It never thunders in Atlanta like it does in other places. I’ve never really heard it thunder here until a couple of days ago. And it’s thundering now, and also raining the type of rain that you really want to hear while you’re laying in your bed, like I am now. I don’t think that I just missed the thunder, or didn’t hear it or what have you. I’ve been listening, it just hasn’t been there. I’m firmly of the opinion that it just doesn’t happen much here like it does elsewhere. Maybe all the buildings and the concrete hold in all the sound better than the fields and the roads that we’re used to, so the thunder sound can’t travel around like it should. In the country parts, the thunder just spreads and flies.
Remember when we used to be swimmers and lifeguards and we had special thunder hearing ears? And the way that you can tell if a storm is a joke or if it’s for real and means business? Like how the wind starts to blow and the sky darkens up? That’s when you know. Lifeguards are better weather knowers than most. I can feel the storms coming fast in my bones.
That Sufjan song that we listened to this weekend makes me think that “my star in the sky” would be a nice thing to be called by someone.
I think you’re right about the bbq ribs. The bbq ribs were often stealing the show of our quick frosty Saturday of a roadtrip. It’s funny how you can know a person so well that you become entirely baffled by their standing in front of a deli counter, enraptured by its contents. Enter you, not knowing why I stopeed in my tracks to stare at pork bbq ribs in a deli case because you remember the time that we ate barbeque 5 years ago and then sat up in the middle of the night watching infomercials at 4 AM on a futon because pork simply doesn’t agree with me.
This one time we drove down a road in probably Arizona or some such state, and there we go, just driving down the road pell-mell-helter-skelter, and everyone driving past us tells us with their arms in their drivers seats to TURN AROUND like people do when they think they know best. Turns out that we were on a one-way, but how were we supposed to know? That was the type of town that didn’t have any signs on its one-way streets, and is only accustomed to regulars. Just like the restaurant we ate at in that very same town, where the servers knew everyone in the restaurant’s orders except for ours. Because we weren’t from around there, you see. We weren’t the regulars, and we couldn’t even pretend to be.
This is how I think of you mostly.
I love you more than Moses loves to bite a toe,