1. Wednesday, October 16, 2002

    me and brittany murphy were sitting in a tree. 

    k-i-s-s-i-n-g. she wishes. listening to the new nirvana song. their songs depress me, but that one depresses me for all new reasons.

    the wind shoved the leaves around a little and brittany tapped my knee quickly and said happy things sweetie, teeth grinding, mild perspiration forming as a light coat on the surface of her skin.

    talk about love. sweet love. love between two people on a starry night in the valley on the hood of a car in the parking lot of a super k after a softball game.

    i said i love you brittany because you’re not ashamed to give it up to papa roach.

    she laughed.

    her eyes were dilating.

    she said, i love you because you turned me on to that las ketchup video.

    across the street a white ford taurus backed out of a driveway. an american flag hung next to the mailbox of the yellow ranch style home. it was a pretty good neighborhood. hardly anyone was out.

    real love though tony, lets talk about real love. not music. magic love. lovey dove love. the kind dreams are made of.

    the kind that would get me to eat onions right now or listen to dave matthews?

    without warning, the sprinklers kicked in atop the front lawn next door, startling the starlet.

    a coyote howled of thirst in the canyon.

    a neighbor slammed his bedroom window shut.

    yes, she said, onion love. dmb love. lovey luv, she said into my ear softly and nibbled there like she had nibbled on an ear a few times in her day.

    the wind blew some of the sprinkler water high into the tree where we were and we decided that we should climb back down and get into her car.

    but the tree was fun. and now the limbs were slippery and the grass was wet.

    lets stay in this tree forever she said and i said fine and we held hands and looked through the branches at the moon.

    the whooshing had mellowed and the coyote had been silenced and everything was nice as the tree swayed gently in the night.

    then a bedroom window became unlatched and it slid up and an accusing voice yelled, “and get the fuck out of my tree!”

    startling the superfreaks.

    “now!”

    and the window was slammed and we jumped into the wet grass and the flight seemed long and slow and wonderful.

    even though it was fleeting

    like love, true love, on such a winters day.