Dear reader. Tried to catch you up on the summer. Had a lot to remember. Please pardon our tense shifts.

In May, I packed all of my things into crates and scattered them across the country. Shoes to Brooklyn. Bedding to Long Island. Computer to Oakland. Found out that I passed all my classes. Didn’t sleep. Didn’t sleep more than forty-five minutes. Up at four. Caught a flight home. And after a week of heat, on May sixteenth, my mother and I left a drizzling New York City. I spent the next two weeks in hibernation on my mother’s couch. Saved by the Bell. Cosby Show. ER. My brother has a mustache. My little sister grew tits. This couch was my home. Didn’t let anyone know I was here. I slept.

I started organizing the library of a nonprofit, and worked for my mother. In June, I stayed up until the moon set. Vowed never to leave my house before 10 AM, to go out every single night. Even if I was on a fabricated outing. Say, to Krispy Kreme 45 minutes away. My stepfather loaned me his Mazda for the season, which has upwards of 300,000 miles on it. Great car. Great. Car. It got me to work everyday. In traffic over the Bay Bridge, metering lights are on and I’ve got Tupac up as loud as he goes (hopefully I don’t blowout the speakers), all eyez on me. I pay the toll for the car behind me. My Lord, and the Bay is the most beautiful place in the world. Cheap Thai food on Sundays for brunch. Finding Nemo was the best movie of the Summer. Who’s too old for Disney?

And a close friend of the family died. In a car crash. Was it a drunk driver? The man who taught me to really move died so young so young so young. A full smile. A Congolese dancer. It’s all over the papers. What do you say to his daughters and son? We all dance at the funeral like they say they do in Africa. Attempt to dance his legacy into matter. So we may eat it and increase it. My father’s good friend died, and my dad gave the eulogy. God, it was beautiful. I am getting older. I am getting older. It’s summertime and the living is me.

July and we take a family trip to Hawai'i. The other side of the family takes a trip to Universal Studios. Silly privileged me. Wonderful parents.

I spend every night out until this orange crater in the sky dips behind that mountain over there. I give rides to whomever asks. Mainly this one friend. Who paints. Best friend. He is an artist, and will I never learn? At night we hang out and tell inside jokes, and repeat lines from movies. He turns on the windshield wipers on sunny days. Distracting. Doesn’t he know I’m an awful driver? The button that makes the window go down doesn’t work on his side. I have to roll it down for him. I know exactly how low he likes the window. He has four girlfriends. I wish I knew if I liked Jack Daniels.

I turned nineteen in August, and saw my Grandma in Chicago. Before leaving the Bay I met up with an old boyfriend and together we hurt his girl’s heart. Tried to mend our own with spackle and rubber bands. Disaster trail. I am sorry and do not have faith. In love. Just awful awful timing between coasts. I love you and I have to leave. I’ve run away to New York again. New dorm in the West Village. Eight days in a row I woke up happy, or forgetful. Want to tie these months up nicely. as if they will fit in a birthday package. Yesterday was Labor Day. Started classes today, and the summer is over.