Eleven-Sixty-Seven Continued

These are continuations of a poghem whose first portion appears here:

http://mentholuniversitypress.blogspot.com/2011/03/eleven-sixty-seven-poghem.html

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“Eleven-Sixty-Seven, Part II”

I don’t think I told you I was thirsty-
I think you asked, and I’m sure I said I was-
but, in any case, you said:
“well, let’s see what there is,”
walked across the hardwood to your refrigerator,
opened it.

I stood slackjawed- I’d never imagined
that anyone could have a refrigerator so full-
or containing so many different items-
as to be unsure of what was,
so
to
speak,
in stock.

Slackjawed- so that even
after you said:
“water, coke, wine, lemonade, orange juice- orange juice, or, I think, grapefruit juice, or something…”
it took me seconds
to ask for
a glass of water
with ice.

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“Eleven-Sixty-Seven, Part III”

When you wouldn’t walk with me- too cold, too far, you said, though it wasn’t either- we went home. You told me you were sorry for being such a pussy- you used that word- and I shrugged.
I told you to practice walking in the cold, further and further- half a block, a full block, and so on- not that it’s every really cold in San Francisco (I didn’t say that).

“Growing up, you know, I never liked tomatoes. Not at all. I liked ketchup, of course.”

“Well, everyone does. I mean, I don’t think that’s too rare. Too uncommon. I like tomatoes, though. And that reminds me, you have to help me move my tomatoes outside when they get too big for their pots- dig the holes in the back yard for moving them outside.”

“Mmm. Yeah, I will. They get big. I remember they got big when my parents grew them, and that was near Seattle. Do they get bigger in California?”

“Probably, I guess. Everything grows so well here. I mean, did you see my daddy's place? All the lettuce? And it would be even bigger if the bugs weren't eating it.”

“Well, growing up, I hated tomatoes. I’d never eat them, I’d pick them off burgers, out of salads. But I practiced. Gradually, you know. I forced myself to eat them, starting- probably two, three years ago. In college. I’d cut them up into tiny pieces, swallow them whole to keep from tasting them. Usually with some lemonade or cranberry juice or something. Not milk, obviously. And in a few months, I was able to take the flavor more. I started chewing them, started eating bigger pieces. Quarter slices, half slices, full circle slices, and now- I don’t love tomatoes, but I can eat them just like anyone else. Normally. I wouldn’t just bite into a tomato.”

“Oh, I would.”

“I could, though. If I had to. It’s about being polite. You go to someone’s place, you eat what they serve you. You could do the same with being cold.”

“I just- I’ve never done anything like that. I’ve never felt motivated to do anything like that.”

That’s why I can’t love you. I can’t force myself to, I can’t learn to. It isn’t like tomatoes. I’m not that strong.

Does it matter? We can still have dinner- I want to, still. I enjoyed dinner, enjoyed my chicken salad, even though there were tomatoes in it. Three circles of tomato, if I remember. They were thin. But that doesn’t matter.

I wish I loved you, I wish I could. Of course. But, gimme what you got. Isn’t that what’s written on the Statue of Liberty?

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Peas out y’all.

A few nights ago, I went to a party and ran into this guy who is just as into Bruce Springsteen as I am. I told him “Dude, this guy I went to high school with is dating Bruce Springsteen’s daughter.” He said “Woah, that’s awesome. I bet his daughter is hot, because he [Bruce] probably has a hot wife. And, I mean, he’s not a bad looking guy himself, if you know what I mean.” We then talked about Bruce Springsteen for 20 to 40 minutes.

Also, apparently Dustin Ha. is in cooking school.

V4L,

-A2