I might’ve been an actor, but the thought of that
makes my skin crawl. The proximity to other people
kissing a stranger’s mouth
when you don’t know where that mouth has been.
Rehearsing lines, and pretending to be somebody else
Rehearsing a job, and doing what somebody else
tells you to do.
Ambition, to be the person, telling others what to do
No—I would rather be a bum.
In high school, I was an actor, just once
and my plan was to be sick that day, but she called me up on the phone—the actress.
She had to find my number in a directory, somewhere. I don’t know how she got it.
She was direct, a go-getter
Her goal was to work for Channel 4 News
Her body was tight, and she was round in the right places
I liked her, although
she was way more intense, than I was
In bible class, the teacher would say something stupid
and we would look at each other
and laugh, quietly.
It’s funny, because when I write these words
I cry inside
I never asked her out
Not even at my 10-year reunion, when she touched my chest
and told me, “You were always so calm—like you had it together.”
I never felt adequate, and I still probably don’t.
She has a house,
on some island, close to Seattle, somewhere.
Now, she’s getting married, but that’s not the point.
We were in a movie together, in history class
Our skit was so good, they played it for the district
I was an old man, and she was my wife
I made her laugh, during our performance
It was on the Great Depression, but everybody was happy