Jesse and Mary drove me down to 225 Orange Street, Oakland last night.

We crossed the Richmond Bridge and it wasn't as beautiful as I had hoped for on this particular night. It was the Chinese New Year and a New Moon as well and I was flying the coop and there was something strange brewing all around and atop me. I danced in the car to shake off the negative spores sticking to my skin.

They helped me carry all of my boxed tangibles and a bicycle into my 1920's apartment, an extension of Chateau L'Orange. I am noticing now that it sounds and looks better than it felt. I put dishes into cupboards and became perplexed with having the never-felt-before responsibility of which drawer to designate the Silverware Drawer. I put Patrick Glendening's passport photograph above my thermostat. It was something that I had been carrying around in my pocket on my last river day as a good luck token, oddly enough. I had also been holding my bottle cap with a picture of The Egyptian Pyramids on it because it makes me feel like an explorer. I guess I wasn't explorer enough to find this bottle cap when it became lost in the jungle that is Jesse Strecker's car floor.

I looked at my two friends and I couldn't help but notice how beautiful they seemed standing in my apartment. I wanted to keep them with me for all of the night and I wanted them to make me tea and tell me about the fancy colleges that they are going to be attending next year. They seemed pretty excited about my apartment I guess. I was feeling nervous because I knew they were driving back home soon.

They made Macaroni and Cheese with soy milk minus butter no salt or pepper or salsa or nothin'. I wasn't hungry because it felt like the first day of first grade all over again but I ate it out of the pot with them because I figured that I was probably secretly hungry in the brave areas of my body.

Jesse tried to figure out how many beds I could fit in my place and then it was 8:00 and then we said our farewells. I watched them as they made their way down the walkway and when they were out of sight I closed the door. The click echoed into the ridiculously quiet place and bounced off of me for what seemed like centuries. I turned away from the door and faced my new life and breathed a deep breath because it was something Mr. Castagnola told us to do when nervous freshman year. It all felt like a test. Maybe even a final exam that was worth 97% of my grade.

Was I man enough?

'No', I thought as I made my way towards the kitchen to grab a knife. I carried this mean knife like an inherited sword as I scouted around and as I tried to memorize all of the light switches and creaks in the floor. I unpacked a lot of my things and put the rest into the closet.

I had no clock, television, phone, or computer. So, I closed the curtains and turned to my only expression of entertainment [diversion] which was a November of last year issue of Newsweek. I rewarded myself with some all-natural sleeping pills and retired to my air mattress and teddy bears to read about Good And Cheap Christmas Presents For '05. Every noise was magnified and I honestly became steadily more terrified. I doubled my dosage of sleeping pills and was dozing off when a knock on the door arrived.

______________


I didn't think he would come, but he did. Dedication? Obligation? Not sure. We walked around outside and I talked about myself and he talked about himself. Nothing new, but it wasn't the same nonetheless. I mainly explained my night at Patrick Glendening's house and how it had felt so familiar. Sophomoric. Sophomoronic. He listened to me and I remember wondering why.

While he was buying junk food in 7-11, I was twirling my hair. Some spectacle wearing boy came up to me and informed me that twirling hair is good luck. For some reason I was shocked and came off as rather rude I think, which I regret because I am sure that I will remember that information for the rest of my life or close to it.

We returned to my apartment. We sat on the floor and as I watched him he seemed to be steadily hovering miles away from me. I could see every word we had ever spoken to each other and every smile he had flashed me floating around us until I couldn't see anything at all anymore.

"I love you but I don't like who you are." was the next thing I remember saying to him and maybe the last thing I will remember as well. Either way, it was one of those statements that felt like a hot crack of lightning hitting me as it came out of my mouth. It wasn't false, I was only wishing that it were.

I smoked a farewell cigarette for some of the sentiments that were flowing out of me at a surprising rate. I heard him making noises inside and I convinced myself that he would open the door any moment to tell me that he was leaving. I decided that I would tell him "It's better that way", because it sounded brave and I would appear to be the lioness that I was most certainly not. I turned off all of the lights, save the Red One, and climbed into my air mattress. I thought about turning off this Red One because it might have been bothering him. Then the Faux Lioness Darah said "This is your palace! You may keep on any Red One you want!"

I wanted to thank him for coming over to protect me from ghosts and creaky noises, but I didn't in fear that he wouldn't answer me. That my words would linger heavily in the room and that they might never even go away at all.

In the morning I read all of the same Newsweek articles over again and opened the curtains. It took me a few hours to find his cut-off-key attached to my key chain. When I saw it I nodded my head because somehow I had already known. I wasn't sure why he had left the key with me. Some sort of statement I guess. What am I supposed to do with it? I took it off of my key chain and held it for a split second before it fell heavily on the floor. I don't like to touch it because it feels like I am holding his hand when I do.

I think I will continue wearing my key, although it will probably make me feel more alone than ever.
I had thought about taking it off all of the night before, but hadn't.

I wasn't very brave that night.

_______________


Today I rode my bike to the lake.

Everyone at Lake Merritt is a runner. The old, the fat, the slow, even the little asian school boys and the birds. I am not much into running although I've always wished that I were. I sat and watched everyone jogging by me and smiled in hopes that somebody, anybody, would approach me and invite me to their place for some scrabble. Everyone I saw looked like Isabelle or Aaron Quigley or Tara. I thought I saw pretty much everyone that lives in Sonoma County today. I kept thinking about Anthony's face when I last saw him.

I have never felt more lonely in all of my memory as I did today. I'm not sure how I am supposed to meet anyone or if meeting anyone will even make me feel better. I think I will stand on the street with whitewash and throw it on my neighbors and then invite them in for a bath. It's starting to sound reasonable.

I can't really tell you much about today as it was a blur. Let's just say I twirled my hair a lot.