january in numbers & colors
by Marla
At the start of the year we watched
two lovely people vow to be true forever as I shivered in a red lace dress made
for a 13-year-old Spanish girl. I can probably be friends with a 13-year-old
Spanish girl, if she'll let me. In Paoay I bruised my hip repeatedly on a 4x4,
as billions of golden grains of sand stretched out before us and burrowed into
our shoes, our hair, the backs of our ears. It took a week for the bruises to
fade. We discovered it was too cold to swim. We shared two and a half steamed crabs so
fresh we could crack them open with our bare hands, their tangerine shells
crumbling underneath our fingers. A 12-hour drive in which I promised not to
sleep, but did anyway. You didn't mind. Three days and three nights in Singapore crammed with
roller coasters and good coffee and convenience store runs and subway rides and sudden rain and Chet Faker
and yellow chicken rice. Sam Herring says he tried hard just to soften someone,
and perhaps nobody should even have to do that, because we need skin that
doesn't crack open easily, doesn't fall apart at the slightest touch. I missed
you when I went away on my own, like I always do. It's been two years since I
stopped being able to see clear blue without thinking of you. There are 11 months lined up in front of us like pools we have to dive into. We will. It'll
be too cold to swim but we'll swim anyway. Try not to bruise ourselves.
Remember not to soften.
