Untitled, after all

I think about the times we were together, and a lot of memories mash up. Sometimes, it hits me so suddenly I get overwhelmed and have to stop what I'm doing for about 10 seconds just to catch up with reality, and when I finally do I just laugh because I know she'd tell me I was thinking too much.

If you asked me who she was, the most I could conjure up was her laugh, which was weird because if I had a machine that relayed my thoughts like an mp3, there probably wouldn't be a sound. To say I don't remember was wrong, because I remember it, but even if I had some kind of way to replicate it, I wouldn't be able to remember the sound. It's something you sit and wade in, something you think about over a long period of time just to get the shape and idea just right. She was that, a laugh you sort of remember but don't. A shape so fine but such a shapeless thing you don't know if what you remember was right. But for a girl like her, you tend to not care if you are.

But definitely the first thing that would come up would be her tears. I don't know, maybe I cry too much for a guy, but tears are warm. They make your nose tingley, and things that shouldn't be in my eyes are in my eyes and maybe I'm being sexist but guys like me just don't do that. I've seen people cry and it just makes you want to, I don't know, do something but you're so overwhelmed by the shock you can't even think--like, why is she crying? What did I do? Did I just, what happened?--nothing but questions with no real answer, not really leaving much space in your brain to conjure up a command and do something you jerk.

But really, her tears....you're so overwhelmed you can't even think. I see her face and I can't remember her eyes because she always had her bangs down when she forgot her pins. I can only picture her mouth, cherry red and a little bit swollen from biting or sucking on candy or some other erotic thought that would derail the strongest of men, and her pale, pale, skin that truly did the porcelain cliche so much truth, and her tears--her fucking tears--that, (was that a sparkle?) truly, truly rendered men and women useless.

When you see someone cry, it's rarely a pretty sight. I mean even when they're a mess girls cry beautifully, maybe that's a guy thing. It's ugly but as long as there isn't that eye make up making them look like some sad clown, its pretty too. And most of the time heart breaking. But when you see her cry, it's like she's not even crying. It's like, like she's trying to breathe. And its not that desperate, but it's like you dip yourself in the clearest water you can ever think of, and you go under and when you come back up, you take that one desperate hurried breath and feel the water on your face drip down and you don't bother to wipe your face you just look up and just, breathe. You take that deep fucking breath of air that you had all along but was deprived of for a short minute just to show yourself you didn't need it for that one minute, and when you came back it was the best fucking thing ever.

That's how she cried that night. I know she looked up at me but I can't remember her eyes but I remember her small, small intake of pure, fresh, cold air and her tears just doing that perfect stream--how does she even do that?--from each unseen eye and thinking nothing. Because my brain just stopped working. Ceased functioning. Refused to operate. Couldn't compute. I felt like nothing because remember? My brain stopped working, how could emotions process you silly thing. But two things did work: my heart and my ears. I could hear my heart beating in my ears and it was hot and I didn't like it but it just felt so good.

The second thing would be that first night I saw her. I was walking home, sort of drunk but damn tipsy, too gone to drive a car, not gone enough to recognize I shouldn't. That's how I left my friends at the bar. I was walking down the street at 3am in the morning passing the suburban neighborhood that was right next to my cruddy apartment place when I hit a pole. Then a laugh as crisp as air cut through my ear drums and I got so mad. I'm fucking drunk, obviously shit’s funny but not when it's 3am in the morning and people richer than I are at bed sleeping very fucking comfortably. When I turn to start an ill-advised fight, I didn't see anyone. Another laugh, and I with my poor set of senses realize it's from the other way, so I spin my head--bad idea--and puke. Another laugh and clatter and I look up. I'm more sober than I want to be. Until I saw her. She sang poorly and danced just as well. She sang, low at first, but when she couldn't stand it she laughed. The yellow streetlights weren't doing much to the picture but it didn't do it bad either. Long hair swishing like a pantene commercial and a little shimmy shimmy cocopuff, twist, turn, do a little shake--air guitar while we're at it--a spin here, a jump there, and a scream. Guitar solo, she shrieked. And shook her head up and down. She jumped, spun around and danced backward--her air guitar discarded--replaced with an iphone and those trademark white headphones that complimented her more than headphones should.

I don't know how I got home that night, But I remember her overalls with the short short look and her white(yellowed by the streetlights) shirt and her long, straight cut chestnut brown hair. And who could forget that guitar solo? I did, for a while. In fact, little white lie, I forgot about her and that night completely for about a month or two, when I saw her again.

Maybe it was fate. Maybe I'm dumb. I don't know. But after those thoughts come in you start to sum her up with her laugh. Sometimes I think about her name. I think about how it would feel if I said it now. And then I remember:

I don't really want to know.