shadow

well, admittedly, she said, it is thrilling to see how far or detached from yourself you can get and still manage to return. i guess that's why i do what i do. that's why i drink and that's why i smoke.
pot? he asked.
yeah. pot. cigarettes. i mean, i'm young. i'm carefree. so why not, right?
she took a drag off her cigarette. he watched the thin smoke escape from her dry lips and into the dry air, getting tangled in the simple design of the gate. he adjusted himself to a more comfortable position on the bleachers and tried to make peace with the sun which was bearing down on them now, in the middle of the afternoon, in full force. he tried to convince himself that he was benefiting from its cruel heat--that, if nothing else, at least he'd walk away from this a little more tanned--worked over/upon just as a grunt is subjected to many grueling physical challenges upon entering the service and enduring boot camp. it was a rite of passage, in a way. but to what? and for what? he didn't know.
so, tell me about literature, he said. do you like it? i mean, what are you hoping to do with such a--.
but the words did not come. they rarely did. it could have been the heat. it could have been any number of things, relevant, causal or otherwise.
with such a ridiculous major? she asked. i'll tell you what, i don't know. i really don't. i'll probably wind up at a burger joint or some crappy entry level whatever, but that doesn't really bother me. the time came for me to choose a major, a life path, one that would determine the direction of everything for me and i choked. i chose literature. because i like to read. if you ask me, it's too much pressure, you know, for someone to just sit down, especially so young, and decide the rest of their life depending on how they feel on a particular day when they're eighteen.
yeah. he said. but you had a few years to think it out.
true. but, all the same, how the hell am i supposed to know what kind of job or, heavens, career, i'm going to find rewarding or fulfilling or distracting enough when the only jobs i've worked are shitty waitressing jobs. how am i supposed to know, to just know, when i'm 17 what i'm going to find enjoyable at 27 or 37 or 47 and so on and so--.
i don't know. that's a good point.

...later....