Lobos

I woke up to a strange memory of cuddling a girl.
Her name was Luna, and I barely knew her. Somehow she was associated with my brother’s friends, who continued to come around even after he had left for the Navy. I guess they were hanging out with my then step-sister. Maybe they were hanging around with my mom too, saying hello and things.

I don’t remember how she ended up at my house. I have some other, completely separate memory of her that may or may not be linked to how she ended up at my home, in my bed, being cuddled by me. In that memory, we are at the house of one of my brother’s friends. Maybe we were drinking, or maybe we were smoking pot, and maybe it was Luna’s house. There was a roof that we had climbed onto, from a small transom window, high above the floor. A beautiful, enchanting song was playing, and it was a lovely moment, being inebriated and dropping back into the apartment from the window, at a towering height, landing on a large, soft brown couch. That moment in the air lasted eternally, and was one of those moments that I imagined I would make into a music video some day, if I ever ended up being in the position to.
I turned to the nearest person to me (which was Luna) and asked what band was playing, and she told me it was Modest Mouse. I guess I was 15.

Maybe she drove me home that night. Maybe it was some other night, but she was at my house. Maybe she had been drinking, and she didn’t want to drive home. Regardless, I remember she just marched into my room, like we were best friends, and got into my bed. When I got into bed next to her, she pulled my arm over her like a blanket, and held my hand like a teddy bear. I had never cuddled a girl before. I had also never cuddled a woman before, which is really more of how I should describe her.
She really was beautiful, in a hippified sort of way. She had long black hair, and a slow, spacey way of speaking, and didn’t strike me as particularly smart. She wore flared pants, and flowing shirts, probably to hide her large, sloppy, womanly breasts, one of which flopped over my arm while she was sleeping.

I lay, frozen next to her, wondering what this meant to my adolescence (because I was painfully self-aware of being young, and often in strange, youthful, awkward situations), and finally succumbed to the moment. I don’t remember the morning, or if I fell asleep with her clutching my hand between her breasts, or if I pried my arm away from her grasp before I fell asleep. And as it turns out, it didn’t mean anything to me, until today, when I began my day with the memory.

Post-script is that a few years later I dated a guy briefly who had been roommates with Luna. He and his roommates had written a clever little rhyme about her to sing when she moved out:

“Good-bye Luna,
We won’t miss your poon-a,
It smells like tuna.
We’re glad to see you go!”

Maybe they were mean, or maybe, if I were inclined to feel anything strongly about that night, it should be relief that our friendship lasted only one night.

Anyway, instead of talking about anything recent, I’ll again just post a million pictures of things that have been going on.
Included:
Visits from friends
Wedding showers thrown by friends (thanks Holly!)
Beach visits with friends
Look at art quietly near friends

















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