August 3, 2005
I’m here. Where are you?
And do you know it takes two days to get here from Los Angeles? I had to wait an extra day in Santiago so I could catch the plane to Puerto Montt. I thought you’d be the one meeting me at the trail, not Gustavo, but it was nice to catch up. Also, ouch. My legs are going to kill me tomorrow from all that riding.
So, where are you?
August 4, 2005
Isabel says you wrote her to say that I would be coming, but didn’t say when you would be coming. Should I be worried?
August 5, 2005
And now everyone it doing the whole vampire clam-up-and-not-tell-me-anything thing. Screw you all. If Isabel and Gustavo aren’t worried then I’m not going to worry about you either.
August 17, 2005
I’ve been here for two weeks now. Where are you? Ever since you came to my apartment (Do you know you always smell like smoke to me, by the way? I thought something was burning when I came home that night.) I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.
Is this you being pissed at me for leaving Houston?
You never once came to visit me in L.A. Not once. Except to break into my apartment and leave me the sonnets (which I brought by the way) and take one of my favorite pictures, of course. Would it have killed you to hang around for a while?
Haha. I just realized that was unintentionally funny.
August 20, 2005
Took a ride today.
You still aren’t here.
Think I might go rock-climbing tomorrow—with the Reverte’s oldest son. The really handsome one.
Why aren’t you here?
I’ve been sleeping in your room, and I discovered that without any light to wake me up in the morning, I sleep a really long time. I’m very well rested.
Is that what this was? Just a getaway for Beatrice so she could relax? Not saying I don’t appreciate it, but…
No, actually, I don’t appreciate it. I love this place, but I came here to see you, not ride horses, and hike, and eat Señora Reverte’s really excellent cooking.
So, where the hell are you?
I have a return ticket for the thirty-first. I’m not hanging out until you get here. If you even plan on getting here.
August 25, 2005
Why am I even writing in this stupid journal? It was just laying open on the kitchen table when I got here. Did you know this whole place smells like you? It does. I kind of hate that at this point.
August 31, 2005
Go to hell. I never want to see you again.