Centuries of literature of people talking about how beautiful the fall is, how it signifies change, how it reminds us of last year, how different we are now compared last year- doesn’t deter us from saying the same thing outloud, in our blogs, over drinks:
This time of year.
I believed I had fallen into a time warp when it was one am an hour after one am and stumbling dancers fell into me at a party, and I became Far Away. A girl covered in cardboard and makeup asked me how I was in an accusing tone. As in “how are you?” The italics a stand in for meanness. Oh I’m fine I assured her and smiled, my fake blood stained mouth making my teeth more white looking, absurdly more alive looking dressed as living dead. And when I climbed up to the bathroom my heavily made up face in the strangers mirror made me see myself in my own coffin, make up overdone to cover up that dead look. The dead look on your face that you get when you are dead.
I trace my fingers all over your face, marveling at how alive you are. It seems I am alone in this sense of urgency, sense of wonder. I touch my hands with my hands- I am alive. I walk around in this body I talk to you. I have traits to mark me. But one day I will be under the make up artist’s wand, covering up my dead look.
And you, with your face. All of your faces. All of that energy, the raw glory of your body smells, the smell of being alive together, the weights we carry. The glory of sharing it all in a crude way. Make it more disgusting, make it closer, closer. This year, you see, so much has changed. This year the fall is so beautiful and my teeth are more crooked and my wrinkles more prominent and well, just so much. Has changed. and
I can’t believe winter will be here