The Worm in the Heart

I can't remember where I got the idea from. The idea that if a person manages to learn some specific, miniscule detail about you, you know that he's managed to his worm his way into your heart.

When I was in middle school, it was pizza. Among the thousand factoids I picked up about him during my five year infatuation, I knew my Watermelon Prince ate only mushroom pizza. I believed back then that if a guy didn't know that my favorite topping was Hawaiian, then he didn't actually like me that much. 'Cause when you're crushing, you pick up every little detail you can get your grubby hands on. You memorize his school schedule, recognize all of the shirts he owns, check out all of the favorite artists he lists on Facebook.

I wonder, if I could create a visual representation of all these stalkerish factoids I have accumulated in my lifetime, what would it like? What percent of my brain capacity is filled up with this kind of useful crap? Some of it has eroded it away with time, but there are still so many dumb details I can picture so clearly in my head.

You turned up in my dream last night. I don't know how you always manage to appear in my subconsciousness whenever I haven't thought about you in ages. It's as if your ego can't stand the thought of me tossing you out of my brain along with the rest of the garbage.

I don't know where we were, but our mutual friends were there. You were almost unrecognizable, in a black trench coat, scars on your face, and dark, unkempt hair. I called out, "Hey, You. Long time no see." My words caused all our friends to whip around and lash out at me. They called me a psycho. They told me that you had been dead for months. They said that the vagrant I said hello to didn't look anything like you, so how in bloody hell could I have mistaken him for you?

But I knew it was you. Your hair was different, your clothes were different, but I would have recognized you anywhere. I can't remember how to integrate a natural log, and I can't tell you the timeline of the Civil War, but I would have to be three-quarters dead not to recognize you even under all those scars.