The Ones I've Loved
I'll miss you most of all
Note: The attached audio is a cover of the Fleet Foxes song “Featherweight” - vocals and [rough] mixing by me and instrumentals by Ivan Utkin. I hope you dig it.
MILE 0
A faint rain brushes against my skin.
It’s 288 miles to the cabin.
It won’t take long for their faces to appear; the ones I've loved and will never escape.
BLUE
You said: Call me Blue. You were all my favorite shades of sky and sea. Your eyes—disarming. Your eyes—like weapons. Luscious, thick thighs wrapped in a black latex dress. Silver skull-belt on tight. We only had that one night to ourselves. But we were never strangers, were we? We shared wine and empanadas. We talked about heaven and purgatory and The Smiths. And then… hands wrapped in hands. Moans. Fingers sucked. Moans. Sin. You said: Don't forget to sin. Sin is important. And I said: Here's a painting for you. These are my poems. You called me a brilliant writer. And I said: You're so beautiful that you actually make me feel handsome. You smiled and said: Thank you. I’m glad I could help. Kisses soft. Kisses fierce. Violent but still tender somehow. Shy, but always open somehow. I never expected to dance with a girl from Australia. You always knew who I was. Now you know my name, my face. But who am I? Really? Buildings dilapidated. Pupils dilated. It’s been over ten years since we’ve spoken. Yet, it still fucking hurts.
MILE 45
The sunless sky offers no clouds, no answers, but only the occasional crow. One bird circles, black wings carve the gray white. Another appears from nothing, dips, hovers and vanishes. Such beautiful shadows unshaken by the thickening rain. The rain: it begins as a soft patter against the roof metal. Grows into something furious that beats against the windshield, forcing me to ease off the pedal. I turn on some Chopin and let the piano soothe me.
GRACE
I was an East Coast kid that never dreamt he’d ever get to kiss a girl from California. Yet, there you were. Bright red lips on mine. Not one secret between us. Handwritten letters exchanged. Masks removed. Lives and identities exposed. Shoulders and back and long legs exposed, inviting. Smokey green eyes, inviting. Brilliant smile and brilliant mind, inviting. Nothing wasted. Especially time. I wondered: How could I fuck this up? And then I did. Pink toes exposed. Flaws exposed. Breasts exposed. I said: I am no longer afraid. Give me all of you. And I will do the same. Museums in the afternoon, red leather rooms, broken beds. Laughter. Bourbon. You said: I can't sleep. Stay awake with me. Airports. Manhattan. Vegas. Tokyo. I said: Do you think we'll ever meet again? I need to make love to you before you leave. You took my bottle away and said: Don’t let your disease kill you. Never stop healing. Never stop drawing. Never stop breathing. I wish I’d taken your advice.
MILE 90
My mood wanes from despair to frustration, and this shift pulls me toward the stereo. I switch over to Soundgarden and let Cornell's wail drown my thoughts for a time. When this isn’t enough, I leap into the deafening violence of Slayer's shred. The rain stops. The road is now a slick, endless black stretch; a split down the middle of the surrounding pines.
DAD
You said: Don't procrastinate or you’ll die with nothing but regrets. Gung-Fu and Jeet Kune Do. Brutal muscles and huge hands and frightening knuckles. Failing. Shameless. Falling down. Stairs. Flaming cars. You said: I did not bring you into this world to be miserable. Stop giving up. Broken bones. Blood. Flames. Poverty. You said: Cry only after they've taken everything from you. Birthdays are somber events. We're getting old, son. You said: The day you were born was the greatest day of my life. Palm trees and sand and forgotten tragedies buried underneath our crumbling porch. And yet: Laughter first. Laughter last. Laughter. Always.
MILE 134
The fog waves and flows toward me, gradually hiding the road like rows upon rows of heaving ghosts. A bronze station wagon covered in chipped orange paint dives in front of me; its bumper barely hinged and rattling. I swerve a bit, surprised by the speed of it all. A tired-looking boy with greasy, yellow hair stares at me from out the backseat window. And although I hope for it, he never smiles.
MOM
Madness. Television. Always on. Anger. Dead plants everywhere. Cracked, dust covered vases everywhere. Old magazines and newspapers everywhere. Plain white pills. A gray home with beige tiles covered with brown roaches. Cheap brown furniture. Always in separate rooms. Rarely speaking. Rarely holding. The word love is reserved to express the need for objects and not people. Broken lamps. Broken promises. Fear. A roof that always leaks. Rats. So many rats.You said: Fear is perpetual. Fear is inevitable. Night comes always and far too soon. You said: Discipline is necessary. Pain is necessary. Broken toys. Action figures missing arms. Firetrucks missing wheels. Always hungry. Always poor. You were always sleeping. Always dreaming. Always awake.
MILE 220
No cars in sight. I’m alone on the road. Finally. The maple trees beside me vibrate and shift from gold to red to orange and back to gold. I’m so close to the cabin. I press the pedal and smile as the engine responds with its satisfying growl. The big black square and four big black tires lunge forward across the mounting white. From here on, nothing but twisting, muddy roads and powdery tops of sprawling oak.
LILY
The pitch-black grief in her eyes, merciless and unwavering. Drawings of whales and stars conjured with small hands and soft pastels. Buffalo wings and fries. Too drunk too fast. Your first sight of snow. Running into trees. Small red houses with small ash white roofs. Beautifully small and beautifully meek features colored golden with morning light. To inspire her laughter every short day was to triumph again and again. We should have married at first light. At first fucking light. Before time had a chance to pull us apart, to tear away, to ruin. Sickness. Survival. Her grief, then my grief, now our grief. Waking and haunted. Asleep and haunted. Plain white pills. There is no escape from this love. Ice melts slow here—love grows fast. I said: Please come back. Please come home. Love. Awful, awful love. Lily, I’ll miss you most of all.
MILE 285
From behind the autumn trees, an indigo night closes on me quick and silent. I focus on the pale glimmer of the snowy asphalt and drive ever faster. I try to shake all the thoughts that cling to me as best I can. Failing. Faster and faster, I tear deeper through the forest, nearly convinced that at this wicked speed, I may discover death and escape my wicked life.
Logan, this is amazing. I love the portraits alternating with the drive and, as usual, the prose is devastating
I really love the imagery you use. This was very well written.