North Carolina

I didn’t go there for experience. Definitely not for the weather.

There was a boy and a girl. I was 18 and I wanted them both. I was there to build houses. I cared about building houses; they’d be occupied eventually by people who needed houses. So, under the cruel sun and the humid breath of North Carolina at any time of the year, I hammered, spit nails, longed for the shower at the end of the day. We’d retreat to K.,’s house in the research triangle — spacious, equipped with a fire pit out back, where we’d talk shit with each other.

I mostly kept silent — I didn’t know what to say. I just took it in, the silence, the lightning bugs triggering their brilliance on and off, the moon laughing. I didn’t realize what majesty I’d stumbled into. We watched “Donnie Darko,” and I thought I’d seen the face of gods, but he wasn’t interested. More hammering, more nails (no puns).

Eventually we drove back to New Hampshire, most of us never to see each other again. Yet the moment his eyes met mine with 80s perfect, as only they could be, and everything after… that I can’t rewrite, renarrate. It happened that way, and we both forgot.

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~ by Benji on May 5, 2019.

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