| dewy decimal |
2003-09-06 - 5:13 a.m.
It's so nice to have Keonz home again. I have this picture from the first grade, a discolored item kept in a shoebox. With a hue that is distinctly of the 80s. There was tangerine in the clouds, and avocado greens that defines where every little leaf, and every little blade of grass ends, where the next begins. In a portrait of pre-construction Aiea, the knowledge of things to come.
Two big headed, skinny boys, side by side. Attentive postures. Smiles that extend like equators. Silver teeth. Hands on hips.
Keoni is wearing a camouflage tank top with matching camouflage pants. His hair is a soft brown, not the black he has now.
I am in a sky blue velour polo shirt buttoned to the throat. Cheering through my eyes. Navy corduroys. Helmut shag, bangs that hide my brow. My face hiding in that child�s booger eating smile. I am cheering for that kid, there will be so many things for him to see. I wrote that book. The little boy is mine.
To think two little homos from a provincial town have come this far together. Despite so much, we are still laughing through the same equators, cracking phonetic jokes. Side by side.
Last night, we drive home and the features of the landscape turn to lines. The lights into ribbons. Soon to be discolored. Soon to hear the cheering.