You can't start a fire without a spark

Today I awoke with a mission. My anger with the boy has not subsided. My mission, therefore, was to find someplace that could chop of my hair and dye it black. This has little to do with the boy, and much to do with my own habit of matching my outward appearance to my inner emotional state. And that state has lately been much edgier than my basic red-brown bob was projecting. I wanted to do something drastic and bold. And I did. It looks badass.



Around 10:15 tonight, as I was in the drugstore picking up black hair shampoo and red lipstick, my phone rang. The familiar number belonged to that of my friend Michael, with whom The Boy trekked to DC to see a little American history and (most importantly) take in a Springsteen concert. I was accutely aware that this was where the boy would be this weekend, and reminded of it earlier in the evening by a couple of cryptic texts from boy. I answered the call, which had been timed just right, so that I would pick up at the chorus of "Dancing in the Dark". I really, REALLY, wanted to be at that concert. The Boss is one of those things that is very much wrapped up in my experience with the boy. I found it strange that Michael would call me during this song, but listened as he sang along with Bruce, screamed "I love you so much!", and hung up.

After I made it home, I sent Mikey a text, requesting a full recap of the concert when he got a chance. About half an hour later, my phone rang again, again Michael calling. I answered excitedly, "Hey, Baby! How was the show?". I was surprised to hear, not Mikey, but the Boy's voice on the line. "Oh my God, it was incredible. I wish you had been here." Uhhhh, what? I stammered out something that amounted to "why the hell are you calling me." It was at this point that The Boy revealed that it was he, not Mikey who had called during the concert. Well, that would make a lot more sense. The song has significance in our dsysfunctionally passionate relationship. I put up my prickly defensive shield, even as I was beginning to cry. Told the boy I hated him, which is untrue. I then listened as he marveled about the haunting patriotism of our nation's capitol. Not his nation's.

We talked about the "kings" of America, comparing Lincoln to Shakespeare's Henry V, his inaugural address to the St. Crispian's Day speech. We talked about the bittersweetness of Bruce, of his activisim, of his outrage at the current state of affairs in ths country, and of the fact that our generation does not have a voice like that. We talked about Vietnam, and Abbie Hoffman, and Martin Luther King Jr, and the utter disgrace it is for George Bush to be sitting in the White House, running this great country into the ground. We talked about the difference between the 1960s and now, our lack of a united voice of the youth of America. There is no movement. Everyone is in their own ipod-induced self-serving world. He said that now he understood why I was so wrapped up in Hair this summer. Where is our generation's Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, ANYTHING? We want to hear OUR voice - the voice of a young people who are mad as hell. It's not out there. Why? How can we become that voice?

Conversations like this, and like the ones that the boy and I have about art, and acting, and our place in this world are ninety percent of the reason that I fell in love with him. His passion for the things that I find important, and the eloquence with which he expresses himself make me want to spend my life talking with him. I've never had that kind of exchange with another person. Not in the same way. It is what I miss the most, and will miss the most if we do in fact cease to be a part of eachother's lives.

It was at this point that Mikey actually DID get on the phone with me, proclaiming his and the boy's undying love for me. I argued that I knew he loved me, but that I was pretty sure the boy didn't. He said his battery was going dead. The boy got back on the phone. "You know I love you. I love you. I just need to live my life." I replied with, "I am not keeping you from that. Call me tomorrow." He changed from dreamer mode to jackass-who-is-making-me-miserable mode in a split second. "Your messages have been really angry lately." Wow. "No, shit. I am angry. I can be angry. You're making me angry. Call me tomorrow."

"Yeah, uh-huh, ok. I will."

Good God. What the hell am I supposed to do with this kid? And what am I supposed to do with what I feel for him?

"You can't start a fire
sittin' round cryin' over a broken heart
this gun's for hire
even if we're just dancing in the dark."