i hate pauli girl
February 8, 2001 03:03 PM

I bought myself some beer, too. Can I come over and drink with you guys...

to follow it
you must be clean
with mistakes that you do mean

If I had a dollar for every time I heard that one. I would have a semester's worth of days worth of dollars. But I should start at the beginning. At the dark and mysterious ones. The Nick Cave-listening blue-eyed Scottish girl of my dreams. The wispy blond tomgirl whacknut. My oddly named cross-dressing minister's son friend. And the boy who charmed everyone.

cause i threw out all the whys

I remember a night's abortive attempt at breading eggplant with his girlfriend (the blond one) and the girl who wrote a character in a play based on the way I said "fuck". No, really. She did. She also suggested that we sniff pixie sticks when we were sitting outside someone's middle school. Because we weren't, apparently, hyper enough.

She sang a song about it. About growing up and staying a kid. It's subtle. The song she sang:

lewis is coming home
lewis is coming home
lewis, oh lewis
lewis is coming home

He reappears later, with the club of boys who run naked around the lake. The lake borders a highway, which, as I remember later, featured prominently in a sarcastic "truth" acting piece earlier in the story. He reappears and comes to my place. He lies on the ground at an outdoor show and begs me to let him hang out with me. And he buys the beer. Tries to improve my girly taste. This boy who is so much cooler than I am.

it's here i'll be with you

And I do. Let him hang out with me, that is. My circles blend across towns. He draws people to him, has a crowd of boys who worship and obey without recognizing it. My best girlfriend adores him. He buys the beer. Did I mention that?

if the birds can reach the sky

A few times we really talked. I think I fell asleep on his shoulder once. But I was generally dumbfounded by the boy's coolness. By the intellectual romance of playing chess and smoking on the sundeck.

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