Gin & Sprite Nite

My days have been pretty dry lately, but tonight I poured myself a gin and sprite, and played a few rounds of drinking card games. Eventually, people passed out or left to pass out on their own couches, and card games abandoned, the New Yorker and I had a rare real, one-on-one intimate chat. You know the kind I'm talking about- open as a prairie, comfortable silences planted here and there that solder the bond rather than tear it awkwardly asunder. The drinks and the cards reminded me of my summer at Pi Kapp, and I found myself sharing back-burner memories with him- my rooftop nights at the house, my childhood piano lessons where we learned to play rummy, swatted at house flies with rags, salted slugs in the garden, ate peanut butter & honey sandwiches, got experimental haircuts and flowers painted on our nails. Later, we took a break outside on the balcony where I sat with my guitar and played a fingerpicking rendition of Greenday's Time of Your Life. After he left, I continued playing, though it was a frigid night, and my mind drifted to my summer nights at the Snug in Seattle, right before I left for Iraq, where we stayed up all night belting out House of the Rising Sun. Singing Landslide with an intoxicated heart woke the latent longing for something special, all the while knowing that everything, no matter how special, is fleeting. My mind drifted to one of my last nights at home in Tacoma, where I'd lain on the rooftop alone, counting shooting stars during the Perseid meteor shower and wondering what lay in store for me. Love and memories, mortality, a touch of sadness,...this is the gin & sprite talking. Tomorrow, I will take a randomish road trip to Rawanduz, and my thoughts will settle once more in the present, and this night will be but another memory in the back-burner of my gray matter as I fly against the mountainside on a rollercoaster and scream and stare in awe at the formidable view.