c.i.

i have a memory of being in coney island with my dad when i am a little girl

i remember him drinking something with a lot of sugar in it

and the sand was probably cold then, too, people fishing on the pier then too, maybe and we just rode the ferris wheel together

i guess it was in the fall, i think it was early autumn

we were visiting my aunt and it was

just us

this memory is also a picture

i was very little and this memory probably wouldn't exist if that picture didn't

which is a scary, materialist thought but ah, what do we do about these instances but feel sad that they only exist because of a fucking picture but also grateful that they even exist even if it is because of a fucking picture

and i was scared of it and so was he but he acted like he wasn't

because he was my dad and he had to be brave duh

it is gray like this day

i am wearing an orange sweater that matches my hair

he is holding my body up off the ground

he is facing a person holding a camera

i am not, my back is turned

i am looking at the buildings

he is looking at the water

we are looking past each other

i am barely not a baby

i wonder how it would feel to be able to make your father a mix cd and know that he would actually listen to it

i wonder how it would feel to be able to have that kind of relationship with your father

or something

and my dad was bald and had huge black thick glasses

and wore a navy blue polo shirt and blue jeans

and a metal watch

and a wallet full of coupons

which he still carries even though we have enough money to probably not use so many coupons anymore

i remember the day my dad got fired from his job when i was two years old

when we lived in chicago

and my mom was so sad and so upset and worried

what were we going to do

what the fuck were we going to do

my brother said she saw her throw his briefcase out the window

of our fourth floor apartment

i don't remember that part

we were so fucked and according to my mom it was all his fault

when my brother talks about that sometimes my face gets hot in the bad way

i know he is scared of ending up like that

i know that is why his priorities are so fucked up

so we packed up our shit

drove around in the van for two weeks with nowhere to go

brushed our teeth in capitalist establishments

i remember eating peanut butter and wonder bread in the backseat

my brother traded pogs with the kids at school

we drove to missouri

where everything was cheap

we grew up there

where everything was cheap

when i tell people that i know they don't believe me

but that is okay

i don't need them to

i just need to never eat wonderbread ever again

and also to pluck teeth out of people's skulls and give them to homeless people with drug problems when they name drop all of their famous acquaintances over a nine dollar drink in my mind

when we were walking today you turned to me and pointed to a bald man wearing an ipod on his head

and said, "that is my therapist. don't look at him... walk slow... slower.... ok, good, good."

i said i didn't know you had a therapist

then you said very few people in manhattan don't have therapists

and i said yeah

we passed a drug store and a bookstore and an adidas store and then a furniture store and then about forty other stores

you hugged me in the subway and i know i will not see you for a long time

that is okay though i guess

you are a happy camper

you wrote something on a dollar bill for me to look up on the internet

and i am worried i will spend it before i get around to it

but then it will be my own fault so that is ok

most of the trees i have seen here are

leading roles in woody allen movies, or,

tied up with twine, pine, and range from 20-200 us dollars

and you can get your tree delivered to your place, if you want

ohio is going to kill me with trees

can't wait can't wait can't wait

Done