I drove back to PDX on Tuesday for a meeting regarding Paideia. I'm planning the whole goshdarned event, and one of the few perks is an excuse to drive up to Portland. Other than that, I basically stare at a computer screen and try to fit over 200 class sessions into a week. At 3:45 in the afternoon, my responsibilities were over; Dr. Demento had a plane ticket to Portland and the school was ready for Paideia.
The boy (who I will henceforth refer to as S (why am I sometimes more comfortable using real names and sometimes totally not?)) worked till 4:30 ish. Killing time, I spun my fans in the overcast breeze as Ke$ha radio faded in and out of my new iPhone's reluctant wifi. After exercising out a little bit of the stress, I drove up to S's house. The first 20 minutes were a little awkward, as I was still recovering from 4 days of seclusion in 15 diagonal inches with 680p. Mostly I exhaled and tried to catch Edith's bunny.
Sarah, a girl who lived on Mac III last year with Justin, Eric, Andrew and S, drove us to Vietnamese sandwiches. We dined, and back at the house we drank some strange mead that S and Hugh had made. It tasted like liquefied cake. They think there's something wrong with it. S took some molly, and another housemate took some speed. Always gotta keep track of the evening's drug consumption, especially where Vietnamese sandwiches are concerned.
Then we went to a party at the Coconut Club, which maybe 1 out of the 8 of us had been invited to. I enjoyed it, mostly listening to conversations. S had his arm around Sarah for a while, which I took to mean that our finals fling wasn't a serious business sort of deal.
I took a break from the party, and walked out into the night. I've been listening to a lot of Mark Growden, and I'm adopting Delilah into my lone-strolls-in-the-darkness repertoire. It requires a certain amount of belting, especially towards the end, which is very exciting. I walked along 28th, Knapp, and finally onto Bybee and over the train tracks. I looked out at the city and sang to myself. Mostly Delilah and Pork Goulash by Jason Webley. I have the lyrics for that one down in another post.
Hell, these are the lyrics for Delilah:
You come at me with ropes and knives
But you can lay those things aside,
Believe me
All you need is your kiss your eyes,
Sing your siren's lullaby
To slay me.
Come slice me like the crescent moon,
Slices the sea
Delilah
Delilah
I built this wall of ten thousand stones
Just so you could break it down
I'm waiting
You've sent a hundred men to try
But none of them could
Take my life
Delilah
Delilah
I've built this ladder of 80 rungs
One for every star you've strung
Above me
At the top you'll find the shears
That in your hands can cut
me free
Delilah
Delilah
Please take me back to the tale of who
Fashioned me
Please take me back to the tale of who
Fashioned me
There are a lot of OOOhhooooohoohohohohs in between the lines. But I think it's kinda pretty and poetic and it sings well in the dark alone.
I sang on the bridge until 3 people, who may have been Reedies, walked by and I felt embarrassed because I hadn't stopped singing. Then I walked back. On the way, I ran into a lovely tree-suspended swing that I played on while singing Vois Sur Ton Chemin. I sang a bit of Ici Bas too. French. It's a great language.
Back at the party, I listened to an extrovert talk, which is always fun. A theme for this midweek weekend was a bout of introversion on my part. I was very quiet, during the party and the next day too. I blamed exhaustion, being hungover, and not having anything to say about the subject matter. In the end I think I actually just wanted to draw into myself a little more.
S started acting differently towards me. He sat next to me, said "dude, I kinda missed you." This passionate outburst prompted me to tell him about the two dreams I had about him. He touched my hand in a very roll-y way, digging at it with the pads of his fingers. I sank into him a bit. He said "My room is really messy. Do you still wanna sleep there?" I laughed and reminded him how gross mine was when he slept over. Easier than saying "of course."
We went outside so he could smoke. But there were tons of people smoking and it started fucking with my head. I stayed out a little longer than he did to clear me head. Still wasn't sure what to expect of the evening, apart from apparently getting laid.
I went back inside, and listened to him talk to the extrovert about the Fountainhead. The extrovert really liked it. S did not, for obvious reasons related both to being an anarchist and a french major. Sarah was leaving and offered us a ride back to the Hbizz.
Instead, we went for a walk. "Do you want to go for a long walk or a short walk?" he asked. "You choose," I replied. Having already gone on a walk and wearing clunky-ass cowboy boots, I didn't feel very objective on the matter.
"A long walk" he said.
We retraced my path, but went beyond the bridge and the train tracks. We walked into Sellwood, and followed the road that traced the Willamette River. It's covered in shops that look like they're out of a movie. All warm lamps and socks and tea.
Near the Sellwood Bridge, we turned off the road. I recognized where we were.
"I used to bike here on my way to OMSI," I said. "It's one of the reasons I don't think I'll be a good physics. I went five miles out of my way for a few weeks, because I knew the route. I got sick of it and found a more efficient way to go, but sometimes I just take a way of doing something and never trouble shoot it."
Our conversation tended to be along those lines. He spoke through a drug-locked jaw and hissed his stories. Family, future, philosophy, freedom, french. Our interests are alliterative. Or at least have consonance. I don't really know the subtleties of those terms, I'm not a french major. Anymore.
We walked along the Willamette a bit. He finally explained the meaning behind his tattoos. We arrived at a floating dock and walked to the end. Inches above the water, looking out at the city... It felt dirty, how much it reminded me of the time I went on the Midnight Mystery Ride and ended up in a similar position (see that post) or the times I had ended up like that with Graham: at the end of the adventure. Just us.
S said "Isn't it funny to think of all the people who have done this before?" Later, walking back, he'd ask why I had snuck out of my house as a teenager. "Basically to do this" I replied. "You mean this wasn't your first time?" He joked.
It's hard to feel original sometimes. It's hard not to feel cynical sometimes. I wish I had felt less cynical then.
We kissed. Who could have guessed where that was going? It was cold, but we braved it for a time. Then we started walking back.
He left to go buy cigarettes, and I drank some water at the house. It was 4:30 am.
He came back and we went to bed.
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