El Scorcho

1am on Friday morning. Stepping Stone Cafe. Milkshakes and malts with good friends. Pinkerton is playing on the house speakers, and I'm waiting for that certain song to come. My sister's landing in a matter of hours. I have the next five days off of work. The year is ending. The year is beginning. My thoughts are moving in and out of the depths and the shallows, the wides and the narrows, the joys and the sorrows. My heart is moving with them. Everything feels like one thing, and I feel infinite. Then the song plays. El Scorcho.

Goddamn you half-Japanese girls
Do it to me every time
Oh, the redhead said you shred the cello
And I'm jello, baby
You won't talk, won't look, won't think of me
I'm the epitome of Public Enemy
Why you wanna go and do me like that?
Come down on the street and dance with me

I'm a lot like you so please
Hello, I'm here, I'm waiting
I think I'd be good for you
And you'd be good for me

I asked you to go to the Green Day concert
You said you never heard of them
How cool is that?
So I went up to your room and read your diary:
"Watching Grunge leg-drop New-Jack through a press table..."
And then my heart stopped: "Listening to Cio-Cio San
Fall in love all over again."

I'm a lot like you so please
Hello, I'm here, I'm waiting
I think I'd be good for you
And you'd be good for me

How stupid is it? I can't talk about it
I gotta sing about it and make a record of my heart
How stupid is it? Won't you give me a minute
Just come up to me and say hello to my heart
How stupid is it?
For all I know you want me too
And maybe you just don't know what to do
Or maybe you're scared to say: "I'm falling for you"

I wish I could get my head out of the sand
'Cause I think we'd make a good team
And you would keep my fingernails clean
But that's just a stupid dream that I won't realize
'Cause I can't even look in your eyes
Without shakin', and I ain't fakin'
I'll bring home the turkey if you bring home the bacon.

I'm a lot like you so please
Hello, I'm here, I'm waiting
I think I'd be good for you
And you'd be good for me

I'm a lot like you.
I'm a lot, and I'm waitin.
I think I'd be good for you
And you'd be good for me.

And I'm singing along. And half the cafe is mouthing the words. And smiling. And I'm remembering when that song was given to me. I'm remembering who did the giving. I'm remembering the good times, the beginning. I'm remembering myself. I'm seeing myself, now. And I feel infinite. And I'm sucking down that malt. And thinking about my sister. And thinking about Portland. My town. And I'm thinking about love. My love. And it feels infinite.

Missing

Missing family, who I know miss me dearly. Not missing so much what they do for me, but more what I know I do for them. It's so easy to make those who love you happy. Just be there. On the phone, in an email or a letter, and whenever possible in the flesh. Just be there.

Missing friends, new and old, near and far. Away for the holidays, some. Others living elsewhere in the world. A few, simply not around. Missing some who will return. And some who never will. Missing some who will return, but not return the same. Missing some who are gone forever, and missing some who will never be gone...not for me.

Missing connections. Missing the links that build the truth of things. But missing fewer and fewer now than before. Missing the warm hope that ignorance can breed. Missing what it was like not to know the truth of something, or someone. Wouldn't change it, though, no matter how much imaginary sweetness there'd be. Make it right and make it real.

Missing the mark, but not by much. Missing the thought of emptiness filled. Missing the me I ought to be. Missing the trust I used to have in that. Missing that drive to become. But missing it all with silhouetting pegs of white, waiting to throw a few reds out there...maybe sink a battleship. :)

Missing a time when everything didn't try desperately to remind me of something else. Missing the people that only remind me of themselves. Missing the real ones; the intimate sight of someone's heart laid open and beating. Missing that realness and exposure. Missing the gentle hands and eyes and ears and words I use to soothe those hearts and work them back to a strong and healthy rhythm.

I am missing so much right now. But this missing is teaching me to find again, just as failure teaches me success, and losing teaches me how to win. My life is defined right now by this missing, this absence. It makes for the aches. But it's good pain. It's good because it shows me what I have, and what I am beginning to have. It shows me what is lost, and why it had to be lost.

Missing the point? Not for long. Not anymore. Does a heart blossom in winter? Mine will. Mine Will.