LA

In LA I realize that I am capable of liking people and things. In LA the sun was shining and it was warm but breezy. I did a headstand in the front lawn of the observatory, making sure my legs were straight and my toes pointed. A hummer limo pulled up and a wedding party got out. Bride, groom, bridesmaids all there taking photos in the front lawn. In all the pictures we took of ourselves I have a double chin. My face doesn't look like my face, but instead like the face of someone who looks sort of like me, someone my friends would see and say, "That girl kind of looks like Kaite."

The day before our flight to LA I ritualize everything, everything I do is loaded with significance. This might be the last time I _____________. Hug Maebie, eat this food, kiss, hug, shit, shower, the last time I see my friends or talk to my family. When I am done teaching class I want to hug each one of the kids really hard but I don't. I wake up at four in the morning and my head buzzes with anxiety. I wish there was an off button, that I had an off button. On the plane I sit next to a man that is headed to LA on business. He's a psychologist. He's the one that makes defendants in court cases into humans. He interviews them and gives the reports to the judge so that they can be seen as a whole person, and not as whatever horrible crime they committed. We agreed on a lot of things: Meth is bad, Fire on the Mountain is good. He has a daughter that is older than me and he spoke at length about how much he disliked her boyfriend and told me to dump mine if he didn't get his act together in the next four years.

The day we are leaving LA I wake up feeling sick, like I'v inhaled too much smoke from the fire we made the night before. Breathing feels toxic and my head feels light and full of holes. I am doing the dishes, being a good house guest, when Sadie walks into the kitchen wearing bright pink pajama pants, a Devo t-shirt, hair-piled on top of her head and says, "Stop doing those," and then, "Um, the fire is still going."

"Like still smoking, " I ask.

"No, like flames. I'm in trouble."

I saw her spray the fire with water from the hose. I jumped up and moved away because it sent a plume of smoke into the air with force and determination.

Once the fire was out we ate chilaquiles then we drove all around the city saying goodbye to people. It didn't feel ceremonious though. I wasn't dwelling on the possibility of each thing being the last thing. Maybe because I was too tired from lack of sleep and rich food and smoke inhalation to really care, maybe I wanted it to be the last thing. I wanted to finally find the off switch.