Scenes in the form of complaints become a passive aggressive means to an end 'cause maybe I feel or maybe I use as an excuse that we all need to get it out, huh. What happens if the aggravation burrows a hole in there, in the unknown depths of our inner selves? Will it rot us from the inside out?
I can't make the hot water work. The sink drips. I forgot the camera battery. Jesse's energy could be harnessed and used to light the world. I ask her if they discussed personal space at school. What? she says. Dad wants everyone to know it's turkey season. Wyatt has had strep and Mom is stressed. I have the couch and don't bathe for two days. Kim is Julie, the Love Boat Cruise Director and we are her ship but I keep trying to find a place to hide on the ship that is us. Rick wants to know what we're gonna do the last day and I explode into a million little pieces on a million mile bridge. Priscilla smiles, tans, reads her book. Slater and Shelby float sweetly around it all. Mark says, Whatever you say, Parker.
Then we're home but it took me a while to get here and I am not sure I am truly here yet.
Until yesterday when a friend complained with me. It was as if we used a small vacant lot of time and space to say all of the incredibly frustrating things we were feeling and we laughed at ourselves at each other and it felt good to laugh at it all.
This must be coming home.
You were missed.