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Perfect Pitch


Just now, I broke for a moment to lean back in my wooden chair and look at the asphalt shingle roof of the building next to me.

I see 6 AC units.

I see 4 balconies.

I see 1 mountain bike.

And in front of me, I see my girlfriend pick-strumming on a ukulele.

She’s learning how to play a Jack Johnson song that makes me think of Miami Beach right around sunset.

When there’s still some light left to walk straight into the water, walk against all those waves banging against your chest, and diving over 1 that grows into something tallish.

You arch into the water like a shimmery dolphin.

You plunge into the water and feel salinity lick your pulled-back cheeks.

You swim.

Swim with your arms and legs.

Swim underwater breaststroke.

Open your eyes because the saltwater really doesn’t sting.

It feels good, like a nighttime cleanser.

Your hair flies behind you, but when you stop and crouch like a sumo wrestler on the sandy floor, your hair stills in the current and you blow some bubbles and watch them jellyfish up to the surface.

The sebum comes off my face.

I scrub the crease between where my nostrils end and my cheeks begin.

I purposefully didn’t shower because I wanted to bathe in the ocean.

My girlfriend says,

“I need a slower song”

And she starts to learn how to play SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW.

My girlfriend says,

“Maybe I have perfect pitch because hear this note.”

She pick-strums.

My girlfriend says,

“That’s C. I didn’t even know it was a chord, but that’s C.”

December 5, 2010 6:41 pm

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