Poems To Strangers [ Bo Burnham ]

2- Thirteen Never Dies

AUTHORS NOTE: I haven't spell checked this yet cause I just wanna rush and publish!
—BO'S POV—

By now my girlfriend has stopped asking where I go every morning into the afternoon. For the first few months she thought it was just on the weekends that I went out cuz she was barely home in the mornings into the afternoon either always working on some kind of project at some kind of friends house. After the project ended though she got curious "You leave the house every day now? You used to hate walking from your bed to the kitchen fridge."she used to say. "Isn't it good, that I'm getting fresh air everyday ? You used to always tell me I needed to get out more." Is what I'd always reply. It always ended with her eventually dropping it with an " I guess so."

It's not like I was anywhere I shouldn't have been. I just wanted to keep this one thing to myself. I debated telling her about Utopia a lot. She knows everything about me and I wanna share the things that make me happy with her. But I decided to keep that one thing to myself, so that when she leaves, I will have atleast one place that doesn't remind me of her. I think that's when I truly realized things were going down hill, when I started planning for when she would leave.

I found this place shortly after finishing my special for Netflix. I got so depressed with no other creative outlet. Lorenes usually really good at helping with that but I think she's tired of helping... which I can't necessarily blame her. So I just kind of got in my car and drove. At that time I didn't really leave often so I didn't really care to pay the gas tank much thought and of course the one time I decide to take the car out within the last six months it breaks down in the middle of fucking no where. The road ahead was flat and you could see for miles. There was nothing behind me and nothing in front of me, there was nothing around at all. Besides Utopia cafe. Some how, whether it was fate or not I miraculously lost gas right infront of it. I remember waiting inside for triple A to come fucking tow the car back cause I was too prideful to call Lorene and tell her I forgot to check the gas so she would just bring me some.

I remember the first time I stepped inside. All I could think about was fall in Massachusetts. I had come in at the end of breakfast time and the smell was identical to that of my moms autumn candles and my sister Samms special breakfasts she would always make me on mondays.  We both got up extremely early for school that day, her so she could make hockey practice on time and me simply cause I was like nervous every single day going to school in middle school. I mean it is nerve racking. You smack dab in between elementary and high school, you're basically like a weird little underdeveloped alien. She always tries her best to make the pancakes into some sort of shape or make smiley faces out of the eggs and bacon. That was back when I was 13, and now I'm 31.

I feel like a our 13 yearold selves never fully die you know? I think there's still apart of me that feels 13. Like when I'm at a store and they ask me if I want the receipt and I stutter between saying thanks and yes, or like when you see someone you know from high school and you exchange awkward hello's like you did when you passed each other in the hallway even though it's been over 10 years or when you're really sad like really really sad and you don't have any real good reason to be or even know why and you just wanna throw a tantrum cause no one in the world can understand. Those are all moments where I feel very 13 still.
"Welcome back!" Says the cashier. I snap back into reality and realize I've been staring at this menu deep in my thoughts for atleast three minutes now. Awkward. This is definitely a moment where I feel 13.

"Hey hi yes! Can I get a—"
"Medium latte with hazelnut and French vanilla syrup, thick foam ontop with banana and cinnamon pancakes with an extra side of syrup and butter. Is that right?" The cashier questioned.
"I- yes yes it is am I really that predictable?" I joke.
"You order it every day sir Bo sir" said the cashier who then began to blush out of embarrassment and I mean I know exactly why I mean sir bo sir? It's adorable though. It's funny seeing socially inept teenagers attempting professionalism.
"Well let's add a side of bacon just to shake things up I guess!" I reply.
"Cool so your total will be 15.92"
I take out my card and swipe it before walking to the far back of the room. To my favorite seat.  I was always oddly attracted to the old vintage love seat in the back, the staff here told me it has been here since the 60's the original owner bought it and it was the first ever peace of furniture in the entire establishment. I like things with a bit of history to them. I set down but my solitude was immediately interrupted by the buzzing of my phone
Incoming call from lorene <3
"Robert are you serious? Again?"
She only calls me that when she's mad so I know this is not good.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"You forgot to fucking take the dogs out this morning again. This is the third time this week. Since you wake up early and goes go knows where anyway I thought we'd made an agreement you'd take them our in the morning. Both of them shit right by the back patio door. I mean you couldn't even open the door so they could roam around the back yard? I really thought I could depend on you but as always—"
I cut her off.
"As always? Are we gonna act like I am not juggling a million things right now? I'm sorry. I fucked up— but let's not act like I'm just this completely unreliable person? You act like I hate our dogs or something. Yeah you know I just... I just woke up and saw are dogs needed to take a shit and decided hey you know what I think I'm just gonna let my dogs shit in the house today!!!" I reply.
There's a long silence on the other side of the phone before she responds. "I'm leaving. I'm leaving for a few days to a friends house and when I get back we need to talk."
"Wait what? Talk about wh-" before I was finished she hung up on me.
I could feel my entire body start to heat up. Is it happening? The moment I've been dreading for the past year—is it... is it really coming to fruition? I close my eyes and try to swallow the knot in the back of my throat. Digging my hands into the couch cushions holding on to them tightly as if gravity would stop working if I didn't and I would fall into the sun. I try to focus myself in the moment. What was it my manager taught me when I used to get stage anxiety? One thing I can taste two things I can smell three things I can see and four things I can feel or touch? It's supposed to help calm me right? Well one thing I can taste is the minty after taste of my toothpaste. Two things I can smell? Coffee brewing, pancakes. Three things I can see? This table in front of me, the window in the front of the room,  and the black rug in the center of the floor. Four things I can touch? The velvet couch cushion, the sweat on my palms, the spring in this cushion and— is that cushion tag? No it doesn't feel like a fabric tag? What is that? I grasp at the foreign object in the couch pulling our a crumpled piece of paper. I get up to throw it away but then I noticed writing on it, and of course I'm nosy and gonna see what it says.

What is home?
Some will say it is a house.
Some will say it is someone else.
Some will say it is their heart.
But what makes those things a home?
To me, home is laughter.
The type of laughter where when you start.
You'll don't know if you'll ever stop.
The type that punches.
Against the pit of your stomach.
Reminding you that pain.
isn't always your enemy.
But a friend, that takes the numbness away.
Just for a few seconds
To remind you, that you can still feel something.
-C
"Just 'C' huh?"
The paper smelt like cigarettes and lavender which within itself is an immediate red flag but something intrigues me about it. I mean I get it.
"Here's your breakfast Bo! Can I get you anything else?" the young boy asked setting my food down in front of me. "Could I actually borrow some paper and a pen?" I ask "of course! I didn't bring any over here but I'll go get some! Give me sec!" Said the boy dashing away back behind the counter. The staff here are very sweet, the whole places I pretty much ran by teenagers I think I've only ever seen one adult here and he was still not that old. Probably around my age. The kids here know who I am, some of them do at least. I think we just have this silent mutual agreement that they simply do not tell people I come here like everyday they keep that to themselves. Even though it probably could help them get a lot more business here since practically no one comes here anymore. I'm really thankful. This is the one place I can be me without everyone looking. "Here you go dude you can keep it we have a bunch!" The kid said handing me the paper and pen before walking away.

Hey stranger,
I didn't expect to get this message.. I didn't know other people come to my place but I guess I will allow it this one time since I really like your poem. I mean I get it you know? The thing about the laughter. Amazing reference. I'd also say that home isn't just laughter home is ambiguous.
I guess in response I'd say that,

Home is also
A blanket
that wraps up all the parts of yourself
That people neglect, and dread
All the flaws
Hugs them tight
Keeps them all together
Keeps them warm,
Keeps them close
And reminds me you
That your imperfectness is okay
That it's apart of you,
It reminds you to not deny it and that it's here to stay
Cause it's apart of your greatness it doesn't take it away.

So basically a home is like
a tortilla
and you
are the sloppy messy ingredients to the burrito
All wrapped up and held tightly together
To create something
That's both delicious
And will make you shit your guts out.
(I know this poem sucks but I'm in a slump right now give me a break! Also P.S why did your poem smell like cigarettes? Those are BAD for you weirdo stop smoking them.)
-B
I fold the piece of paper up and draw a smiley face on the front and shove it back into the couch, and tuck the poem from mysterious letter C into my pocket for safe keeping.