Distopian Dream Girl
I would do the stupid thing... ✨
I saw Built to Spill in the fall of ’06 at Higher Ground in Burlington, Vermont. From away, a few weeks into my freshman year at UVM. I didn’t last. I knew it right from the start. I knew it as I walked down Route Two to South Burlington past the Ramada Inn and the Texas Roadhouse, stoned and drunk on Stella with the tall girl from Manhattan who told me she was related to a founding father, or was it the one who would only make out with me to Cruel Intentions. Hard to say now. Time is a concept, and life is a blur.
I hightailed it out of that weed cloud as fast as I could. Back to New Jersey, where nothing could hurt me. Nothing gold can stay. The only kid I met up north got snapped up by the cops for dealing cocaine. Hook, line, and sinker. Rumors were that he was caught with a key and got ten years. I never believed it, but I also never saw him again. Lost to history. He was from New Jersey. Irvington. Maybe Maplewood. He felt a bit like home to me.
I went to a frat party with him once. He walked on air down the halls and high fived the brothers with bag filled palms. Carpets soaked while sneakers trampled and the cracking of Solo cups. Remix to Ignition in a concrete basement, bouncing off the walls in an echo. Glowing in the dark. It was something out of a movie, slow motion smiles and nods all the way down the hallways. Scorsese would have slowed it down and soundtracked it with a tired Rolling Stones song.
I left that party alone, dizzy, with a frozen face and a yearning heart. Can you make it real? Make it more than reel. More than just feel. We are on a ride. Pushing myself forward by Distopian Dream Girl rattling around in the cavern of my empty, numb skull. I knew I had to get the fuck out of Vermont. This is not what dreams are made of.
I get an uneasy feeling around hills or mountains or whatever you want to call them. Big rocks. The woods is not it for me. When I enter the Catskills or any place like that where people drive to peep leaves, I feel a great sense of darkness. Dread. Something heavy and lurking. Like a mountain of wet leaves pushing me down into the earth. Strangling me to a cold and breathless death.
I want the great wide open. Long open beach with the sun blaring on burning skin. Sunglasses leaving raccoon eyes. I would even take a wide open field. Everything out in the open. Vermont caved in on me with its fall colors and burning green. The bowl caked.
I heard Built to Spill in the car yesterday as the rain pelted down and the wipers picked up speed. I wanted to press down on the gas harder, past the speed limit on the slick, potholed river road. Snapping out of it, I parked the truck, killed the ignition and the song, and brought the groceries up the stairs and into my quiet home and the safety of my dream girls.
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Stuck the landing! :)