On a date with the ghost of Christmas past

I said idealism is just stupidity putting on a brave face. I said words are just the way a brain aborts a thought. I said there's no such thing as truth and we're so busy looking because we're cowards shirking blame. You put a beer in my hand and look how invincible. Of course I wouldn't say these things if I believed them. Somebody asked how I met her and I wondered which story I should tell.

This was me surrounded by friends in a backyard on the hottest day of the year, which yeah that record would get broken every day for a few weeks. She was against the fence with a few other women, like lined up against the wall in junior high outside the bathroom before the first bell of the day. Social strata and all that. We were all sweating out in the scorched-earth suburbs where the only shade was manufactured because nature wasn’t part of the development plan. It takes dedication and a certain stubborn denial to say that this is the way to live.

I said what. I said we were planets set loose from a dead star and drawn into each other’s gravity. I said we met at a bar. I said we were going to meet in five minutes when I got the nerve to go over to the fence. I said our lives moved in every direction, forwards and backwards and crosswise and that asking me to explain was a pretty dumb idea because I was trying to get drunk here. People cheered and held up their drinks and we toasted. I choked it down.