word #2

minute

I was on the porch, writing poetry by peach streetlight. I was not expecting the new neighbor who creaked through the door and followed the sidewalk, bare feet and all, to where i was sitting, in all my affected glory, complete with sketchbook and mismatched socks.

"hi. i'm mark."

mark was born in England. he was an engineer working for the same factory as I was. on the weekends we washed our cars together. at night we ate chinese and watched kung fu. He bought me Trout Fishing in America, the Pill versus the Springhill Mine Disaster, and In Watermelon Sugar.

I had never heard of Richard Brautigan, except in a Sean Mullins song. He published his last book around the time I was learning to read, watching television that was "brought to me by the letter f." Richard Brautigan, in pictures, reminds me of Billy, in memory. Billy was my mom's first husband, wild eyed and blonde hair.

Inside the front cover were written the words, "Amy - I hope our friendship lasts forever. Christmas love of '99 - Mark."

I can tell you one thing with certainty about Mark Clark. Our friendship did not last forever. It slowly rotted and disintegrated, and the pieces vanished from existence. I found that book when I moved to Nashville. Forever is a strong word.

If you've ever stood motionless, upwind of a rotting friendship, maybe you, too, find comfort in the minute places of memory: notes on origami paper tucked under doors, the smell of Tuff Stuff, "This American Life" playing on the car stereo on Sunday afternoon, eating pasta at a low square table, legs crossed.

downtown walks. coffeeshop talks.

Sometimes, after a long day at work, I would knock on his kitchen window. Mark knew with a look the kind of day I'd had. "Let me get my keys. We're going for a drive." On the cool October nights, he would turn on the heated seats and open the moon roof. He would drive up the hill, higher and higher, until the lights of downtown were only a glow on the horizon.

"Your only job is to look at the stars, and the moon if you'd like."

On cool clear nights, I'll still be found outside, looking up.

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