What Comes Spilling Out

Me and Arhea originally wanted to go to Standing Rock, but time crunched in on us and instead we had to bust our asses from Ohio to San Francisco in time for my friend’s wedding and her paying gig. In the end, we had no time off the road save two nights hamming up all the sweet tourist deals we could find to cruise Las Vegas in whirlwind style.

Both of us were leaving behind a heap of dissillusions to the east as we zagged wearily west. Arhea had been having an especially rough go of it and during the long hours whipping though the desert in my gold prius, we soothed our souls with music, reaching out to the artists we love to both articulate and call forth the feelings we had no words to express.

We got started talking about our first concerts and how we had found the bands that would hold our hands through every heart break and guide the decisions that gave shape to our lives. We walloped a revival, visiting the ones we hadn’t hung out with in a while: the real cheesy ones, the angst angry ones, the true troubadours who had been with us in good times and bad. When we got to Blink 182 Arhea laughed remembering the sad song she used to listen to over and over again.

“Which one?” I was driving, horizon glued.

“You know, the one that goes, ‘dededum, dededum,dededum.”

It all came flooding back to me. There is was in perfect wholeness, the notes, every lyric, the meaningful pause and the way you can hear a human touch hammering down on the chord in the opening verse. We rolled down the windows and sang out like we were in a movie. By the time we got to San Francisco, I managed to convince Arhea to climb up to a perch on Bernal Hill, lovingly dubbed ‘The Point’ by my friends, where we used to go to drink bottles of Cisco and share in the same moodiness. By the time I was old enough for The Point, I was already old enough to begin hiding the fact that I had ever liked Blink 182 in the first place. My fellow punky, newly minted teenagers were simultaneous attempting to do the same.

Now, over a decade later, I am here to revel in the feelings my younger self. This time I am here to dance the mood free from the isolation that nourished its roots- all wiggly and as sloppy as can be, tickled simply to be out in the open with dear friend.



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