THIS WORD WAS A 70+ PT SCRABBLE WORD IN A GAME THAT HAPPENED SOMETIME AND SOMEPLACE: INFINITE

when i approach this man who is very much like myself i may greet him with a 'hello.' i may say, 'how are you.' perhaps, "how's your day" is the best. maybe i offer him a glass of water. i may give him a hug, and i might cry a little bit after. i might ask how she is, if her hair has turned silver metallic. i might simply laugh at the sight of him but not in a degrading way, a laugh of pure joy. i don't know - i could, maybe even for some reason, perhaps if the season is winter and we are stranded on the side of the road in the midst of a blizzard on the outskirts of cold boulder, having to change a flat tire, be upset.

maybe i'd say nothing. just stare. crazy twilight stare.

maybe, just maybe, i'd ask him a random ass question: how many times have you shit today? do you piss in swimming pools? showers? what did you REALLY think of twilight? what do you do when you are alone at home? how many people have you seen die, right in front of your eyes? when you were 24, what did you think was in store for you? has it come true? should i abandon all hope?

one could also easily imagine that i'd immediately suggest, off the bat, minute i see his face, that we play a game of scrabble.

maybe i tell him a story about a memory that he was apart of, but isn't really his; i mean, i was the one who lived it, so it's mine, right? it'd be about a day in september when we were at my sister's home with daly. i'd say dad, remember when we were at sis's (my sister won't let me call her patty) for my birthday awhile back. we ate sushi and talked about tiger woods and golf and graduate school (the only things we ever talk about)? you fell asleep on the couch. i was hanging with daly and she was walking around and then she walked up to you and kind of played with your socks and kept trying to pull them off. classic dad socks, smooth, velvety black socks (i did read/play pat the bunny with daly when i babysat her so she has an affinity for touching). anyway, it made me want to cry. i don't know why but we were all there, three generations of kims." then i'd probably pause because he doesn't really understand english all too well. let him digest the information. "yeah, so, anyway. i just want to tell you that you must want to know what it's like to be a korean in america who got to grow up here. and i want to tell you. but there's too much, just like you probably can't tell me everything about your life. and i imagine that's why we have an unwritten understanding that there is not much to be said. we know what's up, and it's all good, and we appreciate, and know without having to hear any words. all i want to say is you are the patriarch now dad. when grandma and grandpa died, you became the head of the household. and then i look around at everything sis and i have, and now daly, and i have to say, good job old man. and you know, i'm pretty scared to become the head of the household someday; i'm scared of losing you."

i may make him come with me to the corn field back home where my friends and i used to smoke copious amounts of drugs, drink and play guitar under crystalline icy skies in the fall; where i lost my virginity, where i had my first break up, my first kiss. i would make him lay down on a blanket and tilt his head backward to look at the world upside down, to see the sands of stars. i would make him promise to listen to pavement and read william faulkner and my own writing. i would make him talk about sex and drugs and love and heartbreak and holding hands and the most arrogant thoughts and the most debased thoughts he'd ever thought of. i would make him tell me all the thoughts hidden deep down, never even attempted to be put into words, he'd ever had ever in his entire life. i would make him expose himself, answer my questions, my demands to know the truths - to know the truths about me, myself, and who i am.

i would make him, i would make him; i would make him.