Cindy (my cousin)
Illustrations by Marcus, Grumblebee.com
My trip to New York was wasted on me. I was sullen and moody. The stereotypical teenager. My parents wouldn't take me to CBGBs and it was horribly hot and humid. Things got better when we visited my grandparents in the beautiful Pokono mountains. There I met Cindy.
We hit it off right away and spent hours in my grandparent's guest room turning each other on to music. I was into The Doors, The Violent Femmes, David Bowie. Cindy was real into The Byrds and The Guess Who. I was sure that I was in love with her and I worked on calculating just how close or distant a cousin she was. That she lived on the other side of the country and loved Jesus were drawbacks as well, and so I thought of her for fondly for years to come but I never made an effort to get in touch. We haven't seen each other since.
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3 Comments:
Ha ha, you thought I was venturing into redneck terrority didn't ya? Guess I considered it for moment there.
Yes. Yes I did.
Ah well, I would've to tell the truth. Thank God for religious differences eh? Can I thank God that I don't believe in him? Works for me.
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