i often wonder where i’ll go
or be, or stand, or bike, or row
the only thing i need to know
is where i’ll be
when the flowers grow.

TS Eliot said, “Paris is a strong stimulant.”
It is - but it has nothing on Manhattan.
If Paris is a Café Crème espresso at a café-en-terrasse under the stars.
Manhattan is a ‘Black Tie Bawls’ cocktail at The Crown bar (the skyline!).

We were going to relax - in Manhattan,
instead, keep those seat belts fastened.
Lisa said, one night, “Want to go out for a bit?”
Since then, I’ll admit, our nights have been lit. 

We have ten days, and we’ve decided to try every Michelin-starred restaurant we can (there are 68 in NYC). So far, we’ve been to Eleven Madison Park, Le Bernardin and Per Se. This was Lisa’s idea.

The food is delicious - if you like a corn-flake with something on it or a steak the size of a bouillon cube ($250 per person with cocktails and dessert). As we left ‘Per Se’ I asked, “Can we get something to eat now? I’m starved.” I was only ½ kidding.

It’s MY idea to visit every beautix rooftop bar in Manhattan (there are exactly10). So far, we’ve been to, ‘The Peninsula,’ ‘230-Fith’’ and ‘NoMad’ - we’ve only been at these tasks for three nights.

We’re doing other things too. We’re going to Broadway shows (& Juliet, the Great Gatsby, Oh Mary!, Wicked) and to see Idina Menzel (Wicked, Frozen) in concert and a John Oliver and Seth Meyers comedy show next Monday. We do these, as in - Dinner, show, rooftop bar.
OH, and we’re dancin’ like we’re sentient - no cap.

Our sordid troup, is Lisa and Dave (her boo), Charles & Ms Charles, Lisa’s folks (Karen and Michael) and Lisa’s little sister Leeza and Meeeee. Luckily, we have one of my Grandmère’s conglomerate, executive secretarial minions (François) booking reservations for us. He’s got ‘contacts.’

Yeah, we’re drivin’ full speed towards summer’s end - “fo-shizzle” (to quote Snoop Dogg). We figure we can rest, a few days, in New Haven.
Wasn’t Snoop fire at the Olympics?
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dance club songs, for this one:
One Kiss by Calvin Harris & Dua Lipa
Lipstick by Kungs
Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter [E]
Levitating by Dua Lipa
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slang…
café-en-terrasse = terrace cafe
Black Tie Bawls = (cocktail) Blavod black *****, lemon, and Bawls energy drink.
beautix = top drawer, rizz
No cap = no lie
fo-shizzle = for sure
fire = great, a standout
[E] = explicit

I sat in restless chairs
I breathed stilted air
what feeling compares
with feeling squandered?

I’m not sadfishing,
I was bored at a 5-star hotel.
I’d swum the Atlantic - in the underground pool
and I felt like I was marinating in boredom.

It was as if the loudest thing in our suite was
the sound of my eyelashes flapping up and down.

I wasn’t in solitary confinement,
Lisa was there too - and just-as bored.
She didn’t complain, 'cause she’s ‘New Yorker’ stoic.
So I started complaining for her - for the team.

We’d filtered every boutique,
sampled every eclectic café,
there’s just nothing to do in Geneva.
It is an implacable reality.

Peter (my bf) was at work all day and we were on vacation.

It’s different when he’s around.
He walks into the room and I feel like
a phone that’s been placed on its charger
- the world lights up and I get - charged.

“We should make a list,” I'd announced, “the pros and cons of boredom.”
“No,” Lisa said, “Let’s name fun things.”

“Fruity Pebbles popcorn,” I started.
“Girl panda makeup” Lisa offered,
“Foot massages and bubblegum”
“Cotton candy and sunflowers”
“Holidays and sparkly things!”
- we went on and on and on and -
“kittens” I updogged dreamily, before I switched the subject completely.

“We need to go to Paris!” I pronounced, excitedly.
“Oh yeah?” Lisa asked, with a little side head-bob.
“Actionable intel,” I whispered, “Grandmère wants to see me.”
Lisa gasped, adding, “You’re in TROUBLE,” drawing the last syllable out slowly.
“That would be a first,” I laughed.

“Kisses!” She exclaimed, resuming the game.
I remembered the first time I thought of kissing Peter. The thought was a flash, an emotional Rorschach test and I smiled. It was like a movie kiss, an abstract heaven - not the breathy, ****** kisses of real life.
“Where’d you go?” Lisa asked, grinning.
Some emotions are too thick for words.
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Songs for this:
Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan
Disco Boots by Gavin Turek

Sunsets of a thousand colors,
jumping into crystal blue waters,
yeah, school's out for summer.

At first, it’s a shock - ignoring the clock,
we’re like prisoners set free
- for a two-month party
- and no responsibilities

Ditch the books ******* - you’re my tribe
- summer’s our vibe - it’s time to slip-n-slide.

Barbeque, corn on the cob, juicy peaches,
lemonade, popsicles, hot sandy beaches,
thunderstorms, short shorts, cotton candy clouds,
let's get a little too silly and a little too loud.

Coleslaw, hotdogs, sharing French fries
Charles smokin' ribs, burgers piled high,
lounging by the pool, with friends dropping by.

Sunglasses, flip-flops, midnight walks, crop tops,
sunrise mornings, throwing frisbees in the park

Playlist DJ’n, the bare feet are tappin', we’re TikTok dancin’,
and, truth or dare, I’m seeing a couple of new romances.

Ferris wheel spinnin', funnel-cake eatin’, roller coaster screamin’,
the kettle-corn’s poppin’ for rom-com streamin’ and reality-TVing.

My mom asked, “Why are you girls all sleeping in one room?”
The answer? “Cause there ain’t no cure for the summertime snooze”

Why doesn’t someone make a sunblock perfume?

Umbrellas, watermelons, 3am dips, Taco Bell trips
and roasting marshmallows on the poolside fire-pit

Beach towels spread like butterfly wings,
hey, our tans are starting to match our bikinis!

Come on, relax, have an ice-cold martini.
We’re not doin’ nothin' - we’re makin’ memories!

The bright sunrise made the snow-covered Alp mountain-tips, an hour-away-by-car, glow like they were topped with lemon ice-cream. Was this evidence of magic?

Peter (my bf) and I are low atop the five story Hotel de la Paix, in Geneva, which seems like a small town - with only 10 slightly interesting things to see - like a large fountain - gimme a sarcastic ‘wow’ (so sue me Geneva board of tourism).

Unless you're planning to launder money, go elsewhere (free travel advice). In fact, Geneva is SO boring, they should assume anyone traveling here (who’s not a physicist or the girlfriend of a physicist) is laundering money and just lock em’ up.

The Keurig in our room gurgled as it turned out yet another sub-standard cup of coffee. I’d started the contraption, brushed my teeth and jumped back in bed. But the thought of yet one more lousy cup of coffee was depressing. “Run down to the lobby and get us some real coffeeee,” I wheedled at Peter, helplessly.
“I’m not dressed‽” he exclaimed (he was in his boxers), like that was an acceptable excuse.
“This is Europe,” I foisted, “They don’t care. GO!” I tried my best to push him out of bed, but he was immoveable.
“Order room service,” he offered lamely, ignoring my pushing on him as hard as I could.
“That’ll take forEVER,” I moaned.
“We don’t have forever.” he pronounced smugly, “You’d better hit the shower,” he added, looking at his watch.
I checked - he was right. 15 minutes later, I was showered and dressed - a skill I learned in pre-covid high school.

Pater was on his laptop at the tiny office desk they gave you in supposedly luxury hotel suites.
“Today’s our last calm day, for a while,” I’d said, kissing him on the cheek, “we need to savor it.”
“The flight’s in three hours,” he’d replied - and again, looking at his watch, “Our Uber will be here in 20 minutes.”
“Two points to Slytherin house,” I said, defeatedly - the ‘busy’ was starting.
“I’m a Hufflepuff,” he said, in a ‘don’t you even know me​​‽’ way.

“Maybe we just shake hands and pretend we liked each other,” I said, dryly, “that would be perfect⸮”
He wrapped his long, ape-like arms around me and reminded me of the alternative option.
“You could always stay here, in Geneva, in my little apartment, all day, while I go out and work - for the rest of the summer,” he said invitingly.
“As irrational as that sounds,” I sighed, “I’d end up chewing the furniture, like an angry puppy.”
“They just don’t make wives anymore,” he lamented, “even though there are substantial tax advantages.”
“Aww, my dominant little male, man-baby,” I cooed in baby-talk, “You want to be my tax deduction!”
“I like when you talk down to me,” he confided, “It motivates me.”

I knocked on the door to the adjacent suite (where Lisa and David are), ‘Uber in 17 minutes.’ I called.
A moment later I heard a muffled, “Yep,” Lisa’s reply.
“Shotgun!” I called, thinking of the Uber seating.
“I already called it,” Peter said.
“You LIE!” I shrieked referentially, pointing at Peter like Valerie, Miracle Max's wife in The Princess Bride.
He chortled, getting it.
I was ready. Bring on the flight to Paris, the dress fittings, the make-up planning, the shoe and accessory decisions - the Grand Masked Ball (at the Versailles Palace) was in two days. I was ready, I could take it.
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songs for this:
Nobody by Kate Earl
The Spot by Your Smith

People came and went all night, welcomed by the warm evening, the 12-piece jazz band, rich restaurant aromas and the boundless night sky. I hear their enthusiasm as they’re escorted to their tables. These Geneva people seem more Germanic and reserved than the French, although they’ve stolen our language. Maybe they license French or subscribe to it, like Spotify.

Peter (my bf) and I danced, unburdened by tomorrows, on a terrace of frozen-ice like, pale-blue tiles. The spilled star-field glittered like fireworks on a dark canvas of a new-moon, black sky.

The distant, snow-covered Alps seemed to reach for the glistening cosmos, like spilled water rushing across a floor or children grasping at toys. Compared to this celestial gallery, the Geneva skyline looked as sad as an old stage prop.

The air was scented with blooming jasmine, baking bread and coffees. A breeze, in turns warm and cool, wrapped around us, sharing the dance by pressing my dress to me one moment and throwing it away the next.

The dress I picked it up in Paris earlier in the week - a svelte, Chiuri Dior, ‘New Look Silhouette’ in Prussian blue Chiffon and cobalt crepe - felt as lightweight, breathable and cool as workout-mesh.

Peter’s a good dancer. He’s firm yet gentle, guiding me effortlessly, in a lazy, jazz way, from the waist. When we’re in the flow, our choreography’s guided more by the unseen music than a set dance.

Our evening - I think it’s fair to say we owned it - turned into an unhurried night, before easing, unnoticed, into morning - as summer evenings tend to do.

Our words, in hushed tones, were washed away on the breeze and the music, lost to anyone but ourselves. Time never seemed more of an abstract and irrelevant construct - and if there was a world beyond those moments - it went unnoticed.
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Songs for this:
Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan
Lose My Breath (Feat. Charlie Puth) by Stay Kids, Charlie Puth
Stumblin’ In by CRYIL
**** to someone by Clairo

(a poem in several Haiku and Senryu stanzas)

The molten gold sun
on cerulean canvas
breeze borne cirrus clouds

flawless days stretching
like sun-kissed bodies - crisp white
linen cabanas

lips roughly sore from
innumerable kisses
we shimmer white hot.

Lulling rhythmic waves -
heaven's extravagant taste
- on leisure sculpt days

masterpiece pleasures,
love’s instigative brushstrokes,
paint compelling joy
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songs for this:
Our Day Will Come by Amy Winehouse
Heat Wave by Linda Ronstadt
Viva La Vida by Coldplay

I’m enjoying spending time with my mom - we have an intimacy braided like rope. I forgot how funny she is. At the same time, we’ve been softcore arguing for days.

She wants me to accomplish something this summer - to pad my med-school resume - do anything but relax. But I refuse. If I’m going to complete a master's degree next summer, then I’m going to have fun this summer. Periodt. I’m not an automaton for her to wind. Her stress radiates, as I play Animal Crossing on the couch.

I reach up towards her forehead, “Is there an off button?” I ask.
“Go away,” she chuckles, blocking my hand.
Before I turn away, I add, “You’re the most fun when you’re not giving advice or saying the wrong things..”
“Or breathing incorrectly?” She finished my sentence.
“Exactly,” I laughed, “then you’re practically perfect.”

The boys - Peter (my BF) and Step (my stepfather) - sit or stand, uninvolved, outside the action, like we’re in some other dimension - they try and look at anything but us when we’re wrangling.

Poetry time!

The phantoms of my discontent
are held at bay, by leisure,
are mollified by pleasure.

Am I crazy to set boundaries?
Am I lazy, cause I won’t let her chivvy me?
I’ve got my own voice; I’ll make my own choices.
We have the same goals - but I’m in control.

For every plan I’ve got, she has a hundred caveats.
Sure, I’ve done nothing, while she’s done it all.
I’m her little rocket that she doesn’t want to stall.
But she needs to understand, I’ve left the launching pad.
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songs for this…
Mama by Spice Girls
Hey Mama by Kanye West
Mama, I'm a Big Girl Now by Nikki Blonsky, Marissa Jaret Winokur, Ricki Lake, Motion Picture Cast of Hairspray
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periodt ← slang for absolute period

Something’s happening, let’s call it sunrise, for now,
and summer vacation in Geneva, in umm.. 10 hours.
My heart-beat is spiking, like a flag or kite flying.
I’m leaving an empty room - making one last pass with a broom.

I’m stuffing my bag, with the last few things, for escape on aluminum wings.
My dreams, woven in bright, butterfly tapestries, are rolled and folded -
packed between urgent fantasies and harsh, time-sensitive practicalities.

I know you’re there, a quarter-world away, good news, pegasus awaits,
to streak gulf-stream high, over choppy oceans wide with mechanical fire,
its ice-cycle crystal contrail will point, like cherub cupid's arrow, toward you.

Forget pixels, tech instruments, remote lifeline connections,
and prayer-like whispers over thin, criss-crossed wires.
I’m making my move, coming compass-needle true,
to press up close, reintroduce, extemporize and ******.
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music for this:
Someday by Sugar Ray
sunburn by almost monday
This Charming Man by The Smiths
Heaven by Los Lonely Boys