Tuesday, June 08, 2004
What About Excitement
This friend I had used to have this macho, insecurity thing with regard to me and a couple other guys. I'm not sure where it came from, but I'm probably as guilty as anyone for this complex to develop.
The way things stand now is: we always used to talk about . . . well, everything, almost. Hell, we used to talk about talking. But we never really discussed going to David City. Actually I can remember one time. Just the two of us in the car, and too much speed, and too much money on both of our minds. But all that went away for a while when we talked about going to David City.
And years later, after he'd gone, I knew he loved it there, even though he rarely brought it up -- he still had that division in him, thinking I was the same guy who would give him shit for going. And that's such a damn shame, because here I am, about to go too, and I'm excited about it. And even though we're going at different times, we'll still both be there -- you'd think we could talk about it without reverting back to that age of competition.
It's like I'd like to say to him to relax, that things can just be how they are now, without any worry that life is going to turn into some cheap movie version of a school reunion, but how do you tell somebody a damn thing when they've stopped listening years ago? They've just heard you speak, and put this framed picture of you over your face -- a picture from years before that looks a little like you, but younger and more outspoken. I'm left as something always a step or two less than that picture, but never different. The words I speak might as well be Latin. These days it's only the picture that counts.
The way things stand now is: we always used to talk about . . . well, everything, almost. Hell, we used to talk about talking. But we never really discussed going to David City. Actually I can remember one time. Just the two of us in the car, and too much speed, and too much money on both of our minds. But all that went away for a while when we talked about going to David City.
And years later, after he'd gone, I knew he loved it there, even though he rarely brought it up -- he still had that division in him, thinking I was the same guy who would give him shit for going. And that's such a damn shame, because here I am, about to go too, and I'm excited about it. And even though we're going at different times, we'll still both be there -- you'd think we could talk about it without reverting back to that age of competition.
It's like I'd like to say to him to relax, that things can just be how they are now, without any worry that life is going to turn into some cheap movie version of a school reunion, but how do you tell somebody a damn thing when they've stopped listening years ago? They've just heard you speak, and put this framed picture of you over your face -- a picture from years before that looks a little like you, but younger and more outspoken. I'm left as something always a step or two less than that picture, but never different. The words I speak might as well be Latin. These days it's only the picture that counts.
