phoenix {rising}
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Arrival
<<2005-08-22 - 11:11 a.m.>>

Day-before-yesterday, walking through Washington Square Park with Chloë after a Fringe Festival show, we talked about in love. Other people (my mother, for example) attribute in love to me ("You'll have to excuse her, she's in love"). After a difficult conversation about the inevitability of Portland, Ken says, "See, this is why I didn't want to fall in love with you." Chloë says that she had a "romantic baby moment" with Arthur. Anthony's girlfriend flew to Scotland to propose. And we do damn-fool things like ride the Circle Line at sunset (kissing in front of the Statue of Liberty; hair whipping in the Hudson's winds). There is something about this I do not get, like, Is this how close to the world I was the whole time?

Meanwhile my sister packs for college (I am her best friend, she tells me, folding size-sixes, because there was no one else whom she could have called crying at 2 in the morning because my father came home drunk and trying to talk to her about her life—I was ascending the Skyway into Chicago and told her to stay in her bedroom, watch cheerful television rather than "Gia" and call me in the morning). And Chloë is being followed around the country by a smitten, literary clout-wielding 41-year-old. We wonder when Arrival descends. When we learn, This is the way it is going to be. This is enough. But she likes the 41-year-old's flattery and generosity; I have trouble discussing anything that can be linked to evolutionary psychology with Ken. In love?

But the Mississippi river; the hidden beach; Millenium Park darkening and the LED display-fountains coming into glowing relief; a motel in Ohio; sushi at 11 and then waiting for the bus.

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