Strong Enough

This one's for Joe.

This time of year makes me think about you, and driving in the truck, and Roanoke, and Sheryl Crow. It reminds me of the Kings of Convenience, and remember that one time when Jonny and a whole bunch of people were over and we went to Jason and Tiff's apartment and watched Dawn of the Dead? And we laughed and laughed. Good old zombies.

Remember that time when you went out to the reservoir to run, and you sat down and had a zen moment and then the sun went down and you were lost? You came home and were so freaked out, and then you made me watch Mulholland Drive even though I didn't want to, that one part where the swamp man jumps out from behind the building and the guy just dies. And you took me to Henry's on my birthday. Joe, I loved that moment, I loved you then. I remember sitting in the bed of your truck, looking up at the stars, and talking about nothing out at that same reservoir. No, it wasn't nothing. You told me you wondered what the stars looked like in China, or Brazil, or Greece. How you wanted to see them, to get out of our dusty town in Indiana, and really do something great. Or maybe you should move to Jim's old place, where your aunt lives, and help her with the swampy alligators. Or move to Denver with me and Annie Zeller and live above a coffeeshop.

You know, I loved it when you came over and told me we were going somewhere. I loved you barging in my life, taking me to Coffee D'Vine, or Steak and shake, or the Seven Eleven to get mountain dew. And that one time when you brought me a slushy because I was sick, and loaned me CKY2K, because it was the best ever because it started out with a guy taking a crap. I loved when you came over, when I was sad and poor and lonely after Katie left, and started moving my stuff down to your apartment. And then two days later, when you sat on our sofa and laughed and laughed at me because I had to live with YOU now, and I couldn't go back to my old place because it wasn't my place anymore, and I was trapped with you. I loved being trapped with you. Do you still have our vacuum cleaner?

I loved laying in bed at night and talking with you across the room. Listening to you talk about books, or Tong Soo Doo, or God, or Nascar, or beer. It was all good. And waking up in the morning, hearing you across the distance on your mattress in the corner, farting and turning off your alarm. And the maps you colored and hung on the walls. And using the walk in closet to change. And getting mad at all of Matt's stuff all over the place. And believing in me, no matter how out there I got, because you got me. You understood when I needed to be pushed, and when I needed to be let go, and when I just needed to drive around in the dark and listen to Sheryl.

Last Tuesday I was driving home to Denver, and looking out at the stars. They look great out here, Joe. And "Strong Enough" still makes me think of you, and cry and smile all at the same time.