2016. Something I wrote a while ago.
“Teach a man to fish…” and he’ll know how to fish. And he’ll be warm for the rest of his lif-wait no that one’s about fire. Teaching someone how to not fucking die. Let’s back up. Little Hurricane has been my best friend since we were teenagers despite bad behavior, frequent disappearances, and a talent for getting into trouble. He has remained such because despite this I persist in the bizaree belief that he understands me, and he will -occasionally- agree with me.
1. I persist in the bizaree belief that he understands me.
2. He reminded me about this whole “being human” thing.
At sixteen it was apparent that active parenting had dried up years ago. When he asked how I was I shrugged. “I don’t know.” Kept asking. Made a point of asking me every day. I knew he was going to ask me – might as well have an answer. The question began to echo.
3. He takes the shortest path to his goals, and helped me do the same.
Unless there’s something he’s afraid of before he goes after it. Then he gives himself a pep talk it’s really cute.
4. We share.
5. We understand things without talking about it, and we isolate and resolve miscommunications.
6. No matter how badly broken or covered in fluids other person, they will always be treated with respect. Which includes being yelled at for the latest racket. Also he let me spit gum in his hand.
And number seven.
7. He’s a fucking weirdo. And we gotta to stick together.
*Unless he endangers the life of my offspring.