Birthday

I was on the bus that day

coming home from downtown,

aimed at the East Hillside.

My friend Rob was riding too.

We greeted each other,

commiserated briefly about our shitty cars and

then he asked me

what I was doing

for the rest of the day.

It was early afternoon and

I had nothing planned,

so I said, “Nada.”

He said, “It’s my birthday and

my brother sent me two hits of acid

in a birthday card.

Wanna trip?”

I thought about it for a second,

then said, “Sure.”

 

It was beautiful.

 

A hundred years later,

I remember two things clearly.

One: How frightened I became

sitting in Rob’s room,

listening to him play his bass at top volume.

It felt like the devil’s heartbeat.

I was frozen.

Terrified.

Two: Sitting on the porch roof

watching a father play catch

with his 8 year old son

on the Little League field

across the street.

The sky was glowing blue shades of gold.

The birds were singing in Spanish.

I blinked once and

took a picture

with my heart.

 

I still have it.

 

 

 

 

  • Copyright Timothy Downs 2016
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