I am thankful for Natalie because she cares about life, about all the little things that make up this adventure,;the flowers and the blackbirds and mason jars and slippers and long walks and short summers. I think she knows that life is a story, and looking back to point out all the beautiful things that made it grand, she'll know she did just what she wanted to. I see it when she gasps and begins to swerve and scream at the sunset, when we're on the freeway and I hang out the window and let my hair down, and all of the sudden she's crying because life is beautiful and I mock her because I love her.
We lived at The Castle, again, and I hated it because this was the second time I was forced to live in that birdhouse. But as time went on, I realized they may be birds, but I was the crazy one. I wanted to live anywhere else, but probably because I wanted to live on the west coast, so nothing would make me happy anyways. Eventually I loved it. Sometimes my love and hate run together. My adventures wash over some of the harder parts of life. We were moved in, but I never really moved in; I kept my stuff in boxes in the closet and I slept on the floor.
One night I was off work and bored and annoyed, and she said we should bike, so I went with her, and realized she was right. I rode my beautiful blue Crusoe, and she rode Molly's little green bike, which was a squatty little bike I referred to as the Toad. It was meant for a short person and had a perpetually low back tire. So we laughed and I laughed at her and she yelled at me and offered to trade bikes. The sun was setting, and we had a little light left. She suggested we get a movie, so we rode to Jackson then to Blue Ridge road, to the redbox up the street and there was nothing, and when I say there was nothing I mean there was nothing. The redbox was decapitated and lying in the grass. Grandview shit. So we kept biking. Heading down Grandview road, the sidewalk is cracked and sinks and is uneven. We sped past a little house, with an old woman out front. All of the sudden, I saw a sea of movement around her, and realized they were cats. She was ten feet away from the sidewalk, and I decided not to yell anything. Or maybe I was just speechless. Why the hell would you have thirty cats? Natalie rode twenty feet behind me, and I waited for her reaction. The gasp. "Hope!" she yelled, "To the left! To the left! Do you not see this?!" I was breathless with laughter. My legs hurt from pedaling and my ribs ached from laughing. I could barely speak. "Yes, I see the cats!" I yelled, still laughing. That poor lady, she must have been scarred. But that's her problem for being a cat lady.
We biked down main street and I was reminded of a night last spring, before Natalie left for camp. We had biked to the Baileys at sunset, on crumbling Blue River road, to drink out of the garden house and say hello. We found flowers on the way, lilies growing behind a fence in front of a little house, by the dog pound. I think sometimes in life the beautiful things need to be stolen and that's that. But this night on main street, we watched the sunset and circled through parking lots and I wanted to go and see Him so we crossed over the highway. Into the green village apartments, we walked through the back wooden gate. It's latch is black and shaped like a shark. I used to live there, but I don't like thinking about that month of my life. Those feelings always kept me from visiting. I had second thoughts, and wanted to wait and see him another day. Nat told me I was afraid, and need to get over the shame and go anyways, but I guess I couldn't yet. We walked our bikes along and argued. When the discussion turned into a fight I was angry, and almost cried which makes her cry so we left.
We went separate ways, she biked on one side and I on the other. We went to bed silent, Natalie in her bed with the white comforter and me on the floor with my orange sleeping bag. Sisters.
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