WILLIAM EGGLESTON. “UNTITLED” (C. 1970-1973). © EGGLESTON ARTISTIC TRUST. COURTESY EGGLESTON ARTISTIC TRUST AND DAVID ZWIRNER. 4
THEY CALL THAT THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM, AND IT’S TRIPPY AS ALL HELL
All I remember from that night is that I watched as he moved her dangling sleeves away from the pool of maple syrup, and that the rest of the summer was spent writing poetry and stories about my sticky sleeves. When I wake up, I think that it’s raining, but it’s just a rerun of Twister 5 playing on in distant back- ground from the night before. A young Helen Hunt is yelling at her soon-to-be divorced news anchor husband inside his run-down truck. She asks about his new girlfriend, and he says she’s sexy or whatever, they say in 90s movies. The idea of divorce scares me. But I guess who can really promise forever when we don’t have the time. Your arm is strewn across my chest. My eyes creep up the limb that surrounds me, following it up until eventually, my gaze lands on your face, content and motionless. I turn to you, resting my forehead against your chin. Your scent tiptoes through my nose, reminding me of mornings filled with your teasing quips and telling each other of our countless dreams under the safety of your sheets. I think that’s when I knew that it was already too late. I think love is kinda stupid. You go for so long finally content with walking alone in the world. And
then one day, you can’t enjoy a single moment, not even a nice cup of cof- fee, without wishing you were shar- ing it with them.At home all you can think about is how they’re in their bed, how you are in yours, and only the winds knows what they’re think- ing. So I’ll sit here and wait, with a secret, because haven’t you heard? Words lose meaning the more you say them. You’re awake now.And you look a little different. “Do you love me?” you ask me. “What do you mean,” I say, ner- vous that the wind betrayed me. “Do you love me?” you ask again. I nod, a sort of sideways nod. You tell me you love me. What are we going to do now?
There are moments we wish we could speed past while we await for what’s to come: the moment before two hands touch, a ride in an elevator, the last breath before a scream. But our time here is measured, and we must cherish what little we have. When seconds are lost in the silence, all we can do is wait.
“What do you want to do now?”
you ask me
Head on your shoulder, I say, “I
could watch another movie.”
You flip the channels, and I watch the colors flicker on the wall until you fall asleep. We haven’t left your couch since the news of the rainstorm came on TV yesterday, and we really haven’t left your house since we met. It was last summer at Astro Diner. I was meeting my friend, Alpine, and his girlfriend, Lane. You came behind them with your large green pants, hands in your pockets. Your hands are always in your pock- ets. (It’s because you have Raynaud’s phenomenon, so I know how to hold your hands at night.) All four of us sat in a booth. Al- pine ordered chili fries, Lane and I ordered pancakes, and you ordered an apple pie, no ice cream. I watched Alpine and Lane, aways so in sync, their knees touching under the sticky booths.
— Bree Castillo
5 Why do we love seeing cars flipped over road sides like we like watching lovers flip one another over beds? Because it’s hot, now shut up and enjoy the show. See, the 1996 action/thriller Twister , Directed by Jan de Bot, follows couple Bill and Jo Harding. As advanced storm chasers, the couple, also about to di- vorce, work together to create a weather alert system. The couple finds themselves wrapped up in the dan- ger of the storms. 4 William Eggleston’s The Outlands , on view now at David Zwirner, coinciding with the publication of William Eggleston: The Outlands, Selected Works , pres- ents a selection of photographs, most of which have never been seen by the public. Taken between 1970 and 1973, these photographs come from the same project that were included in Eggleston’s famed 1976 exhibition at The Museum of Modern Art, New York.
214
Made with FlippingBook - PDF hosting