them.
there are two of them. couldn't make them out. the orange glow of a cigarette.
i'm like a joke to them.
i guess they figure they can act like they want. they don't have to worry about me remembering.
maybe i'm making a mistake. maybe i just need to learn to live with this. first of all, i'll get over it. secondly, it happened. those who do not remember history are condemned to repeat it. who said that? churchill? i'm not sure. but i don't care. she did it to me. i have to rid myself of this. fuck her.
the pill was pink, i remember. it had some letters and numbers on it. what were they? al 1718? al something. four digits. i don't like taking pills when i don't know what they are. i have no choice.
it's too late.
clementine. i should just maybe talk to her.
maybe if i just explain what happened, i wouldn't have to go through this and i could tell you everything and it would be like you knew and we could rebuild and we could be happy again and.
that's your look for me.
oh, god. i miss her. i can't believe she's with that guy now! i'm never going to see her again. i love her so much. what a fucking monster she is!
i wasn't going to call her. not after the way she was.
it's bullshit. she's punishing me for being honest with her.
that's it. i'm just gonna--
i'm gonna tell her i'm through playing games and --
lacuna: noun. a blank, a missing portion, especially in a manuscript.
shit. the last time i saw you.
right! she called me an old lady here, too! and i remember, i said.
in the bookstore that night. the skinny guy.
is that like us? are we just bored with each other?
she's so sexy.
i'm terrified. i thought if i hung around the art room long enough, he'd go home and i could get my bike.
i didn't want to do this. but i had to or they would've called me a girl.
i can't believe i did that. i'm so ashamed.
on the couch. dark. quiet. i wondered if i had made a terrible mistake. i almost reached for the phone about a thousand times. i thought i could take it back, erase it, explain i had momentarily lost my mind. then i told myself we weren't happy. that was the truth. that what we were was safe. it was unfair to you and to me to stay in a relationship for that reason. i thought about clementine and the spark when i was with her, but then i thought what you and i had was real and adult and therefore significant even if it wasn't much fun. but i wanted fun. i saw other people having fun and i wanted it. then i thought fun is a lie, that no one is really having fun; i'm being suckered by advertising and movie bullshit.  then i thought maybe not, maybe not. and then i thought, as i always do at this point in my argument, about dying.
i projected myself to the end of my life in some vague rendition of my old man self. i imagined looking back with a tremendous hole of regret in my heart.
i didn't pick up the phone to call you, naomi. i didn't pick up the phone.
i hate myself.
i hope she's not up. i need to think.
i met someone tonight at a party on the beach. her name is clementine. there is something alive about her.
i don't know what to do about this. i've been feeling so alienated and numb lately. forever. the thought of not acknowledging my feelings again seems self-destructive. how can i continue on this path toward a living death, a life filled with obligation and guilt and responsibility but joyless, hopeless? i need to speak with clementine.
this is it. the night we met. my god, it's over.
the trip to the party where i met clementine. my first memory of her is now my last memory of her.
i remember being drawn to you even then. i thought, i love this woman because she's alone down there looking out at the black ocean.
i was so nervous. what were you doing there, i wondered. your hair was lime green. green revolution.
but i thought, i don't know, i thought it was cool that you were sensitive enough to know what i was feeling and that you were attracted to it.
and i just liked you so much.
the grease on your chin in the bonfire light.
no, it was lovely.
next thing i remember we were walking down near the surf.
i couldn't believe you did that. i was paralyzed with fear.
i didn't want to go. i was too nervous. i thought, maybe you were a nut. but you were exciting. you called from upstairs.