Champagne Snowball

Remember the time we were playing tennis and we finished and decided to sneak into Bronco Night? So we snuck across the fields between Leland and Bret Harte, giddy with excitement. Or those evenings I’d meet you on the corner and we’d walk around the neighborhood, talking about nothing and just enjoying each others company. And there was that time we decided to watch the sunrise so I ran to your house at some ungodly hour in the morning. Your parents were home and heading to work, a little weirded out. We walked around when we thought it was time, and after awhile, it was bright and we realized we’d been looking in the wrong direction (it didn’t matter). One Friday, we packed PB&J sandwiches, watched Amelie and hiked to the backwoods. You stepped in water and I piggybacked you to dry land. At a dance, one of us had the bright idea of getting our picture taken under an ivy-laden overarch. You led me by my hand, barefoot and stepping lightly, I was afraid for your soles. One night we were heading to the library with friends. In the car, that song was playing, and we sat in the backseat taking turns trying to communicate silently by writing letters with our fingers on each others palms. My heard was racing. On another day we were walking on campus and a girl gave us a flyer to a dance and told us we were a cute couple. While this was true, we didn’t know it yet, and we weren’t sure what to say to her or each other.

There’s a sense of security on gets from having an abundance of firewood and water (that you cut and carried yourself) that a bank account balance fails to provide. On Friday night I sat in the dark in front of my first fire in the wood heater playing guitar. What did you do? (I find that Friday nights are the nights when I most wonder what you all are doing back at home.)


~ by justinhong on May 17, 2009.

4 Responses to “Champagne Snowball”

  1. canad-emo! who’s this girl (or maybe guy) that you wrote about??

    Friday night i got in a fight with some Southwest employees. well not really, but i did kinda want to mix it up a little bit

  2. eric says that your writing is nostalgic and wistful and painfully beautiful. i think he misses you. but really, the real question is, who’s the girl?!

  3. that was a nice piece… i think i cried inside from its beauty

  4. I’m 30 mins from my final and I find myself reading this and unable to look away. I have to strain for awhile to remember the last time I was reckless like that.Reminds me of this:

    Georgetown’s going well. One more week then home. I think I’m ready for home.

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