Forgetting and Teenage Anarchy

It’s easy to forget. I wondered sometimes how many of the world’s problems would be fixed with simply forgetting. What if we forgot the past, not in the suppressing way, but the amnesic sense. What is war, laws, capitalism? I guess that’s just hippie’s way of considering anarchy.

I don’t quite know why I was thinking about forgetting and overthrowing hypothetical totalitarian governments. I was laying in the back of a 1967 Suburu 360, the 1975 moving softly through the car. No one in that car could ignore how Tumblr-esque our current state was in the summer heat of Maine. I remember moving around every two years before and dreaming about this fictional state. Everyone from the big cities that people in small suburbias dream to be in want nothing more than to migrate somewhere like Maine, or North Dakota, or a place more desolate like Canada.

That’s when I remind them that they are very much so an American, and therefore should keep their greasy hands of their non-confrontational relative.

The car jolted to the bass of the Arctic Monkeys, as the driver, Joni, came to a stellar stop. Joni was small, far too small to even drive the tiny Suburu, yet wasn’t to small to kick my ass if she knew I thought that. She turned back to grin at me as I continued to lay down.

“Come on Xen! Let’s get wild!” Joni sprung out of the car in seconds, breaking away in a sprint across the meadow of magenta. Even with her short legs she managed to maintain the stereotype of the Japanese being amazing at everything. I considered chasing her before remembering the coziness of my bomber jacket and Foster the People. A soft sigh sounded from the passenger seat as I watched the back of a blond run his hands through his locks. His hair had grown down to his shoulders thanks to Capra being Capra and not giving a shit about other people’s preferences.

“Do you think she’s far enough for us to prank her?”

I snickered but shook my head. “I’m not too sure I’m up for pranks today. But now that Joni’s gone we can talk about Finny.” I couldn’t fight the sly grin on my face as I sat up, shaking my dyed black hair from my eyes. Grimes was playing now as I pinned Capra in his place. He was blushing bright, an endearing look on my dear friend.

“Nothing to say. What about Benji, huh?” Now Capra was once again comfortable, giving me full liberty to roll my eyes into the back of my skull.

“He’s an ungrateful brat.” The words held bitter finality like I intended. Capra snorted, holding hands up in defense. I hate him.

We sat in the comfortability of the Postal Service until Capra’s plain white tee began to stretch in his furious energy to remove it from his body. The shirt was only a minor factor as soon shoes and socks came off,  followed with pants to come soon after.

This was nothing new. Capra wouldn’t know what thinking with his head meant if his head came and punched him in the face. And I wouldn’t know what an analogy was even if it came and punched me in the face. His hand came to his American Apparel’s when I finally woke up.

“Capra!” 

He looked up with furrowed eyebrows before looking down and up once again. With a swift motion he pulled down his boxers, quickly disposing them with a quick flick towards my face. I felt a sigh building but dismissed it for the sheer amount of sighs to come. I could her the grass rustle and petals become dismantled even with my obscured visions, all followed with a booming, “Suck it Xena!” The sigh was released.

With the two nowhere in sight I had time. Magic Man drew me towards the front with clever eighties beats, but not without seeing a mirror. On a good week, I can forget what I even look like. But this would not be one of them.

The first thing I took in were my eyes which should just be brown, the hazel kind. The color they were in actuality  I did not know nor did I think anyone else had the answer. My face sunk in like an overview of the grand canyons. I ran a pale hand through my raven hair once again, which was short. My lips were chapped so I licked them, my head faltering slightly with how sleepy I was, allowing myself to see the rest of me the I’d been ignoring the past few days. I was mildly disappointed to find that I was not suddenly graced with birthing hips or a strong muscular build like I had imagined my new hair would give me.

I didn’t want to be a girl, I just didn’t want to be myself. Although I’d admit that I am very much so the absolute shit. Once that thought was back in my head, my dusty vans were off and my beloved bomber left behind. And I was running, running until my lungs no longer were lungs, until my legs were no longer legs, and until the flowers were no longer flowers.

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