This morning I woke up thinking about the kid who sat near me in my college lit class. He was hipster as fuck. Me, with my deeply implanted Iowa mentality looked at him with a natural curiosity. His shaggy hair and brown tattered vest didn't sit nicely in my well organized and detailed atmosphere.
I thought about how he was discovered that semester, drowned in Lake Laverne. It was early Spring. Still cold. Iowa State held the yearly polar plunge in that lake, a few days later they found his body at the bottom of it. I think about all those college kids who didn't realize they were swimming in the same pond with a dead body, or the swans, Lancelot and Elaine, who hovered around him those few days.
And bad thoughts bring about bad thoughts and sad thoughts bring about sad thoughts. A natural progression in the state of emotions.
I think about her with her raggedy shirt and polyester shorts, often colored in vibrant greens or even yellows. I think about the apron she wore when amongst the field of red strawberries. The deep red and brown stains on her clothing from the ritualistic motion of picking them out of the ground and wiping dirt across her pants, picking and wiping. I think about the way she would stand in the middle of her massive garden while I ran down to fill my tiny hands with the berries, and let the juices run between my fingers. I think about the way she'd watch me. I think about the way she must have loved me. I think about they way I would indulge myself in that unconditional feeling. Infallible. I think about the ways in which I miss her.
And sad thoughts bring about tears.
I thought about her in my car. I sat in that vacant condo later and let you mirror my actions, and my unwarranted set of emotions of the early day. Afterwards, I sat in my car and cried about it. I don't know why. It was brief. It was momentary. It was over as quickly as it began. Maybe I cried for her. Maybe I cried from your anger towards me. Maybe I just cried.
Even big girls have bad days.
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