Vacation
6.21.04
I have a feeling that one day I will know what a true vacation is.
A vacation that tears you away from everything, everything mental busybodying your head,
and everything physical tugging at your sleeve.
I will pack two luggages, perfectly fit for two weeks of play,
and an extra bag to bring back little trinkets and such.
Like new clothes or shoes or sandals or stilettos.
And sexy lip-gloss.
That costs around $15.
But it will be well worth it, I assure you.
And one day I will tie my shoes and step foot in an international airport, and board a plane that will take me far away
from everything I had grown accustomed to.
Customers, kids, husbands, or boyfriends, animals, bosses, cars.
And envelope myself in a rather startling form of the same thing.
Oh, but it will be quite different.
I will be le touriste.
I will not speak the tongues but see the setting sun with the same optical lenses.
And run my fingers through silky cool water that runs perfectly clear.
And apply mascara in a mirror uniquely decorated, the lighting so delicate I can see my every feature.
I will buy a shitzu and name it Precious, because I want to be like Ja Ja and have a fluffy little
stuffed animal of a dog. And dress it in jewels on its birthday.
Oh, I want to know my dog's birthday.
And I'll be damned if I forget that fateful day.
Then I will sell the dog to a little girl in Paris, with bare feet who diddle daddles with a yo-yo
as her father paints 15-minute portraits for ten bucks.
And then, I will board another plane, this time steering in the direction of my native country,
the one that bleeds red (and white and blue), and imposes my freedom of speech.
And is too busy to run fingers through sparkling water.
And marvel at the craftsmanship of a six-inch heel.
[Bringing me to 6'1", babeeee.]
And I will be that super tall woman, the one who reminded them of the Statue of Liberty,
the gift they forked over to us a zillion years ago, the one who is stained from days of impurity, and
smoke-filled skies and polluted condensation.
One day I will need a vacation from this,
from the hustle of every day life.
From the simplicity of something rather complex,
and visit a place where regular people struggle with regular dilemmas,
and I will be another American invading foreign soil.
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