15 years old, Like a Rolling Stone: my lonely Florida bedroom- the next morning I was crying at the breakfast table and Maija, my best friend, put her thin arms around me.
16 years old, Hurricane: headed to the beach in Evan's mustang convertible. I was home for one day between Duke writing course and Canada. Everything: fleeting.
17 years old, Crazy Love*: dancing in the wet Spanish street with Judy and Melanie.
18 years old, Don't Think Twice, It's Alright: cooling my feet in the columbia river in oregon, talking about what college would be like with Maryl.
18 years old, walk of shame in the early AM through the Michigan diag, Mr. Tambourine Man lifting the ends of my mouth.
18 years old, Subterranean Homesick Blues at the Debs coop and falling in love with a boy who owned no things. Drinking forties and watching Don't Look Back.
19 years old, sinking in a clawfoot tub in Paris, holding my breath and pushing my head under, Lay Lady Lay playing on the stereo.
20 years old, sprawled on the floor of Evan's beach house, listening to Just Like a Woman while he painted a tidal wave on the living room wall.
21 years old, in Santiago, listening to It Ain't Me Babe and thinking: I agree, I agree.
23 years old, The Man in Me: Pete singing to me lightly, in his low, steady voice. Me trying to memorize how his body felt against mine.
24 years old, Girl From the North Country, me: missing someone.
*a version w/him, van morrison
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
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