The night comes on muggy and polluted by florescent parking lot light-- like the sun took ambien and is really only half asleep.
This is when it is time to celebrate. We find beer and pot and codeine and pool ques, and only look at each other in the eyes if it means it might move us closer to sex.
What can I offer the woman in spaghetti straps at the pool table, whose son just got sent to the can for a double 25 year sentence- for accidentally blowing off his friend's head?
Can I give her more than a cigarette?
What can I offer the delicate columbiana beauty, my friend, who was finally drunk enough to tell me that her ex held a knife to her stomach and that she "did what it took to calm him down." She say's that she is dirty.
God, what can I do to the guy sitting next to her, with a penis that is too hard to hear what she is saying,
groping her because he is addicted and doesn't know?
I shake him to his foundations. I stand him up when we get home, scream in his face, "You are a pussy. You are the most selfish person I have ever met. I hope you feel like shit- and don't funking tell me that you were drunk. Don't fucking tell me you were drunk. I want to beat your face inside out while you are drunk and can't do anything so you know how it feels, you fucking prick."
Then I leave. And go to my room. And shake on my knees.
She is beautiful. God damnit, they are all beautiful.
Jesus. I need you to be real. Because I love these people. I and I want to believe that they can change.
I want it so fucking bad that I am undone.
Today, in my day of blindness, I have learned that anger is the hope of a broken man. It makes the heart soar. This world is unacceptable. I don't care if you are a lie God, I am going to act like you are real, because once saw a face that said, "I love you, and I forgive you, and I am not going to stop." And even if that face was in my head, it has now become my face, and I wear it helplessly.
I love you. And I forgive you. And I am not going to stop.