the dead summer’s soul

I love the fall. I love it because of the smells that you speak of; and also because things are dying, things that you don’t have to take care of anymore, and the grass stops growing.

– Mark Van Doren

I know it isn’t fall yet but it’s starting to feel like it. You know that sense you get when a newly changed season comes around? Fall is deep and melancholy. It always brings old profound memories back to the surface.

• I’m sitting curbside crying into my hands. My friend’s hand rests warmly on my shoulder.
• I’m on my third straight day on a Greyhound bus across the country, heading to San Francisco, drunk and disagreeable.
• I’m standing in line for my first day of first grade. My mom is holding my hand and I’m crying (once again).
• I’m sitting on the beach watching the ocean. It’s chilly. Draped across my lap are the bare legs of a tall blonde. We’re waiting for the sun to rise.
• I’m pushing my friend’s casket into the back of a hearse. I pat the box once more before saying goodbye.
• I’m in college. My roommate throws a dirty sock in my face. I call him a cunt and give him the finger.
• I’m ordering food at Wendy’s. Everybody is staring at me. I’m wearing a teletubby costume.