16 March 2002

marc moreland 1957-2002

Dancing on a Mexican dancefloor lips salty from tequila shooters teeth clean from lime, the ocean horizon wrapped around and the band happy to be appreciated. laughing. fall onto cracked leather to catch our breath and order another. you smoke endless cheap cigarettes . "I don't even dance!" you said, and you were right, you were terrible.

Train from Switzerland to Barcelona, us the only Americans and they kept trying to take our money for this tax and that. We're broke and they're threatening to put us off . finally down to your last 20 English pounds and the conductor took it and never came back with change. you got up to look for the bastard only to find him passed out from pastis in the bar car. nothing if not persuasive, you explain our plight to the bartender who plucks the note from the sleeping man's pocket and you come back to me, triumphant.

Christmas at your mom's house and we all play bingo. your grandmother wins almost every time and you would always say you'd be home but never came home. you call long distance from overseas and tell me you don't have to worry about me because I'm so strong. I didn't feel very strong then. I brought a bottle of Chianti but your brother poured half of it down the sink when I wasn't looking. It was a kind gesture as I was driving. 

L.A. get up in the morning before you and go to the store for breakfast. Eggs, toast, and I stop to ponder orange juice (for the morning screwdriver) . I stand transfixed in front of a carton of Donald Duck orange juice thinking you'd like that. back tothe apartment and shake you awake: you open your eyes and blink..and, in a fog, you look up at me and say, 'Donald Duck?'

London we were so happy to see each other it was like home, we were like home and we couldn't last through the Italian dinner without eating each other up and had the night together in my friend's flat: the next morning I walked you to the bus stop (no underground for you!) and you rang the phone every 5 minutes all day the next day both at my friend's and at the Italian restaurant where I ate every day. It drove everyone completely crazy, but I knew it was just your way of saying hi.

Australia the very first time. The barstool next to you was empty so I sat down and ordered a pint. Everyone was laughing and happy and I didn't know who any of you were and didn't care, we were all so glad to be out of L.A. We shook hands and you said the tattoos on my wrists gave you
a hard on. After awhile someone from a radio station came to get me for an interview and you tagged along. You came down the stairs and used to put your hair behind your ears before putting on that huge ridiculous cowboy hat they'd given you. The guy looked up and said to you, 'who are you? 'And you jerked your thumb in my direction and said, 'I'm her husband'.  That hotel bar isn't there anymore, but the streetcar with 'Moreland' on the front still runs through St. Kilda.

I looked up at the wide pale blue Utah sky yesterday and thought I saw your face. Tiny gray birds hopped from frozen branch to frozen branch. This morning perfect flakes of snow are softly falling and somewhere in the silence there's a song.