Monday, December 06, 2004

Mohawks y Corazons pt.1


A lot has been said and done since two years ago when I was just returning home from hundreds of miles south of the border. From crawling in the Andes and puking on the cobblestone. Two years and my shirt is still snagged on your barb wire fence.
We met at a tourist club in a tourist town in Peru. The club gave out free Cuba libres after ten pm in exchange for the promotional cards that they passed out around the city. I would collect these free drink cards during the day and then redeem them each night, making the rounds to every bar/club that offered to get me drunk at no cost.
The first time I saw you, your hair was dyed bright red like ribbon candy and your eyes stayed focused with a predatory tint. I was like a weeble wobble for ten minutes feeling like the fate of the world was resting on my next move and all I could come up with was to ask for dance. We went through two songs barely talking, just laughing while shaking our hips. I knew from jump, that I was totally and utterly in love but I kept it hidden as best I could, though I'm sure some leaked out through my smile. As we danced the company I kept grew antsy and wanted to roll out. You came along and I could barely walk I was so proud to have you by my side.
We talked till the morning and I asked if I could kiss you.
We began to build our kingdom on plans to meet and the torment of simple mistakes that can't be sorted out until after the damage is done.
We spent the next three days always planning to meet and almost always late, coming very close to missing eachother more then once. I swear I still have scars from all the anxiety beat-downs I suffered every time it seemed like you wouldn't show.
We laid upon each other in shitty rooms to cold for sleeping and kissed till we were sick. I fumbled with your antique bra hooks for minutes that felt like hours refusing to admit defeat.
For four days I expected an ambush from the other shoe. I waited for it to come crashing down, I scanned the night's sky for it but it didn't show. And then you left to return to your mother in Lima and I left for Macchu Picchu where my friend was waiting. I tried to call again and again but couldn't figure out how to use the pay phone calling cards. I returned to our city and felt so lonely that I didn't sleep. I started thinking this was it, a size 9 chuck taylor, it had floated down and the catch was that I'd probably never hear from you again. A week went by.
And then you wrote me and we began to crawl to the mountain tops and sing. I didn't think you'd write. I could've walked through walls the first time I read your words, I could've dunked on Shaq.
We kept talking as I continued to travel up to Columbia and we started calling each other once I returned home to the states. You were back in school in Germany and I was bracing against the frozen winds of Vermont, spending it all to hear you practice cursing in English and to get all lovey dovey in my broken Spanish.
I bought a Plane ticket before I could afford it. I worked two jobs and did some babysitting on the weekends. I had a hard time finding music I owned that actually talked about how kick ass it is to be in love. Most of the CD's I own are all about how kick ass it was, or how it kicked the singer's ass, or how the government sucks, or how thugs kill and get rich, or how lonely it all is. Very few CD's in my collection said "hey love is awesome and this time it'll probably all work out and there's no way it could crash and burn". Very few of my CD's said this because it's bullshit and I have a hard time singing along to bullshit.
Anyway I was a crack addict of love and spent my off time walking in the freezing cold down snowy dirt roads, improving my Spanish and struggling with the epic want of you. I'd lay in bed at night and repeat every kiss we had until I swore I could almost feel your lips. I'd call you every other day and though there'd be no new news to share the conversation never dulled. You believed in me and cared about me more openly and with more passion then anyone had in a long time. I wanted to fuck the world up every time I felt it'd done you wrong.
The holidays passed and the deadzone of winter went by with me always working and us running up phone bills as my departure date got closer and closer. I knew soon I'd be in Germany and we would see what we would see.
I headed down to Boston a few days before I was supposed to leave. The ground was thawing, my Mohawk was gone. I put on my Deadboys t-shirt and on the same day we invaded Iraq, I boarded the plain for Hamburg with your voice ricocheting off the walls of my heart and my head.
"You will sleep in my bed, of course you will sleep with me."