Going Home

"What other girl's so hip?" Johnathan asked her in a tipsy voice as he pointed to the stereo.

"Hip?" Sallye asked.

"Yeah."

"Who? I lost track of what you were talking about." It was the seventies; there was too much pot, cigarette smoke, and wine in the room.

"Joni Mitchell, of course. You know, like writing a song lyric about 'pissing a tequila anaconda the full length of the parking lot'?"

"I don't know," she grinned. "It sounds kind of awful to me."

"What does?"

"Having to take a piss in a parking lot."

"Well, for a woman, yes. Of course. But it's been done. You know what it's like late at night at a bar. Sometimes, outdoors is cleaner. And what a wonderful image for it!"

"It is clever," she yawned.

It was getting late, and he didn't seem ready to go home. She wished he would, though. They'd had a nice time, but now it was late. They hadn't had sex, and they weren't going to. They were friends. Their good friend Phil had been there earlier, but he'd gone home an hour ago.

"Johnathan's always been like this," she thought. "Not knowing when to stop or when to go home."

She was aware, though she didn't care to dwell on it, that he was always on the verge of being in love with her, especially late at night like this. She was always hoping that he'd get over it. Being friends with someone like that was a burden that she found hard to explain to him; it was hard precisely because they were friends. Even after all these years, she'd never quite found the words. How could she explain it? If he couldn't understand it the first time and remember it, what else could she tell him?

She didn't want to kiss him or sleep with him any more than she wanted to have sex with any of her women friends. Possibly less—she'd already had the experience of sleeping with him! She liked his cleverness and his company, and she wanted his friendship very much, but that was it. Camaraderie and affection were not love! She seldom got all that excited any more about sex or romance, anyway, but if she told him that, they'd just have to stay up and discuss it equably until he made her sick. He loved to argue and discuss—she knew from experience that sometimes they were the same, sometimes not.

"This was fun," Sallye yawned. "But I've got to go to bed now."

He stared at her, suppressing his longing looks as much as he could, trying to look nonchalant. He ended up grinning.

"Yeah, I'd better be going home myself," he said, standing up like a beaten man.

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Joni Mitchell's "Talk To Me" Lyrics

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