Pigs, Fly

May 10

I'm here! I made it to North Carolina whole and almost on time. There was a brief delay (and a changed plane) in Washington D.C., but as restitution for our inconvenience they gave us free booze. Unfortunately, it still felt like 1 in the afternoon to me, and I didn't especially want a screwdriver at 1 in the afternoon (I know, what kind of a poet am I?), so I passed.

On the plane I read Witches Abroad, borrowed from Marissa and Timprov. Lovely! I love the withces books. I also read most of Dangerous Angels (on Susan Marie's excellent recommendation). I'd read Weetzie Bat back in high school, but I hadn't read any of the others. I actually bought the book to give to Meg, since I thought she'd really dig Weetzie Bat. She seems pleased with it, though I'm hoping to sneak the volume away from her for a couple of hours sometime this month so that I can finish off Missing Angel Juan and the last volume.

Meg and I went driving last night, fairly late (of course, it felt very early to me-- the temporal joy of running against the sun). We parked outside a park, in the parking lot (and Meg's last name is Parker-- a Parker parked in the parking lot outside a park, hurray!). We were having a nice talk-- something of a heart-to-heart, actually-- when of course a cop came along.

I have nothing against cops checking out parked cars. That's perfectly reasonable. In high school, once or twice when Amily and I were parked, cops would come to make sure everything was all right, that no harm was being done to anyone. I appreciate that-- that's fine. And if that was the original impulse of the cops last night, that's also fine. But first they sat for about ten minutes right behind us, shining their spotlight into the car. Finally the cop came to the door. She asked to see our licenses, and took them back to the car. Good and well-- make sure we aren'r murderers, fine.

Then another cop showed up, because police in small towns (I suppose) will do anything for a diversion. The second cop came to my door, shone his flashlight in my face, peered at my license, shined his light in my face again, and started to ask me where I was from, if I was living in California now, if I'd ever lived in Kernersville (the town we were in last night, where I've been perhaps twice in the past). He seemed to have a really hard time understanding that I lived in California and had come to N.C. for a visit. He said I looked "extremely familiar," and said it in such a way that I knew he thought I was some local pedophile or drug dealer operating under an assumed name. Finally he wandered off, still with my license in hand. About ten minutes later he came back to my window and said-- and I shit you not, y'all, this is as near-verbatim as I can remember it-- he said:

"I think we figured out why you look so familiar to all of us. Did you ever see that movie with Arnold Schwarzenegger, Kindergarten Cop?"

Trying hard not to look at him like I thought he was high, I said "Yes, sir."

"Well," he said, "You know the bad guy in that movie, the villain?"

"Yes, sir."

"Your driver's license picture looks just like him."

"Ah," I said. "Okay."

The cop then leans into the car, looks at Meg, and says jovially (without a trace of menace, really), "Don't he just, miss? Don't he look just like a villain?"

"I guess so," Meg says.

I've always thought I look rather innocent. Cherubic. Mayhap even beatific.

So the cops wandered off again, and me and Meg had a mock-conversation, trying to figure out what they were talking about that took so long. "Boy, Kindergarten Cop's a hell of a movie. Of course, it's no Robocop. Or even Timecop, for that matter. But Maniac Cop is my favorite."

Eventually the came back (this is at least half an hour after they first started shining their lights into the car), returned our ID, and said "The park's closed after ten, so y'all should go on ahead." I believe she also said "Slow it down," I suppose because she has sort of a limited capacity for conversation in situations like that.

I'd also like to note that there's no sign in the park with posted hours; we looked. But anyway.

So we went back to Meg's house, and cuddled and talked and talked and kissed and talked. Finally went to bed around 3, which was a good time for me.

And now we're in the car on the way to Boone, and I'm typing on D.'s Amazing Capricious Laptop, and Meg is singing along with the radio, and I'm going to sing along with her, now. Love you all. I'll upload this when I can.