ode to aaron.

This is something I wrote at Governor's School.

Background: Aaron S. was a TA/C (teacher's assistant/counselor). I was ridiculously curious about him; he seemed really unfriendly and unapproachable, but occasionally would do funny or sweet things. Also, he had a black afro. Like, a real afro. But on a white guy. Anyway, he was supervising study hall one night, and he was reading this essay to us about the roles of women, and I misbehave so I was doing this instead.


Study Hall Reflections

you just like saying "sex."
don't trip over your words, we'll lose respect for you.

is the fluffy hedge of oddly dark hair
an expression of self?--how cute.
a Jew thing?--I know your last name. and yes, that's a stereotype.
an interesting counterpoint to the strong jaw and straight nose?
a complement to the large eyebrows?
...I wonder how you would look without it. which other features would take its place?
would you be nondescript?
perhaps that is the reason.

though I might think that one who holds so much value for every single human life would try to avoid that kind of self-aggrandizing tendency toward being a subject of attention greater than others.

you fidget. a lot.
bare feet twitch and cordorouy-clad knees bounce.
you tread the room and inspect light switches.
all that energy--
--and yet NO FACIAL EXPRESSION.

oh--another possibility for the 'fro.
you like to play with it.
large and surprisingly slender hands
pull and pluck and preen and pick
odd shapes in the springing curls
--Dr. Katz, Elvis, a few variations on the same, terribly disturbing Bozo the Clown.

I am fascinated by how you fascinate me.

intellectually...
you are thoughtful. philosophical. a self-defined Kantian.
introspective. politically minded.
and you would flip a coin when deciding whether to rescue 30 people on on side of a volcanic island or 3 people on the other.
"30 people are a lot more useful than 3; you have to think rationally."
"God, a lot of you are utilitarians."

physically...
you scare the hell out of me.
the rare smile seems to fight the rigid muscle of your jaw and looks awfully out of place
--a grim reminder that, no matter how interesting you are,
I can't look you in the eyes.

but your T-shirt says you like the Decemberists. maybe it's not a lost cause.

25 day countdown.

Here's my birthday wish list:

Avett Brothers CDs (any, preferably all.)

cheesecake

a professional massage

some super cute boots

a good mp3 player (like, 20 gb.)

the complete score of Gilbert and Sullivan's The Gondoliers

my new driver's license that will say "Under 21"

a cool, sunny day

none of the stress attached to senior year

someone to finish my college applications

no more Bishop's Ball planning

a creative outlet

a life like a raucous folk song with three part harmonies

and you.

all is healed; all is health.

we're singing "Sure on this Shining Night" (the Lauridsen) in chorus at school
and I just miss you so much because
I want a faith like yours that could move mountains
I want a shameless penchant for weird behavior
I want to change my hair three times in six weeks
I want to see everything through a Kodak
I want to sweat heavily to techno and not care
I want to smile and smile and smile for no reason
I want to discuss zombies that look like puppets
I want to read poetry out loud late into the night
I want to have an iPod loaded with classical music
I want to joke about the boundaries of sexuality
I want to redefine the word "home"

I want to lay with you in the grass and stare at the Raleigh sky and hear you say we'll all stay friends and feel the hot tears make slug trails down my cheeks.

miss ivy league.

So I want to go to Princeton.

Tonight I have to write a cast bio for the show I'm in.
What should I say? That I'm 17 and have no idea what I want to do with my life? That my car's name is Henrietta and my cat's name is Staccato? That I like the smell of cigarettes and gasoline and wet city streets? That I steal cookies from work and think about sex during church?