a pedestrian journey – chapter three.

those i keep close are few in number and great in practice. i’m shy. i’m awkward. and in the past, i have been cold, but since have mostly outgrown such iciness. (such ickiness, too.) there have been those so generous, keepers of chisels that have hammered away my go-away demeanor until i resigned my friendship to them. i love these people dearly. and so, often without knowing it (neither they nor i), they wriggle their way into my words and pictures.

jay moore is just that, a short love letter to my near-and-dear, one i will call S.

i met S. my sophomore year at emerson college. our first night together left us with a photograph of her tongue firmly pressed against my face. while that reads rather loose, i assure you it was comfort. from there on, it was the best of times. and to this day, we’ve yet to experience the worst of times. i doubt we will. we are honest in each others ears. we touch too much. we kiss on the lips. hey, S., i miss your face…

for my thesis in college, a study in postmodern theory, i adapted moulin rouge for the stage, and S. was my satine. looking back, i realize now she was my first muse. so yes, S. is beautiful. she is beautiful in all the ways you would expect, and as much so, in the ways you would not.

lincoln booth knows he is strange, and for that, may pretend that he wants to be lonely. but as i know well, all of us so strange and lonely want a friend. be it a pigeon that harasses our window or our very own harvey bunny. or what is actually needed, a true real person. i knew i wanted lincoln to have a friend. jay moore became that for him.

now jay is not S. quite simply for the reason that S. is my age, and jay (J.) is probably past forty. instead jay is what i imagined S. would butterfly into.

jay is an actress, rather, jay is a movie star. there is a difference, yes?
jay is a movie star second, and a very real person first.
the clothes jay wears fit her perfectly.
jay is a statue. a monument.
jay speaks in compliments.
if jay hurt herself, you would never ever laugh. but she would.
jay is a ten. she thinks she is a seven.
jay is a mama bear.
jay sees things that lincoln doesn’t.
jay keeps it real.
jay knows when you are looking at her.
jay wants you to cut the crap.
jay is the love child of susan sarandon and laura linney. thank god for science. thank god for imagination.

less sunburnt than yesterday, but still yours,
n.gray