They are returning to his homeland, where the streets are paved with jackin house mixes, Dan Higg's beard is on city council and the river runs deep with Old Bay's seasoning: Baltimore.
I stood in the back of the moving truck with my arms unsleeved, a skin-showing ode to today's high of 57, just doing a little softshoe to stay warm, a shuffle-step routine I picked up in Birmingham, AL, back, summer of '80.
They had decided it all a few days ago, and had been trying to ring me to tell me, but by the time they reached me, well, the announcement was "We're moving. To Baltimore. Tomorrow." So I went over to help, to gaurd the truck while they ran up and down the three flights piling the truck with everything they owned except furniture.
An eight-track recorder wrapped in a sleeping bag.
A medium sized pony from an amusement ride.
Buckets of house paint.
They piled it in, I would finesse and arrange it. I tap-tap-tapped in their abscense and thought about every time I move, I get closer and closer to getting rid of my cassettes. Am down to 10 precious cassettes documenting the moments of the nineties that still hold romance. Thought about every time I moved cross country like fire, ditching everything but my seven inches, my favorite shoes, my typewriter and my ferocious emotional calamity that was unebbing between the ages of 17 and 22. Remembered driving through New Mexico, en route from Minneapolis to LA, in the middle of the night, listening to Sonic Youth Evol, buzzed on the trucker speed that came with the van I was driving, overjoyed and scared shitless, because I had graduated from school the week before and now my life was wide open for me to really fuck up.
They left behind magic stuff I could not take: a collection of choir robes, a steamer trunk, ladders, a bag of butterscotch chips, raincoats and a curtain made from a wedding dress found in the trash. I did get a drawer, a tiara, some potted violets, all their tea, rice, garbonzo beans and nutmeg nuts, a collection of tiny jars they had painted the words "true love" on to and the backdrop from one of Roby's puppetshows that takes place in a foriegn land -- it's a handsewn tapestry of a downtown with a big red velvet castle. I was tempted, but I did not take their collection of corks.
I will miss them terrible, Rjyan and Roby, especially come summer, come bike weather. I will miss watching them being halves of the great thing they have become. I do not begrudge them the sudden move, as sometimes you just have to go. Sometimes you have to bail to the coast, even if you reason is "We want a bigger apartment with more sun light, for the plants and the cats."Posted by Jessica at March 29, 2005 10:34 PM | TrackBack