yes i am drifting

(this is for a creative writing assignment, we were supposed to try to make a single sentence last for two pages. here is my attempt.)

time for sleep now

For just three minutes, the duration of that song, I felt a tiny glimpse of fifteen-years-old creeping up my throat but of course I could never let you know that, the little more meaning I am urging behind this, like one of those situations where I can find comfort in Sunday dinners and you feel bad if I fall asleep because it’s here where the dishes stay in the sink all day and she is better at not listening, but it’s okay I don’t think I could take it past eight words anyway, that would be admitting to something, something only admitted near empty swing sets, when black cleats melt away into the oncoming stormy sky, something like how I’ve never paid much attention to your hands when you talk but I got lost somewhere above your left ear, and I swear I am not looking at the unfolding drama behind you, that might require me to say something, something only said atop a hill that’s too dangerous for skateboards, skateboards used by rebels who refuse to turn in their homework, this distraction is my rebellish cause, I pretend nothing is more important than grades, but I’ve been distracted for awhile, and anyone within a four foot radius hears the same song that I do, but I got bored just staring , or at least you did; I think it pressed a little harder, though I still have no idea what’s beyond your left ear, I only hope it’s the place where people sincerely wonder about your day, where the smells don’t surprise you, where more than just tattletales care about when you get home at night, where the steering wheel maneuvers just right to avoid the trash can in your garage, where they know where you’re going, where the same airplanes click up your blinds at night, that’s the place where the door won’t lock behind you, where the same constellations scatter your ceiling each night; here, you aren’t responsible for meals just drama unfolding out on the porch, somewhere behind your left ear, I wait here behind a dusty welcome mat, waiting for that muse that grants the right words but in the mean time I’ll dam it out in my brain long enough for it to become water for the bottom-feeders, washed out by newer three-month-and-one-day thoughts because that’s when the dam cracks and you learn more than what creates a gasoline film on the surface, each color drowsily swirling into the next because it didn’t get enough sleep the night before it has a hard time shifting positions without some narcoleptic fit, that’s what it’s like that’s why I don’t like to say too much about that street where the trees only get bigger and the smells vary from the chimney-smoke of winter to the sprinkler-wet pavement of summer, and I always wonder if the songs leaking from the cracks in my car, from the leaks in my mind wake the neighbors, I wonder if they shake their head into their pillows grasping at that last piece of stability the final cold spot on their pillow, they’ve already flipped it over three times but here I come it’s 12:54 and I promised 1:00, tambourines boost out my window and you’re reminded that there are no more cool patches left on the stained pillowcase but really I regret waking you up so I’ll roll up the windows and settle back into disinterest, to tires on cracked pavement, and maybe I’ll crack the window just a little because the clean smell of summer is worth this inconvenience, grass shavings stirred underneath blinking stoplights, straining springs on decrepit trampolines bounce me back to that freeze frame in my car when fifteen-years-old didn’t feel so far away and only sometimes do I leave the park without a word, because I don’t ever run much but I’ve run home from there, home to a smiled greeting or concerned reprimand, to the smell of cinnamon pumpkin and sports recaps drawling softly behind each resented lecture that I miss now when dirty dishes that remain in the sink, unfamiliar smells, and dams sealed shut all pat me on the head, and somehow I don’t think I will dread tomorrow.