Impermanence, man

a tiny story of diarrhea and longing

It’s sunny, per usual. I’m on my bike, hair flipping willy-nilly in the warm wind. There’s something real fucking magical about having long hair and letting it fly free as you tear down an open street. I’m serious, every guy should grow his hair out like this at least once to see what I mean. Girls are really on to something with this shit.

So yeah, I’m feeling good, ripping down Dysart on my bike, past the Chipotle that used to be a pet store specializing in exotic birds that mostly laundered money, and was a kids’ leather shoe store before that, which probably also laundered money. What kid in Phoenix wants thick-ass leather shoes?

I take a turn at the place that makes the best breakfast burritos in the city, and probably the world, for real. The only thing with that spot is you gotta be real careful bringing out-of-towners, ‘cause there’s a chance they’ll get mad diarrhea. A chick I met at the salt river once drove down from Holbrook for a lil’ romantic meet-up kind of thing, and I took her there our first morning, thinking I was on some real cute shit for that. And she did love it — she ate the whole burrito, no small feat — but then she spent the rest of the trip blasting my toilet to the seventh ring of hell. That really lets the air out of a love balloon, let me tell you. We never spoke again after that. I tried to reach out, but she blocked me. No hard feelings, I get it. Embarrassment in front of someone you don’t know that well is the worst kind there is; sometimes you gotta just cut your losses and pretend that other person never existed, so that version of you never existed either.

I’m trying to remember what her name was… Abigail? Alana? … and I nearly miss my stop. The CVS on Thomas, where I get weed from a high schooler named Kevin who works, like, eight fucking jobs, I’m serious, he’s so hellbent on getting out of his mom’s place in Tonopah. And god bless him, I really hope he makes it, I hope he gets everything he wants in life. I tell him every time I see him, man, you gotta stop selling weed. Eventually, you’re gonna get caught. It’s just a matter of time. Kevin just smiles, dimples for days – girls must go nuts for this guy – and says he knows. Selfishly, I hope he doesn’t stop. He’s got a hookup with someone at a medical marijuana shop or some shit because his weed is strong as fuck and way cheaper than if I got my medical card. I don’t like the idea of being on record having one of those cards anyway. I guess there’s hope AZ goes recreational now that CA did last year, which would be cool insofar as not getting in trouble and all that. But, shit. Then I’d really miss Kevin.

Maybe I’m too nostalgic. My roommates are always calling me a sap. I can’t help it. I miss everything so much, the second it’s over. Hell, I miss shit while it’s happening. There’s a word for that, isn’t there, in some language? I think I saw it in my grandma’s word-of-the-day dictionary one time. That feeling of missing a person while you’re still with them, or an experience while it’s still happening, because you know it’s going to end. Imminently. Sometimes it’s like, the happier I am, the sadder I am also. The impermanence of everything just kills me, man.

Like, last week, on the bus, I saw this young couple a few rows ahead of me. They were both on their phones, leaning their heads together, and the girl saw a video that made her laugh. The guy wanted to see, so she gave him one of her headphones and replayed the video, and he laughed just as hard, which made her laugh harder, which made him laugh harder, until they were both laughing so violently that it went silent, you know that kind? Tears streaming down their cheeks, rocking back and forth, holding each other’s arms so tight, as if they might laugh so hard they’d die, as if the only thing tethering them to this earthly plane was their grip on one another. Pure-ass bliss. I could feel it in my bones. I cried my whole walk home, thinking how I’d never see them again, hoping they’d never stop laughing together, but knowing they probably would.

My ex thought I was too sentimental. She said I left claw marks on everything, from gripping so hard. I don’t see it that way. I think of all the cosmic miracles it took for my ass to end up on this planet at this moment in time, and for what? To not feel every fucking minute of it? I think I fall in love with every person I meet, in some small way. And, you know what, I like that about myself. That girlfriend left me for a manlier dude who doesn’t wake up with tears in his eyes about the beauty of another day ahead. Which, fair enough. I could probably dial that back. I still get sad thinking about her sometimes, but I know she’s happier with him than she’d ever be with me. Loving someone doesn’t mean you get to keep them.

Anyway, the sun is down, and I’m home. Pretty sure I ate a bug while I was on my bike just now, open-mouth pondering this shit. Oh well. I got a joint to roll and a book to read. Might fuck around and look at the stars for a bit, think about how insignificant I am in the grand scheme of things.

Amanda! The burrito girl’s name was Amanda. Hope she’s happy, wherever she is.