you and me could always match
June 2, 2001 02:45 PM

So many boys. I've known. They always remind me.

Sometimes. I wax nostalgic for the boys and the times we had. And the fun of being one. Of them, that is. Of belonging in that way that boys do. The ease of that. The talk that flies. Fast and friendly and fiery. With drink, or with cigarettes. Or without.

Most of my groups of friends were. Are still, really. Groups of boys (men, now). The difference now being. Dating the ringleader, as it were. A much different acceptance than being one of many. Being ungirl, just one who belongs.

One who can also smoke with flourish. And drink straight from the bottle. Toss insults and compliments with equal affection.

The batting cage. My high school boys went to a batting cage. And, well. Swung at things. Mostly a variety of balls. And laughed and talked. Went home and drank beers and sometimes sang and danced about in that way. The way girls laugh at and not-so-secretly adore. We did that. They were my drinking buddies. Guys who would tie you to a chair and tape a stuffed bunny to your head if you passed out before the night was over. In a way that sort of said, we're worried about you. In a way hard to explain.

And once or twice. Okay, more often than that. I kissed or shared a moment. Which passed, relatively unnoticed. As it should. People who think men and women (boys and girls) can't be friends and leave it at that are living on a very, very shallow level. At least not getting something important.

Sometimes. I find myself prefacing sentences. Man... Man, do you remember? Man, you should have seen. Man, your perspective on Nietzsche is totally skewed. They were that kind of boys. Being among them taught me to argue loud and furious and open. Made me glib. Made me like German. All the cool intellectual boys speak German, don't they? It seems so. Why is that?

And every woman should have some boys like this in her past. Ones that make you understand everything that is good about me. With the way they talk. Handle. Survive.

My drinking buddies are scattered. Some near. Others so far I don't even know them. But. Now and then. I raise a glass to them. To the boys I knew. The men I know, or imagine they've become.

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