You wanted to see how good it feels to leave

I stood by the window looking out on the landing field. Our airplane, a large jumbo jet with a china airlines logo inscribed on it, was taxiing into the gate. It would still be 40 minutes til we would board. About a half mile away another plane was prepping for its flight. Luggage was being shuttled in. A large truck sat next to it pumping in fuel. I wondered who would be on that flight, where they would be going. I turned around and looked at my fellow passengers. It was a ragtag assortment. Mainly asians, but a few foreigners who were trekking through the jungles and tourist traps of southeast asia. I sat down on the stiff plastic chairs that lined the waiting area. The chairs were blue. They were shaped like orange peels and were not comfortable. I looked at my hands and traced the lines that were in them.

The first time I was in this airport, waiting for this airplane, I was swamped with thought. Now there wasn't a thought in my head. My mind was preoccuppied with the nervousness of travel, and still scattered from things between myself and Amy. Amy was my college girlfriend.We had first met at a party. We were attending CCA, an art school in north Oakland at the time. It was an embarassing social gathering of pimple faced rejects, berets, and pretensions. I thought she was cute, if a little plump and invited her to see "The Maltese Falcon," which was playing up on Shattuck.

Our relationship was a casual friendship at first and we spent much of our time discussing art; the lines of De Stilj, the vacuity of surrealism, the explosion of Dada. We painted together and our first art shows followed. Our relationship became more serious as are time together increased. With the passing days we had more and more in common. We planned a trip to Thailand together. We would take the time off of our schooling in order to focus on our creative enterprises along with traveling. I'd never been out of the states, she'd never been out of california.

Our plans fell apart when I learned she'd been cheating on me consistently for several months. She'd started hooking up with a TA in the film department. He thought he was her boyfriend as well. He liked Goddard, she liked sleeping around and lying. Our falling out was uneventful. I wanted there to be blood, smashed heads, crucifixitions. It was a bit of stamping about, huffing and puffing, and taking back a few of the items I'd given her. I cancelled her plane ticket to Thailand.

I started to spend time with my friends again drinking and complaining for a couple months. I finished a few paintings, and started talking to Amy again. I felt we were young, that people made mistakes, that I'd screwed people over before yet still wanted them in my life. She was still leading the TA around an a short leash and so our relationship was one of limbo. I was leaving for thailand, she was hedging her bets. Before I left I told her that if she was single during the time that I was in thailand and available when I came back I would consider getting into a serious relationship with her again.

I took up an apartment in eastern Bangkok and rarely left the city. I enjoyed the grittiness of the capital, the crowded streets, the dangling wires from the broken telephone poles, the constant construction that was unguarded. It was a stark contrast to the safety of college, of school, of art professors, and lectures. I wandered the city for hours, following the klongs, the sewage filled canals. I would try to count the number of houses on the canals, the number of tuk tuks on a busy street. I rented a motorbike for a few days then decided that it was far too dangerous, and I simply didn't have the courage to risk my life in the haphazard traffic.

I met Molly Tolliver the same week that I had my parting phone call with Amy.