kim, part two

she moved to atlanta when we were in second grade. i remember where i was in my parents bedroom when she told me on the phone. i was looking at the white blinds that always got tangled up and made me and dad frustrated. mom was the only one who could raise and lower them with ease.

"dad got at job at a place in atlanta. at a college."

"i dont get it."

"we're moving there."

"but its like hours away."

"yeah. i know."

it was the end of the beginning, for kim and i as friends but especially for kim as a child. atlanta was bigger and meaner, it became a pressurized compartment that pushed and pulled her in ways that made her unrecognizable, both emotionally and physically, and made me feel like i was a speck on the ground and she was in an airplane- not that i was beneath her but that i was just so so far away, watching her trajectory like she would never be able to.

dad took a job in atlanta around this time, which was the beginning of the end for my parents relationship and our family as a nuclear unit. the first time i went to go visit kim, mom and i drove to atlanta from birmingham, passing by six flags and that random tiered office building that emerges out of hundreds of miles of bushes and trees and lets you know that there is a big city near by. mom dropped me off at kims new house, a giant, beige brick house that was one of three styles you could pick from in stoneybrook. as we pulled up mom said "jesus" and i knew what she meant- not that it was bigger than the house they lived in by the hospital in birmingham, not that it was nicer or more impressive or such a move up. what she meant when she said that was "how?" how could sandy have agreed to move her from that gorgeous old house in the middle of southside, where beau whatley lived a few doors down and the third banister up from the living room wasnt attached to anything, just precariously balanced, just waiting to be knocked down by someone who didnt know better. that house on 24th street was dark brown, the paint was chipping on the outside and there was a compost bin in her backyard- a novel concept for 1990 and the only visible testament to sandy's old hippie days in boston.

kim and i played in her carpeted basement, the one that looked less like a basement and more like something some suburban family would call a "rec room." we played with her barbies and her new hampster, and when we got bored with that we went upstairs to her bunk bedded room ("but why do you need two beds?") so she could show me her new clothes.

"do you like this one?"

it was a pink dress, a sundress, something kim never would have worn.

"yeah, i guess."

"this ones one of my favorites." she held up a cable knit sweater that looked north eastern, like it belonged on a prep school girl in maine. as though i knew what those people looked like.

"its nice."

she went through dozens more things- little shorts and shoes and dresses and tops. i guess sandy thought the way to make her feel less alienated by the pretentiousness of her new school was to make her look more pretentious.

she brought out a YMCA swim t-shirt that used to be the thing her mom threatened to throw away if she didnt start wearing something else.

"hey i remember that!" i said, my stomach flipping a little bit at the sight of something so familiar, so comforting.

kim walked over to her open window and tossed the YMCA shirt out of it, onto the perfectly manicured bushes.

"KIM!" she was laughing, holding her stomach laughing. she ran back into her closet and grabbed a handful of the clothes she had just shown me, walked to the window and threw them out into the clear blue day.

i scooted off the bed and ran into her closet, grabbing as much as my arms could hold, running back to the window and tripping over the ones that had fallen from our arms. i leaned my body out the window and opened my arms, letting them explode into the yard, letting them flutter like leaves and gather into a pile.

we kept going- back and forth from the window to the closet, not saying anything because we were laughing so hard, we were so swallowed by the deliciousness of the moment.

we could hear sandys voice from outside, ringing and laden with anger-- "what the hell!" and then her footsteps up the stairs. we froze for a moment, both of our frames dwarfed by the amount of clothes we were holding.

she stood in the doorway with her mouth slightly open, like she was listening or confused. we didnt drop the clothes, we didnt say anything at all.

"what are you doing?" she said earnestly.

we looked at each other. i said "i dont think we know."

and she said, in a tone that ive never heard her use since, "well, in that case, keep going."