rosenberg, party of two
July 13, 1993 02:23 PM

He said we couldn't handle the truth. He left, and we laughed at him and were two.

We would use his name in restaurants on waiting lists. And the clever waiters who knew us thought we meant Julius and Ethel. But those were not among the pet names and aliases we gave each other. The ones that told the contents of your letters before I opened them, filled with illustrations of the inside of your head like Griffin and Sabine.

you i thought i knew you

That summer had been filled with angst and lying on sofas and chasing flashing blue lights. I must have had a constant headache from your constant thudding with the back of my seat in his car. How many times I wanted to take you by your cherubic curls and hurl you out a window into passing traffic. Even if you were much, much to large to conveniently fit out the window. Not a gerbil at a stop sign.

you i cannot judge

I wonder sometimes if it matters that people read this and don't know which you I speak of. And if it needs some sort of cast list to differentiate you from you and you and you and you. The last you.

I remember sitting in the parking lot talking about how we thought everyone had a little variance in their sexuality. And I thought maybe we all started from the middle. I don't remember what you said, but I know he disagreed.

you i thought you knew me

He must have thought he came that way. And maybe I came mine, too. But you thought you were made. I remember you told me that later. And wonder if you still think that way. I think maybe we're all made, and no one comes any way.

But I don't know.

We talked with so little experience.

this one laughing quietly
underneath my breath

And he sprang up from the sofa after a beautiful movie. And he said "you can't handle the truth" just like that other movie I never saw when we pressed him to talk.

Then he left, and we were the same.