A bi boy and a bi girl get into a car. He plays Trance and she lets him because it’s his car and, anyway, the best part about him is how he can create oblivion and make her, with no effort, live in the now. She, who is the ultimate sobriety, planning, worrying, waiting for her ship.
Under her seat is a bootleg bottle of tripple distilled. He’s got the mixers. In an ex-Nestle water bottle, he mixes the two, hands it to her and resumes driving. She drinks most of it.
This is her life – in certain, long moments. The drive at night, the loud music; the car swerving, and stopping at a shop for cigarettes and gum; he flirting with five poor men at a top; she smiling and loving it, and him, for that moment; a lonely park; a slow walk through roses; a laugh at the cliche, we’re such a typical date, man; another drink in the car; a snog under streetlights; and she drives back home.
It’s the oblivion. It’s how one man’s raw, intentional energy and one woman’s refusal to let anything of real life enter here, makes everything else not matter on the promise that it will matter again tomorrow. It’s how what she worried about all of her young, overly conscious years of life, the this-will-never-last, is the greater joy. It’s how longevity is for fools.
I always thought I would hate it, because it was how I began. But I find that I’m loving loving in corners and under streetlights and the dark places of my world.