To the blitz and the glamor
and e're-flowing booze
The ring and the chimes of the metal machines.
The gluttonous nature of coin-eating fiends.

Wasteland

2010-01-22T00:00:00.000-08:00

I have to go back to the land of the lost.
To places of hot air and never-seen frost.
Where tortured and beaten the mundane live lives,
And to the hot climate where treachery thrives.

To jealousy, envy, and festering rage;
To the back-stabbing dramas of this city's stage.
Los Angeles awaits me, a slumbering beast
My hopes and my dreams its delectable feast.

Broken Mirror

2010-01-21T23:55:00.000-08:00

I can't bring myself to get up and to look
To stare in a mirror and to read like a book,
The troubles within me, the aches of my soul.
The sadness, the torture I've faced all alone.
I can't stand the sight of my hideous face.
The scars and regrets that are sprinkled and spaced
Across the expanse of my weather-worn skin.
Reflecting the turmoil without as within.

Photo copyright Cheryl Syverson

Empty Thoughts, Empty Words.

2009-09-11T21:36:00.000-07:00

I just endured almost three hours of humiliation and verbal abuse at the lips of my stepfather.

I'm empty and exhausted, like a camel who has traversed the desert and now falls exhausted, it's hump sagging and empty, onto the side of a dune, the sun beating mercilessly down upon him. I have nothing left. I am crushed, a crumbling creation ruined by neglect and weathered by time.

Told my words are nothing, worthless. Called names by those who should be the ones I turn to for comfort, I shall struggle to endure. My hardships may be weak in comparison to what my parents endured, but that time and place was different, and my problems are important to me.

Sometimes there is no one to turn to. Those that listen cannot help, and those that want to help cannot do anything. Hostility and disinterest on all sides. I shall have to grow even more callous and uncaring. Shelter my heart and soul in a secret indestructible cocoon of crystallized tears. Protect the very core of me while others break me. I can withstand agony, I can withstand loneliness. It's when they get into your head that you must be the most careful and protective.

No matter, I shall learn.

I have no more tears left after three hours.

The one thing left in me is a quote, from a movie that brings me hope in darkness:

"Many, many years ago in a sad, faraway land, there was an enormous mountain made of rough, black stone. At sunset, on top of that mountain, a magic rose blossomed every night that made whoever plucked it immortal. But no one dared go near it because its thorns were full of poison. Men talked amongst themselves about their fear of death, and pain, but never about the promise of eternal life. And every day, the rose wilted, unable to bequeath its gift to anyone... forgotten and lost at the top of that cold, dark mountain, forever alone, until the end of time."
~Pan's Labyrinth

I shall curl up in bed, shut my eyes tight, and hope that by some magic or fate, this world will spin the other way, and the winds of change will carry me to my true home far away.

The Internet: A Letter of Clichés and Italics

2009-08-17T20:14:00.000-07:00

Dear Internet,

What's wrong. Did we have a fight? Why do you suddenly hate me? Or have we slowly been drifting apart and I too distracted to notice. If that is so, my sincerest apologies to you. Please come back.

I miss you.

Life without you is a bleak prospect. If you truly love me, do not make me suffer. You fulfill me. With you, I feel a joy that just wants to bubble over. You bring out the best in me. Without you, I am but a lonely girl with nothing to cherish or love. But you -- you believe in me. You make me a better person. How could I live without you if you are all that is good and happy in my life.

Please, do not abandon me in my time of need.

You were never cruel. Alright, maybe a little harsh, and sometimes a bit flaky, but I loved you just the way you are! I never abandoned you, or tried to make you change who you were. Sure I got mad at you sometimes, but I brought you with me everywhere! You even met my family and joined us on vacation this summer. What more do you ask of me?!

I have done the best I could to make you happy, and you repay me how? By leaving me with no explanation! You are disgraceful. I am ashamed to have been with you for as long as I was. I thought I knew you! But I guess I was wrong. I guess I never was that good a judge of character.

I offer you one last change to come back. One last chance at forgiveness. Take it or leave it.

I shall wait for your response. I give you a week to make up your mind and be finally done running around with that floozy. She is much too young for you! One week, and that is all. Or we are done. FOREVER.

~ Dina

The Beach, revisited

2009-06-19T16:37:00.000-07:00

I can still feel him, smell him. The sea air, the sand, the moon and stars. The cigarettes on his breath, a deep smell, powerful and oddly erotic. The combination is heady, and doubtlessly addictive. It’s the reason why I go out of my way to pass his jacket, hanging on a hook by the door and bearing the purple and gold lettering of his school, a “brotherhood”, as he called it. Catching the scent, which clings to it in the way that the smoke clung to us that night, I get lightheaded and my heart starts racing.

“Let’s go to the beach.” Sure. The L train takes us there and the moon greets us brightly when we get off. We cross the Great Highway at a run, deserted at this time of night, and sprint lightly across the sand, stopping just short of the crashing waves. We watch the tide come in, backing away slowly, and then turn and clamber up a nearby dune, my purse swinging stupidly from my wrist, to find a comfortable spot near the top. The moon is bright, and nearly full, and the seascape looks ethereal, lit up by a silvery glow. The raw power of the ocean beckons to me, and I consider the view critically, with a photographer’s eye, moving the moon to different spots with my mind for the ultimate shot. For some reason, I think of death. But I’m too scared to mention my morbid fantasies, fearing he’s think me strange. I hide away my thoughts.

We sit next to each other, as close as possible without our bodies actually overlapping or merging together like two pieces of softened clay. There is an intimacy to the moment that needs no touch, no words. He puts his arm around me and I sigh, thinking about the perfection of this moment and how minute our lives are compared to the ocean.

The picture shatters as I hear voices. Damn. Turning quickly, I spy a quarter of dozen people climbing our dune on their way to somewhere else. Oh great, now we’re about to become a spectacle. The leader, sporting dreads and a beanie, leers at us. “Having a good time?” he grins knowingly, as if our – or at least my – discomfort is not obvious enough. Something unpleasant stirs in my mind and I turn away, instead fixating on the sea, which I had previously found so calming. I stare hard, ignoring the searing of humiliation on my skin, feeling uncomfortably exposed in my moment of vulnerability, as if I had been caught with my pants down and had frozen in an attempt to become invisible, and ignore the people laughing and pointing at me. Eventually the trio dissolves into the distance, but the stale feeling of awkwardness that they brought with them lingers. I’m gazing unseeingly at the sky when I see it: a star, it’s light, bright and crisp like that of a diamond chip, is sparkling, winking at me. A comforting thought and I no longer feel alone in my shame. Look, I say, there, look at that star. He leans in close, presumably to see what I am pointing at better. His gaze follows my finger and I catch a whiff of the cigarette he smoked some time ago. “Wow, you’re right.” Then he points at the moon, his arm back around my waist as if our pleasant silence had not been interrupted. “Look, do you see that? The man? The man on the moon?” I look closely, squinting against the intensity of the light and I do, I do see the man on the moon. But the face looks worn and tired, not like the cheerful countenance I remember from my youth. He has aged, the man on the moon, creases and wrinkles have replaced the craters, and he looks tired, like a man nearing the end of his weary life, pock-marked and scarred. I feel disquiet, and a kind of kinship to him. Searching within me, I try to come up with a way to state my feelings, but cannot, and they go unsaid, evaporating into the warm midnight air like cigarette smoke. I go back to hiding my thoughts.

First date, revisited.

2009-06-19T01:51:00.000-07:00

He picks me up, all smiles and courteous, a nice American boy, flannel and sweet. We each have our type, the ones we go for. He fulfills my expectations to the T. But then again, I knew who he was before I agreed to "hang out to catch up and stuff". A hastily typed message sent over Facebook, full of emoticons, acronyms, and teen-boy phrases. An old friend, from way back in middle school. A little boy then, but not anymore. And a redhead, as anyone who knows me has come to expect. Sure, I type back, but next week, this week I'm busy with school. Within an hour, a date is set and most of the details solidified. I'm excited. "I'm going out Friday, Ma. I won't be in till late." We're going to a dance concert, a fantastic end-of-the year event and excitement is high. Dance concerts are terrific ice breakers, I've come to realize. Unlike a movie, where there is privacy and the unexpected can happen, a dance concert is a room packed with students, parents, and teachers, with not a stitch of "private time" available. Perfect.

The phone rings, a short burst of sound, loud and insistent. "I'm outside" he says, a soft deep voice. "You coming?" Sure, I answer, gimme a sec and I'll be out. Shoes, purse, $50 in my wallet, sunglasses, I'm ready. One last look in the mirror and I'm gone, heading for the door and the boy I hadn't seen in several years. "I got a haircut", he'd told me the day before. How short? "You'll see", a smug reply. Buzz cut? Oh say it ain't so. "Just wait."

He waits patiently at the door, his back to me and gazing at the slowly-darkening sky. "Hey, how are you?" Great, I think, now that you're here. I'm thinking mushy, teenage-girl thoughts. We exchange a semi-awkward hug and I reach out to feel his hair, shorter than the last time I saw him, back at our eighth grade graduation, but nonetheless thick and luxurious. I can imagine my fingers tangled up in his hair, gripping tightly, and the thought catches me unawares. "Let's go" jars me out of my thoughts and I follow him down the street.

An hour and one salad each later, we're in his father's car, heading for Fort Mason and the dance concert when his phone rings. A murmured conversation and half a dozen "yeah dude"s later, he announces that the concert is sold out. Time for a new plan. Eek. What to do, what to do? A seventeen-year-old only had so many options in the city. Bowling? Too fourteenth birthday party. Ice-skating? Too fairy-tale princess wannabe.

"Wanna go to the movies?" Sure. We head to his house, presumably to check out the time and movie options. His parents are amazing, the kind of parents any kid would want, lax in discipline but caring, and always there to support you. I liked them instantly. We bond, talking about films and books as he peruses the newspaper for movies times. We settle on a just-out comedy, a crowd-pleaser with just the right amount of celebrities and clichés, which should be fun for both of us. The main problem solved, we head downstairs to the rec room to talk. I notice the boxes of cigarettes instantly, but wait for him to say something first. He notices my furtive glance. "You know I smoke, right?" Sure, no, go ahead, doesn't bother me. "Cool". He lights up. We stand in the doorway to the backyard, side by side, watching his dog frolic in the early evening sunlight. It's hot outside and the wind diffuses the smoke coming out of his mouth in a matter of seconds. I wonder what smoking is like and why people do it. The vulnerability of being dependent on a drug is beyond me, the girl who values total self-control above all else. We talk and laugh, and the whole time the smoke curls around us and dissolves, slowly permeating my clothes and hair. He is snaking his way into the safe little cocoon I built around myself for protection against bad boys who smoke cigarettes like men do.

I'm starting to not hate the smell so much....

He goes through cigarettes pretty quickly. That's not to say that he's puffing on them nonstop, but in the half an hour that we spent downstairs, he went out two or three times. Each time, I stood in the doorway, watching his face get illuminated with every inhalation. He looked sinister and sexy and not at all seventeen, the orange tip of his cigarette highlighting the copper undertones of his hair.