In west LA, we’re blooming lilacs
When I was in sixth grade I used to play a game with time. I spent nearly every waking hour with my best friend Danielle. And if it was her parents’ turn to drive, I endured those torturous I-don’t-have-to-be-bored-at-home-without-my-best-friend-but-I-still-am minutes by tracing the route from her house to mine in my mind. There were no cell phones back then. The few times that I nailed it, the doorbell ringing in perfect synchronicity with the one in my head, what a thrill.
There is an intimacy in the maps we make. It is kindof like touching the face of someone you love while they are heavy in sleep. You share nothing. It is your secret. A secret that makes you a better person.
I love to retrace my old route to and from work. I think about the progression of feeling exuding from each part of the streets. The crossing guards at the three elementary schools. The change of speed getting onto Santa Monica. Each hill. Each change in the sky and my lungs. Each choice.
I couldn’t sleep at all. I just kept thinking about our apartment, an island–a relic of the Ice Age still and soft beneath its roots.
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Well said.
Comment by Matthew — April 14, 2009 #
Seriously, well said.
Comment by alisha — April 15, 2009 #
How beautiful.
Comment by Trudy — October 15, 2009 #