12345678

The first time I listened to Einstein on the Beach, I was in the backseat of a car, headed east on the I-10 toward Phoenix, and I didn't know much about what I was hearing. It was nighttime in the desert, but I won't write about the stars. I had the sensation of being carried home by the music, all of those numbers pressed into my back. Pablo was steering. I was high.

Last Saturday night, I saw Einstein on the Beach performed in San Francisco. I'd always thought I'd live in that city by now, but I don't care about moving to San Francisco anymore. I left my seat only once during the four hour and 20 minute performance -- to pee and put on tights (the latter because my legs were cold). I was wearing a onesie, so I had to get fully undressed inside the stall to put on my leggings. It was a complicated process, and my knee-high boots didn't help. The bathroom smelled so strongly of shit, which reinforced my foot's aversion to the small, square tiles below that looked like teeth. I was high.



After the performance, I went to a bar where I ran into one of my oldest friends, a person I hadn't wanted to see. There is nothing bad between us, but sometimes it's difficult to be around people with whom you have so much history. He smoked and spoke between drags: "You look great you look great you look great you look great you look great. Do you have a boyfriend? Is he cute? How is work?" We both seemed uncomfortable, and let our friends do most of the talking. He kept looking at my chest, which I didn't understand because he is gay. I remembered how once, when we were much younger, he scolded me for not wearing a bra. He said I'd pay the price later. I wondered if he was checking.

Last night, I talked to John about our earliest memories. I told him how much I used to enjoy baths in the kitchen sink. I also remembered waking up inside my crib early in the morning, wanting to watch Sesame Street, but I wasn't allowed to leave my crib until my mom gave me permission. I remember standing up, gripping the bars, shaking the crib, shouting, "CAN I GET UP NOW? CAN I GET UP NOW?CAN I GET UP NOW? CAN I GET UP NOW?CAN I GET UP NOW? CAN I GET UP NOW?CAN I GET UP NOW? CAN I GET UP NOW?CAN I GET UP NOW? CAN I GET UP NOW?CAN I GET UP NOW? CAN I GET UP NOW?CAN I GET UP NOW? CAN I GET UP NOW?" until my mom said OK from the other room.

I don't know if I was really precocious, or just too old to be in a crib. Maybe my mom couldn't afford to buy me a bed, and this memory is much later than it seems, which is not unlikely.