It’s a “travel week” here in Georgia. I’m writing this on June 1st at the Atlanta airport. This morning Sunny’s flying in from Nebraska, Sophy from California, Lisa from New York and Anna from Oregon - all around noon. Charles put a hard-shell luggage carrier on the roof of the Navigator because he didn’t trust it to hold the luggage 4 girls could bring.

My parents left last Saturday for Warsaw to join “Doctors Without Borders.” Charles, Leong and I drove them to the airport and then we took Leong to “The Mad Italian” for the best steak & cheese sandwiches on this side of andromeda.

Sunday was a typical lake day. We tied off in our favorite cove and were quickly joined by everyone who could get on a boat. Imagine that Dunkirk movie - except this was a get together - with motorboats, sailboats, skiffs, pontoon boats and canoes all crowding the little bay.

Leong’s an avril lavigne - who knew? On Monday, I surprised her with something green - a trip to “Fun Galaxy” roller-skating rink. I made reservations for a “birthday party” and a group of 15 of us had the rink to ourselves all morning (and cake). I thought I was a skater but Leong’s legit. She says that in Macau you either skate on the street (rough terrain and dangerously between cars) or at one of several huge multisport pavilions where the rinks are cement and resemble our skateboard courses.

She’d never seen an air-conditioned, basketball-court-smooth-hardwood, disco-lit, rock concert sounding, American roller rink. It was love at first sight. She spins, does double lutzes, skates faster backwards than I can forwards, and the manager threatened to pull her off the floor for doing backflips (“There are liability issues,” he insisted.) She was also amazed because there was a built-in diner. At home, she said, you have to bring your own water and sometimes your own toilet paper (toilets are completely different in Asia - don’t get me started on THAT).

Yesterday, Leong, Kim and I were waiting for a Facetime call, to coordinate today’s arrivals.
Before that though, at my behest, Kim helped me ferret-out - Holmes & Watson like - the dire skinny on something, and we, as long time besties and co-conspirators, had a plan.
“Did you know Rob Chen was class valedictorian this year?” Kim asked the room.
“No!, congratulations Rob,” I said.
“Yea, Rob,” Leong echoed nonchalantly.
“We’re so proud of Rob.” Kim continues.
“But, you know,” I said seriously, “there are Rob haters out there. I understand it - he’s hateable,” I expand.
“ek,” Kim blurted, like a little bird, at Leong’s reaction as Leong gasps, “What.. Why?”
“Because he dresses ugly!” I explained.
Kim, unable to curb her excitement, squeaks out loud.
Leong looked at Kim, shocked, Kim was looking down and rocking with the effort of silence.
“That’s not enough REASON,” Leong blurts, “to hate someone!
Again, Leong looked to Kim for agreement and got none.
“I don’t hate YOU,” Leong says, turning on me.

There’s a moment of shocked silence.

“WOW.. wow,” I say, as Kim nervously snickered with glee.
“First of all,” I begin, between my own chuckles, a defense:
“I’m wearing a very **** black ensemble but not exactly dressed to go OUT, (Kim laugh-coughed) and SECOND,” I pause for drama-queen effect.
“YOU,” I say, turning my head significantly and accusingly, towards Leong, slightly askew for a better view, “seem to have quite a few hickies on your neck this morning.”
Kim can't stand it any more and squeals, full out, with delight.
“You, need,” Leong said, pausing just before she lunges at me playfully, to put her hand over my mouth, “to cut off THAT line,”
“I knew it.. I KNEW it!” I say, bobbing and turning my head away as Leong pins me with her body while still trying to mug me and we’re all howling with laughter now.
“Those are Rob Chen hickies! - I. KNEW. IT.”

The facetime ring interrupts us and Leong reluctantly lets me go to answer it.
We all sober as she moves to press “Accept.”
“Let me just loop-back to say,” I looked at Kim with elementary-dear-Watson satisfaction, and said to Leong, “you didn’t deny it,”
Leong blushes crimson as the call begins.

In the mirror
the hickey looks like
lipstick. When I rub
my neck
her teeth stay
stuck like kissy lips
on mirrors
of girly girls.
On the surface
the blue-blood egret
and his
white-toothed egret
friend look like
enemies.
They share the lake’s
surface like comrades splitting a spliff
during war.
The mirror’s surface
reflects my haggard
face.
The kiss on my neck brings me pleasure
that is difficult to peck in the eddy formed after she swelled along my desire.

In the mirror:    
his naked body
my naked body
like the cartilages
of comrades marching back
to their bombed base.
That night he finished quiet like the veteran
egret pecking his prey.
That night I spread––
the eddy after the prey was pecked. On my surface I can’t find any traces
of his breath or his pecks. The mirror’s surface reflects our haggard love––
tired of slithering away
from egret beaks
finding it difficult
to breathe
lifting its long neck
above the swell
in the eddy
in this sea.

you aren't him
no one will ever be.
if i'm being honest,
he isn't even him anymore.

because
the first boy I ever loved
I loved when we were 8
playing on the playground
the first heartbreak I had
I had when I was 10
two years went too fast

he grew into someone I no longer recognized
all harsh words
and scrutiny

I'm not me anymore
No longer can I look in the mirror
and say I see the 9 year old in love
with a boy who would still make
her hurt today.

you aren't him
which I am thankful for
I don't think my heart,
even 10 years later,
could handle another him

the way you make me feel
reminds of him
all sarcasm
and witt

but now the bite marks
that I'm trying to convince
myself are Love Bites
are still sore.

and yes,
I know I'm looking for validation
in the wrong places.
but so far it's all I can get

your hands  rough on my skin
your words rough on my ears

I'm beginning to think
the two of you

are more alike
thank I thought.

And my mother looked at that hickey on my neck and said. “are you that lonely and that desperate that you go to someone who doesn’t love you”…I walked out the room. I wouldn’t expect her to understand because I don’t even understand. but for that to b her response made me die a million times on the inside because that is the exact moment when you are suppose to grab your daughter and hug her.

you left your love marks
on my chest

i left mine in your heart

i still find your hair ties
in my room

i dont know what to do with them

i'd mail them back
but i need to know you were here

White is the promise of purity revoked.

Red is the stain of lipstick on your fifth cup of coffee.

Orange is the succession of sunset to sunrise without an ounce of sleep.

The color yellow peeks through the blinds and dances across his skin.

Green is the color that burns your lungs until you're in a haze of numb.

Blue are the eyes that haunt your consciousness and tears that stream silently down.

Purple is the Galaxy pattern of hickies and bruises littering the skin he touched.

Black is the static you hear in the moments after, when you lay panting in his arms

...just before all the color fades again in his absence.