But I'm not about to review the album, mainly because I don't know any of the song names. In fact, I haven't spent the time committing them to memory, because I've been too busy running through sand and bars and young men's hearts.
But I know Beach House like I know which spot on my bed sinks down. Or where I hide a twenty dollar bill in my wallet just for safe keeping, but never meant to be spent. And always, out of the entire mess of my car, I can always find two mismatched socks to accompany my work shoes.
Beach House reminds me of that night I spent commiserating my misery to your in-tune ears. That night when I was down on love, thinking that I had once again been burned and beaten, you put Beach House on repeat on your Itunes. You literally wrote out who and what was bothering me like a pie chart. You listened. I sulked. You listened. I cried. You listened. I wanted to take a bath.
And that bath I took. And I read a book that you had given me. And you lit a candle to keep me company. And you made the toilet an armchair where you then sat and kept me company. And I kept the shower curtain closed, because I was still sad, but didn't want you to see.
Now I write in my own armchair in someone else's house. The family I live with is having dinner, but I have work to get done. My first official paid writing job where money that I've never seen in check form is waiting on the horizon... But I'm distracted from everything. Because also on the horizon is this little place called California? I think Sandra Bullock lives there, maybe some cute guy named Leo too.
But they don't matter right now. Because I have this vision of driving there. I'm in the passenger seat with the windows down and my hair's kept tucked back only because I'm resting my head in my hand. I'm smiling, admiring you. You're happy. It's a real happiness that I've been getting used to since you started to free yourself from all burdens. You're you again. And I'm trying to believe that he's here to stay for a long while.
I silently pray that the trip itself is only our satellite launching point. We are about to sleep under stars in states where they have one-way dirt roads that lead to the only bar in town where women with big, unpregnated bellies drink straight up Jack and flirt with hunky men with tangled beards and hearty laughs. We'll have neighbors at campgrounds, some being wanderers just like us, and some being families of seven that will cast distasteful looks at us the next morning as their ginger kids run raggedly around the campsite. The mom will be frustrated and running on little sleep, and the dad will secretly applaud you for banging such a sexy chick. We've seen this before, and we both are happily complimented.
Whenever we arrive at said-destination, the fun can't end! I scream this internally, because I can see the patience drying up.
"Welp, sorry kid, that's all the patience he's got, and it's all used up. There's not a refill station in sight for another several years." "Shit," I curse myself. I should've seen it coming...
But then a different resonating voice steadies my racing mind.
"Honey, if never take a chance, then you'd just be hanging out in the regular world. Your trip is just starting. Your traveling the country and landing in an unknown apartment with just an air-mattress. But you have adventure at your fingertips and a good heart filled with stories to scribble on bar napkins, just like your old friend Jim did. And look at all the poems and songs and words that he created that people still admire and sympathize with. So relax. And trust. Never lose that thing about ya, kid."
I breathe a sigh of relief. Nothing's ever permanent, but you two will be fine. You both are seeing the world differently and seeing each other in different shades of light. If you compromise and selflessly live, you will grow into one another.
... but I can't pretend I'm still not nervous. Just in case, let's make a mixed tape of Beach House. I feel like it'll be perfect for watching the Western sun set in the desert of Nevada, or some other state that we have yet to meet.
