Bellingham nostalgia

Bellingham, Washington

I spent my 21st year in the wettest city in world. My rain boots had apples on them, and my hair went unwashed for days, held up in a bun, the humidy creating a frame of curls around my head.
I worked on a typewriter, and rode a bicycle with fenders. I became quiet, withdrawn and inspired as a result of the weather and spending so much time alone.
I lived in a section of a Victorian house where a thick coated cat would mew every night to be released from the watery night. I slept on a futon and awoke every morning at 9am to play my guitar and eat toaster waffles before walking up the long hill to class.
I had no kin there.
I had no companion to my solitude.
I had a five dollar loaf of bread and raspberry licorice on the pier at high tide for dinner.
I shopped at the Fairhaven Food Market and bought bin food, and broccoli. Apples were cheap. Sometimes a bottle of wine, too. I would drink it alone on my futon while reading poetry and this made me feel different than my parents.
My housemate/landlady called it my "year of firsts".
First time:
I withdrew from a class. (Spanish 202.)
Wrote and produced a play. (maybe ever.)
got published in 2 literary journals.
rode the amtrak.
rode the greyhound bus. (ekk!)
rode a bike everywhere.
became depressed.
felt and saw the pacific northwest.
felt far, far, away.
made english muffin pizzas, pies, cooked meat.
lived with goats, chickens, a couple in a van, all on the property.
survived a 3 month winter fast of no sun.

I believe some of most special, secret things are those known only to us.
Bellingham, someday I may return, but it will never be the same.