I started Crossfit this week. No one told me there would be running involved. I just thought I’d throw a tire around. I am not a fast runner. I am slower than your grandma’s 1984 Buick with four flats. In high school I ran cross country. No matter how slow I was there was always someone slower than me. This photo was likely taken my sophomore year of high school. Running was painful, but not as painful as Crossfit.
In honor of my birthday last week, this is me on my 18th birthday at the giant party my parents threw (with a DJ). The nose ring is fake, but the Meg Ryan “City of Angels” perm is real. Not shown: leather pants from Goodwill that took two of my friends to zip me into.
Brian’s Portrait (c. 1998)
If I had to paint your face
My fingertips would be the brushes
I’d start with your jawline
with four-o-clock shadow
And move to the arc of your smile
Trace soft lips stretching upward
I would not forget your dimples
Your strong nose
That has been broken countless times
Or your liquid eyes
Reminding me of my morning tea
Before the milk
And your blonde lashes that frame those brown pools of intensity
Then I would paint your smooth eyebrows
Meeting with your broad forehead
Your shaved head with three weeks growth
Would be last
Since I cannot recreate the softness of a baby duck.
You can stop laugh-crying now. It’s okay. Now you can see why I never sold my adult romance novel about the lawyer and the librarian.