It was an aimless midnight drive. Mixed CD playing loudly. The light rain drops hitting my windshield. Boys don't cry but we do.
Random thoughts in and out, in and out of my head. Like when Shakira sings in spanish, she sounds like Cher. Or why does no one realize that Christine Brinkley was stalking Clark in Vacation? Literally. I was desperately trying to focus on meaningless things.
I set out on this haphazard journey to be alone with my thoughts. The introvert's way of taking a vacation... from himself.
I thought about my longing for family and it led me to remember the ducks in the park. Mama duck leading her baby ducks in an organized straight fashion. But... But there is never a father duck around. And I found a certain appreciation for these single mother ducks trying to raise her ten babies.
The rain started to fall harder but parallel to the sky. Like bullets aiming for me inside the safety of my car. It really hurts how you treat me. I wish I wore a shirt before leaving the house. The harder the rain fell, the more somber my thoughts became. Boys don't cry but we do.
We've got nothing in common. Nothing to talk about. She might appreciate my Shakira/Cher connection and my absentee father duck observation.
It's been months and I swear... I swear, its like we never met.
I was driving in an upper middle class neighborhood. Gated communities. Orange trees. Basketball hoops in driveways. I was longing for something. I would die to just talk about the weather with her. I'm not even wearing shoes, I realized. Boys don't cry but we do.
We picked out our kid's names. Thank God I never tattooed her name on my arm like I once considered.
Before becoming too glum, the random meaningless thoughts flooded back. Hey, thats Jake Gyllenhall as Billy Crystal's 9 year old son in City Slickers. I saw that movie when I was twenty. Mitchie the Kidd is 39 suffering from a mid life crisis. I get it, Mitch. Twenty fucking years later and I get it. But the difference between Mitch and myself is I wont do a cattle drive.
The rain has let up some. Visibility is better. Clarity is not. Boys don't cry but we do.
I guess it's time to go home. At that very moment, I thought of my new celebrity crush, an obscure poker player, liberal, highly intelligent but remarkably absurd, former lawyer, Yale graduate 32 year old woman. I felt like some 13 year old in 1988 knowing every little detail of Kirk Cameron's life straight from the pages of Tiger Beat magazine. This is different, though. Maybe, not.
I dont have a twitter account but I follow her on twitter. I'm her Christine Brinkley, I suppose. She tweets:
Aheimveh (n.): the sensation of longing for home when there is no such place
Sounds jewish. I can't find that word online anywhere. But the definition sticks with me as I drive home. Still longing for something. Someone. I'd be happy to just discuss this rain or tomorrow's weather. She forgot about me.
Boys don't cry but we do.
