a hopeless romantic makes two jaded punks cry

strangest most real slice of life greyhound ride ever. trying to write and rock out the gorillaz, a long essay on Warhol and the death of rock and roll inspired by intense conversation with my dad (and not yet finished). A beat rocker sleeping in the back tried to get my attention before passing out, and when we stopped at hagerstown she walked up to bum a cigarette, introducing herself as Beanie Interkin Day. Turns out she's bumming around the country trying to find work, as both her home and the bar she was tending in gulfport, mi were destroyed when the hurricane hit. and her bandmates in her metal band, the broken spokes, are all out and about in that same boat. so we started talking, about bands we've seen and places we've been, across two seats and an old gentleman who seemed both fascinated and appaled by the strange ways kids relate these days. she seems lonely, and it turns out she's also fleeing the past, a rocky marraige broken up by the death of their two month old son. she's one of the the dispossessed, always expecting the worst and getting it thrown back in her face. I ask her to join me and at least have some company for the rest of the ride, and not within a few minutes the boy in the seat in front of us, name of James, turns around and says he's been on the buses for about nineteen hours now.

Now this kid reminds me of my youngest brother, or what he'll be like when he'll be 18 and just in college, and he's a hopeless romantic. seems he and his longterm sweetheart back home had a falling out since long distance relationships don't always work, and he said a few things and now she's seeing his best friend. So he drops all his school work, first semester at a prestigious art school down in georgia, and is bussing home on no money and a lot of dreams in order to patch things up and win back her heart. and then for the next several hours he proceeds to tell us two jaded fools all the sweet romantic things he ever did for her, which he's been writing down in a notebook to give her along with some atrocious love poetry and such stuff. he's young he's sweet, he's the quintessential hopeless romantic. now granted, a lot of his game has been buying her things, diamond rings, stereos, fancy restraunt dinners, etc... but mixed in is stories of carrying her home, driving hours to be with her when she's sick and such stuff. His heart's in the right place. and enormous.

and so Beanie and I listen, and start to cry. Beanie says, noone's ever been that romantic to me before, girl must be a fool if she doesn't take you back up. I'd take you myself. Can't believe people wouldn't want to be taken care of by such a sweet guy. I want to tell him he's young yet, and he's got plenty of time to get his heart broken, again and again before he gets to my age, but he's breaking my heart all over again. I mean, damn, I've been there. I've written the book of poems, and thrown flowers through windows at night, and made sure people got safely home, and all that not even half a year ago. I can't bust this guy's dreamy bubble, it's got too much hope, and suddenly I find myself having faith in humanity again. How could you not? His love and passion practically radiate from him. he may not get his girl back, but he's going all out, and all I can do is cry and wish him the best of luck, and wonder just why I gave up on being so romantic myself. Makes me wonder if I couldn't have done more... but no, no sense in regret. there's always next time. I say, if she doesn't fall in love with you all over again and take you back, I'll track her down and kill her. we listen, he's sleep deprived and babbling, positively gushing, and when he gets up to get off at new stanton wish him the best of luck.

I yell after him, win her back, man, win her back for all of us.

I hope he does. the world needs to know that those who care don't always get fucked over in the end.