A Letter From a Friend

Dear Kameko:

Does every man snore like a Harley now? Did they always do that? I don’t remember them doing it when we were younger. They used to be like movie stars, all muscles and smooth skin and thick hair that felt so good between your fingers.

It’s funny how that all changes.

I’m out in the middle of some field, I don’t know where. I think it’s in Ohio. The grass is tall here, up to my waist, but I’m sitting down in it, and so I can’t see anything and nobody can see me. There’s some traffic over out that way someplace, the wheels buzzing like honeybees. It’s hypnotic. It’s what I need.

My nose hurts, K. I got it pierced yesterday and I think I scratched it in my sleep. Or maybe it’s supposed to hurt this bad, I don’t know. I don’t remember my ears feeling so bad when I had them done. How do people do their tongues? Or their nipples? I shiver at the thought.

That snoring chased me out of the motel room. It was either go for a walk or take my thin worn pillow and hold it down over Frank’s face until he stopped kicking and I could get some quiet.

Justifiable homicide, I think.

Do you remember that boy back in college? Parker? He didn’t snore, I can tell you that. I don’t think he even slept, actually. Every time I spent the night with him, I don’t think I ever woke up and found him sleeping. He was always awake, watching me, but not in some creepy sort of way. Or anyway, if I thought it was creepy at the time, he made me forget it about it in a few minutes of his hands on me under the sheets.

I miss Parker.

I don’t expect I’ll be missing Frank.

I don’t know how long after you get this letter that I’ll be showing up on your doorstep, K, but I’d be on the lookout for me if I were you. You always were what felt most like home to me, and sometimes home is something that I crave more than anything else on this earth.

Give me a place to start from again, K.

Keep a light on for me.



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  1. You are rather a port in a storm, dear. I’m glad for Alice that she wrote.

    • Kameko

       /  February 15, 2012

      It seems to be what I do, take care of the strays and the needy.

      Apparently, it’s my place in life.

      I suppose I can handle that.


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