What Happens When a Poem Goes Through the Washer
I was doing laundry earlier. I pulled my favorite jeans out the dryer and noticed a lotta white fluff coming out of the right pocket, so I reached in there and found a washed-up faded bit of paper. I had to think about what it might’ve been for a moment. I thought it may have been just a receipt from one of the bars we went to on Saturday night. But no, this was lined paper. College ruled. Then I remember that it was, in fact, a poem I wrote about Evie.
Saturday night was a real mess. Or at least I was. We all went to the bars on Old Gates Street, and by “we” I mean the Fairview Crew. You see, we all live on a street called Fairview; Me and the guys live in 603 Fairview and Evie and the girls live in 605 Fairview, the house right next to ours. Since we’re all friends and go out and do things together sometimes, we call ourselves the Fairview Crew. And on Saturday night we got together and decided to have an excursion of sorts out to Old Gates Street.
At the first bar we went to—Bowie’s—all the TVs had the U.T. vs USC football game and I remember getting a good little chuckle from watching on my phone my English professor tweet about the Longhorns losing. The Fairview Crew and most everybody at Bowie’s were standing around watching the TVs and hollering after all the plays, but I was at the bar standing next to Evie. “I’m gonna match you tonight,” she said.
“Really? Alright. I’m gonna order a shot of Jameson,” I said, turning to try and get the attention of the busy bartender running around behind the bar. I gave him our order and before soon he placed our shot glasses down and Evie and I each picked one up. “What are we gonna toast to?” I asked as I turned towards her, glass raised in hand. With a big smile she said, “To NO more kisses!” I let out a little laugh then looked down towards the wooden bar top, away from her. We’ve kissed before in the other semesters and they were supposed to be both secret and embarrassing and all, but I was feeling a little brave that night. She was the one who brought it up, after all. “Listen,” I said, “I always have a lot of fun when I kiss you. I always have a good time—”
“Okay, to MORE kisses then!” she shot back before I could finish.
We smiled and laughed and started to raise the glasses to our mouths but before we took the shot the bartender gave us free glasses of pineapple juice as a chaser. Then Evie and I took the shot, chased it, and then smiled at one another. No kisses yet.
In the next few bars we drank more—cocktail after cocktail after cocktail. Evie and I started getting a little more comfortable with each other at this point. As we were walking from bar to bar, we bumped into one of Evie’s new guy friends—a guy named Cole. She introduced me to him but I didn’t really like him. He didn’t feel genuine but Evie said he was the prettiest boy she’d ever seen.
But at the last bar, while all our friends and Cole were seated at the table, Evie and I walked up to the bar so that I could order two glasses of Jameson mixed with cranberry juice. As the bartender started to mix the drinks Evie leaned into me and gave me the first of many kisses that night. And we kept kissing right there at the bar and out of sight of our friends until it shut down. Then Cole caught sight of our last kiss as he tried to herd us out the bar. You see, Cole was sober—he hadn’t had a drink the whole time we were at Old Gates. So he offered to drive us all home, which works out real well since we’re all neighbors and he wouldn’t have to make two stops. But after Cole saw Evie and I kissing, he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her away and out the bar. I was a bit stunned. I stood there at the bar for a bit, remembered he was my ride home, and stumbled out the bar behind them all.
That car ride home was awkward as hell. Cole had a sedan, but all of the Fairview Crew had a hard time fitting in there. To save space, Evie sat in my lap as we drove home. I can’t say it wasn’t a damning sight—everybody in the car must have known something was going on between the two of us, especially the driver, but I can’t say I cared much at that moment. I could smell the shampoo in Evie’s long hair and it made me feel nice.
As soon as Cole parked his car in the 605 driveway I jumped out of the car, into the house, straight to the fridge, grabbed a cold Shiner and stepped back outside before the rest of the Fairview Crew could even manage to get out Cole’s car. Listen, I was too drunk at this point, too drunk to control myself, too drunk to make any good decisions. So I saw Evie standing there on the lawn between 603 and 605 and I walk up to her and try to kiss her again, beer in hand. Then Cole pushed me away, shoving me towards my front door. “Get the fuck inside!” he yelled, making sure to heighten the profanity. I think he was trying to push me into 603, but I was too drunk and fell over onto the lawn and spilled all that Shiner on my shirt—you know, the blue one with the little floral pattern on it? Evie saw all this and yelled at Cole. I don’t think he felt sorry about it at all. Then I saw her rush inside to 605 and she came back out with a little pink cloth in her hand and she picked me off the ground. Actually, I’m pretty sure I managed to pick myself up because there’s no way little ol’ five-foot-five-inch Evie could hoist me up—but she did grab me by the arm and lead me back to my room in 603.
That pink cloth actually turned out to be a T-shirt. A Dr Pepper Shirt. It was pretty soft. She told me to take off my blue shirt and to put on her shirt (thank God I can fit into a size small). I did all that but then she told me to lay down in my bed. She was tucking me in. I was still pretty drunk at this point, but I lean towards her one last time. She just laughed and said, “No more,” in a soft kind of way. Then she told me she was actually seeing Cole. She hadn’t told the Fairview Crew about it yet and she wasn’t expecting him to show up at Old Gates.
I may have gotten upset, or I may have just been too drunk, or maybe I just didn’t want to deal with any heartbreak at that moment, but I finally passed out at that point.
Sunday morning I woke up with the Dr Pepper shirt on and with one hell of a headache. I looked out the window but the sun wasn’t all the way up yet, it was all kind of grey still. There was no doubt: I was hungover. So I got up to grab a glass of water from the kitchen—I should have been drinking more water while at Old Gates—and I took a peek out the front window. I saw Cole’s car sitting there in the 605 driveway. Then I went back to bed. I could still taste and smell all the sour alcohol in my dry mouth.
A few hours later, while I was still lying in bed, Evie came over to 603. She opened my door, only slightly, and tried to wake me up. I ignored her. Maybe she just wanted her shirt back. I can’t think of anybody that wouldn’t miss their Dr Pepper shirt, especially one so soft as the one I was sulking in. After a few moments she closed the door lightly and I waited until I heard the front door close behind her—you know how our walls are super thin. Then I thought about it all for a while and wrote the poem. It went:
You open my door and whisper softly:
Kaz
Kaz
Kaz
But I stay laying in bed,
My back towards you,
My face towards the wall,
Breathing quickly because
My heart’s pounding
I pretend to be asleep,
Playing dead because
It’s easier pretending that
I don’t love you,
Easier to pretend that,
If you walk into my room,
I won’t want to see you smile
Hear you laugh
Watch your hair
Catch your eyes and
Want to kiss you
Sorry, that won’t happen again.
With that last line, what I meant to say was that I wouldn’t ever kiss her again. Then, today, I remember my blue shirt was still sitting in my dirty laundry bin with all that beer on it, so I started doing my laundry. I’m just glad I didn’t completely ruin such a nice shirt with a beer stain. As for my jeans with the washed-up poem, I gathered all the little bits of paper along with the rest of the lint and threw it away.
a young writer from the lone star state 