j

j is my student. he's smart and funny. i crush him. he sees me in the hallway. he puts his arms around my waist. he calls me camille. it's so familiar. i panic slightly and look around. no one is looking. i play with his hair. i tilt my head up for a kiss.

nike

she shows me what she's wearing. she asks, "do you still love me now?"

i giggle. i'm so happy. i will always love this wonderful person.

bridge, house, clothes

the bridge sways. below me, waters. from above me, rain. i keep my balance and walk on. i am oddly at ease.

i circle the unkempt house looking for a way in. i'm convinced that i'm home.

i wonder how long before they notice i'm not wearing any clothes.

Library

They've converted the old apartments to a library. A jungle-like garden spills out of the penthouse and through the vines I see chandeliers and lamps. The books hang suspended without the aid of shelves. Even the floors are invisible. Everything is bathed in an amber light. I feel right at home but before I start looking for books, I try to find traces of the old apartment and in my mind I place markers: This is where we played. This is where his room was. This is where a door used to be.

I am watering the plants naked.

Installation

Twice I was humiliated.

The first time was when I came up to him and said, "Hey, can I talk to you about something?" and then his friends who were beside him started teasing.

The second time was when I got him alone and realized I forgot what I had to say so I started to make it up but he must've seen right through it and concluded that I was madly in love with him and had gone berserk to be so close to him. He said, "I'm so sorry. We can't be together!" Then he walked away and all his friends started hooting again.

So now I am walking away as fast as I can, trying to forget the swampy feeling in my heart I call shame. I enter and exit buildings, cross streets, cross bridges until I come upon what seems to be another building but what is actually Installation. As in Art.

Taped on the walls are scraps of paper containing lyrics of my favorite songs. Contents of a bag are spilled out on the floor and they contain what my bag contains. A closet filled with my favorite clothes. My favorite shoes on a shoe rack. Pictures of me.

I run around confirming that it is my life elevated to the realm of Art. Tacked on the wall is a little card that says "Title: Love Letter to Camille."

A love letter! I am giddy with excitement and run around not even trying to hide my glee. My earlier humiliation is forgotten.

154

it's the kind of hotel that will politely be called "quaint" but what it really is is too old and too dark. my key says 154. i walk up and down the hall trying to find it. mark finds his room and so does nicole.

when i do find my room (and it was right there -- how could i miss it?) it says 154 pneumonia patients.

so many of them in a room. all dying. all looking at me with resentment. their breaths raspy and their dull eyes watery.

i turn around and run to the hotel's lobby but slowly the hotel starts to look like a hospital. i see nurses, bed pans, food carts.

still i hurry, clutching my key.

home

i am still half-asleep. he sits on the bed and leans over to hug me. i am on my right side so i have to look back to see his face, his blue shirt.

"are you home?" i ask.

he doesn't have to answer. deep in my heart is gratitude, happiness, peace.

Longing

Because the rest of the house is still being remodelled, the four of us sleep in the master's bedroom. I wait for them to fall asleep and sneak out and go to my room to make a phone call. My room, dusty and messy, feels so comforting and I dust a small part of the bed so I can sit down and call you.

"Hey," you say. Your voice. My heart swells with longing.

Mood Swing

He questioned me, "Can you ride anything?"
Lord do you mean like your mood swings.
- Tori Amos

He doesn't like the food and it ruins it a little for me. These things I eat in silence: roti and curry dip, soup, callos, chili stuffed with cheese.

I order more of my favorite things wondering why I don't feel full.

He makes a face and I feel so much bitterness. I think, just moments ago he was happy. Why does he do this.

The restaurant changes and there are more people and before I can tell him what I really think he's gone.

Secret Cathedral

It's been so long that we both have long hair again. You're busy and I watch you patiently, thinking of all the things I will tell you. I want to tell you that I've gotten our money changed and that up the hill is a secret cathedral and that you should come with me because I want you to take a picture of me. I want to tell you about your groupies who didn't think I could see them. They followed you around and charted your every move. They giggled to each other and ogled you. I want ask you if you remember this girl who had a crush on you and was hateful towards me. I was always nice to her anyways but this is what I want to tell you: Today I told your groupies off. I told them to get lost because, hay, they were ugly like that hateful girl but I was just too nice to say back then.

Ah, here you come. I want to tell you that I love you and that I'm happy. And that with all this money we will see the secret cathedral and maybe run away.

Gorgeous, Gorgeous

Files, records, reports. Meetings, pre-meetings, post-mortems. I've never been so harassed in my life. (When was the last time I said that?)

I look at my hand. What is this piece of paper still doing here?

I run to the elevator. "Wait!" I scream and run and my short hair bounces up and down while I run.

Out of the corner of my eye I see him see me. He stands up and follows. He has that look. Oh he's so gorgeous, gorgeous!

I make it to the elevator and just as it is closing he holds his hand up to stop the doors. Something in me fires up. Like dynamite. Like coming to life.

He kisses me and I let the piece of paper fall to the floor. And everyone, I can tell, is jealous.

I dont know how but I suddenly lose control
Theres a fire within my soul
Just one look and I can hear a bell ring
One more look and I forget everything
- Abba, "Mamma Mia"

The Happiest Day of My Life

Grand pianos crash together when my boy walks down the street.
- Magnetic Fields

It doesn't occur to me what day it is until I am in the cave with Juvenile Selfish Brat. I am wearing my blue Bebe shirt and I can hardly see him in the dark and I am filled with so much resentment.

"Please get out of my life," I say and it comes out easier than I thought. "You're a Juvenile Selfish Brat. I hate you!" And then that's when I remember that it is the day I am supposed to get married. I wish him instant death and run out of the cave.

The car is waiting for me outside. I get in the back door and my groom is already there! And instead of my Bebe shirt and jeans I'm wearing a white little dress! With frills!

I don't know anyone in the car but it feels right. We laugh all the way to the church. He's so cute, my groom. And we talk about all our little interests and hobbies and he holds my hand. It's the happiest day of my life.

As soon as the church is in sight I ask him, "What's your name? I need it for the vows."

Everyone in the car laughs. I am laughing too. I don't know why but this feels right.

Late Girl in a Yellow Dress

I wore my yellow dress.
I was pretty but I was late.
I secretly liked it.

It was a meeting, no less
But I was dressed for a date:
I wore my yellow dress.

It was improper, I guess.
But improper was my fate
And I secretly liked it.

They told me I was a mess
And must step outside the gate
Because I wore my yellow dress.

I didn't succumb to the stress
Because I knew that I was great
And I secretly liked it.

I scorned them, I must confess.
But I rose above the hate
And wore my yellow dress
Because I secretly liked it.

Dolls

I can see the city from where I am.

My suitcase makes a dragging sound. I move hesitantly, trying not to look at the view that nauseates me. I enter the room and I see they've placed mannequins of people on chairs, to make the room look full. There are plaster heads, too, on top of tables.

They're just dolls, I say to myself trying not to panic. I sit tight.

Finally, they call my name and I am to board. But when I reach in my pocket, I don't have a ticket. I only have four movie tickets and they're all torn up.

Return Ticket

"What day is it?"

"Sunday," David says to my panicked face.

"I have work tomorrow," I say and I scuttle about gathering my beach things and I realize I don't have a return ticket.

I think it through. David is no use. "Call the airline," he says and goes out to surf.

I go through my things again. Then I find my class schedule and and form indicating that I have been missing all my classes and that my diploma will be revoked. I don't understand. I go around the room, picking things up, thinking of who to call, feeling shame and guilt at my irresponsibility. I imagine my fastidiousness will make up for my negligence.