When I stand behind the ice cream freezers at work patiently waiting for these little brats to finish screaming their orders to their pushover mothers, my mind wanders. As the turd is screeching about how he wants a bigger size or more than one flavor, I slip into a daze every time and I stare out the window and think about where I am, and where I want to be.
Where I want to be: Head underwater at Springmill pond. Swimming across the lake with Julie. Not wondering. Cutting all my jeans into shorts. Singing with all my favorites at Title Fight in July. In a car with Sarah and Johnny, singing terrible pop punk jams to eachother. In a tent with Amanda Martin in some dead serious woods. In a car full of my shit going to Chicago or Austin to live with Erica for a month or two or three or four. Disneyland. Jumping off a bridge into water (because all my friends are doing it). Whistling. I gotta learn to whistle first. Spitting into a cheap hotel pools after breaking into them with you and you and you. Starting a band (FINALLY) with Ryan Felton. Grandpa and dad's cabin on Sunrise Lake. Catching moths and lightning bugs in bottles but then letting them go to fabricate my sense of humanity. Feet on the dashboard, Morrissey dancing. Breathing in an ocean. Well deserved, fun bruises. Pretending to fight and just liking the touch. Phone calls with old voices. Dancing without clothes. High of 76. "I think I'll visit you at work tonight." Returned calls.
Where I am:
304 S. State Street, Ann Arbor, Michigan. 20 years old; 21 in a few weeks. Single. Okay with it. Broke. Thirteen dollars to last me an entire week...wish me luck. No hair. Summer. Went to the beach a few days ago and had the best day of summer, so far. Saves the Day stuck in my head. Empty apartment. Drinking grape juice from wine glasses. Best friends on the planet. Trying not to wonder where you are. It comes in waves.
Tomorrow is Father's Day. Wish you were still here dad.