beast coast

I am absolutely alone in an empty bar, drinking gin while it rains outside. feels like Seattle, but it’s queens outside.
this morning I was in Boston, waking up on the spare mattress of a college friend, petting her dog atop her dog’s double-decker, window-facing throne, admiring her mother’s apartment: 10- foot ceilings, yellow walls, bay window (dog’s window) facing the street.

art too. books. I peeked at their tea.

Celia’s room was hot. Celia is my friend. good for her: she’s always cold. but my furnace runs strong. I went to sleep fearing sweat. I went to sleep fearing the tick Tick TOCKing of her clock right where her head would be, if she was tired when I was. how could she think? how could she breathe? when I was a little girl, a good little girl, I broke a clock that tocked too loud in a fit of sleep-deprived desperation. but now I’m an adult, and a guest, and can no longer break clocks on purpose.

I did however feel entitled to take the clock off the wall and put it in the living room. I strained my ears–can it tick through walls? then I did sleep. and I did dream.

I dreamt of gumbo diarrhea. as in, rice spewing out of my butt, and then sauce and roux and sausage and crawfish and okra spewing out of my butthole. all whole, unchewed, undigested, lookin good. I’m sorry to be graphic and gross, but that’s the dream my brain invented.

I haven’t had gumbo in a while.

yesterday Celia and I walked a lot–that’s why I could sleep. I’m used to bike-commuting up and joy-riding down the hills of Seattle, and the transition to Boston family visit–long drives and lengthy couchtime, lots of food and little energy burned–led to a few sleepless nights in my dream of a hotel bed. at least it was the coziest spot for thinking thoughts. I cried over an ex-boyfriend and tried to pick a fight with my current boyfriend (he’s unfightable). had some me time too. my wandering thoughts passed the bechedel test i promise.

yesterday Celia and I walked from Brookline to Cambridge. I just tried to google map the distance.. calculating.. recalculating.. her family said wow.

I ate a lemon-sugar crepe and Nutella-covered strawberries. we poked around some thrift shops and I bought a perfect sequin top. I tried on a too-tight high school cheerleader outfit but decided not to be excessively ridiculous. we saw fluffy seed pods and an inflatable Santa and a live jazz band.

today i walked a bit too. my 4 hour bus ride from boston back to ny took 7; we spent a while broken down at a gas station, where i ate a tim horton’s donut and jumped up and down. back in the city i didn’t want to climb underground and rush to astoria to do what? locked out of my friend’s apartment while they continued to work. so i decided to walk.

i walked from midtown to the 35th street ferry. i walked past a sample sale and pastries and pizza and $2 leggings and christmas trees. i saw a lot of things i would have liked to snap, but my phone was almost dead, and when it goes i die too.

i sat and waited for the ferry. i thought of the 35 minute ferry ride to bainbridge. i thought of the skyline from the water. i plugged in my phone and gawked at the view and 30 seconds later we had arrived. long island city is just across the river.

in long island city it rained, so i got on the train after all.

everything back east is easy. i can walk till i want to jump on the subway; i can easily find myself with friends. I can talk without thinking and interrupt without worrying and always laugh loud. in Seattle I’m petrified. home, or at least east, for 3 weeks, I’m trying to get this comfortable feeling into my body, deep into my bones, remember. REMEMBER, so maybe when i get back to Seattle I can act regular.


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About Emily Suggests

Pineapple rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. A sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of creams for a christian brother.

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