Welcome to the third installment of glucose: a writing group.
This session, our writers were asked to create something inspired by the following quote from Michael Ondaatje, "All over the world there must be people like us, Anna had said then, wounded in some way be falling in love--seemingly the most natural of acts."
It could be poetry, short story, random scribbling, whatever.
This is what we came up with.
Hope you enjoy!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Dalton Barber
Demon to Heaven
It's so hard to keep on this righteous path,
And I feel the slip!
Ten billion hands, reaching for me.
Trying to pull me back to the abyss.
Stones pelt me, the pain almost to much to bare.
Repenting 'tis not easy.
Temptations hands gripping.
Their evil claws ripping.
For I am a demon who has earned his halo.
And I testify on this day:
I shall not fall back to that demonic way!
Hell, you've had your chance.
A new path I follow,
Not a road of pleasure.
But one of diminishing sorrow!
The path this reformed demon takes,
Easy it is not.
But the outcome is Heaven.
Yes, Heaven!
For that,
I keep on this walk.
A Beautiful Face
The edge close to my way legs,
I falter.
Rocks fall from beneath my feet.
Gravity takes control!
Falling,
I can't catch my grip.
The ground coming closer
I fear I may hit.
Before I feel the crash,
I see your beautiful face.
To my surprise,
You catch me.
You whisper:
I swear,
It will all be okay.
It's so hard to keep on this righteous path,
And I feel the slip!
Ten billion hands, reaching for me.
Trying to pull me back to the abyss.
Stones pelt me, the pain almost to much to bare.
Repenting 'tis not easy.
Temptations hands gripping.
Their evil claws ripping.
For I am a demon who has earned his halo.
And I testify on this day:
I shall not fall back to that demonic way!
Hell, you've had your chance.
A new path I follow,
Not a road of pleasure.
But one of diminishing sorrow!
The path this reformed demon takes,
Easy it is not.
But the outcome is Heaven.
Yes, Heaven!
For that,
I keep on this walk.
A Beautiful Face
The edge close to my way legs,
I falter.
Rocks fall from beneath my feet.
Gravity takes control!
Falling,
I can't catch my grip.
The ground coming closer
I fear I may hit.
Before I feel the crash,
I see your beautiful face.
To my surprise,
You catch me.
You whisper:
I swear,
It will all be okay.
Sarah Henderson
Anna
Hey
Hey, what’s up?
Nothing. What are you doing?
Anna, what’s wrong?
Nothing. What are you doing?
Anna.
Nothing.
Anna, you haven’t called in three weeks and it’s the middle of the night.
So last night I had to go to the hospital. But it wasn’t a big deal.
Anna, quit fucking around.
Really, it wasn’t a big deal. Like, so last night at work my stomach was hurting a lot, and so Leanne gave me some pepto. I didn’t have a cup, so I just drank it out of the bottle, but like, it didn’t stop hurting, so I had a little bit more and it still wasn’t getting any better. And so then Mike said to just have some bread, but then Barrie told me to get back to work. So I did, but then I started to get sick and Mike brought me something to drink and so I drank it. But like, it wasn’t getting any better, and so I just drank the rest of the pepto.
Anna, why would you drink the whole bottle?
I don’t know.
What did he bring you to drink?
Well, I think it was ginger ale, but like I said, no big deal.
Were you drinking at work?
No...Well, I mean, I didn’t know. But like, it didn’t matter, cause I had to go to the bathroom to puke and then like Barrie told me I needed to go home, and so like I was getting my stuff together and I kind of threw up on the floor. So then Mike and Leanne took me to the emergency room, and then the doctor told me I was pregnant.
------
The shitty thing is, I don’t even like Cleve. He’s just this bum. But it doesn’t matter, really, because while we were sitting in the waiting room, I started bleeding, and so the doctor took me back and he told me that I wasn’t pregnant any more. So that’s why I called. But I have to go now, I’m late for work.
Anna, wait.
I love you, MMWAH.
Anna?...Fuck.
Hello?
Sam?
Anna?
Yeah. It’s me. Are you awake?
Anna it’s fucking 4 in the morning.
I know, sorry, I love you. MMWAH.
Wait, what’s going on?
You’re asleep, it’s fine, just forget I called.
No, sorry, I’m awake, tell me.
It’s nothing really.
I wish you wouldn’t say that. I won’t get mad, I haven’t gotten mad, please just tell me. I love you kid. You’re stuck with me ok?
I’m just drunk and tired and I want to come home.
Anna don’t cry.
I hate this. I hate living. I just want to die. Do you ever think that? Do you ever think it’d just be easier if I just died? You’d be happy. Mom would like shit a brick. Dude, I should just die. Someone should arrange it. I wasn’t meant to be here.
I love you, and I’d miss you if you died. You know? Who else would wake me up in the middle of the night?
Fuck you Sam.
Anna, seriously, you’re drunk. Everything will be better in the morning. Hun, just stop crying, if you want to come home, you can.
I can’t.
Why not?
I have to work.
You can get another job.
I can’t leave Cleve.
Anna...................can we talk about this tomorrow?
It is tomorrow.
I have to be at work in like three hours, Anna please.
Fine. Sorry I’ve ruined your life. Bye.
Anna, wait. I’m just tired. You aren’t ruining anyone’s life.
Yeah. I know. Whatever. Love you, bye.
Seriously, we can talk about this. I’m sorry.
Bye.
Anna?
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
Anna, it’s me, please don’t be mad. I’m sorry, I was just tired. Please call me back ok hun? I love you.
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
It’s me again. Hun, I’m sorry, really, I was a jerk and a bad sister, please just call me back, I’m worried about you.
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
Anna...quit fucking around, it’s been like three days, just call me back, please hun? I’m really sorry. Just let me know you’re alive? I know I was a jerk, but you know I’m not nice. I love you kid. MMWAH.
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
Anna, I’m sorry. Please hun.
Sam?
Anna? Where have you been, I’ve called you like a million times.
I’ve just been working, why are you so upset?
I mean, you call me at like 4 in the morning, talk about wanting to die, and then don’t call me back for a week...I’ve left ten thousand messages.
I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t call you, and why would I want to die? You’re fucking crazy Sam.
Don’t lie.
I’m not, don’t be a bitch.
Anna, you were drunk, you might not remember. Anyway, it’s not important, I’m just glad you’re ok. Can we talk?
Talk about what?
The hospital, the baby?
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Anna? Are you ok? Please talk to me about this.
Listen, I have to get back to work, Barrie’s been on my ass. I’ve got two two tops and a 7 topper, so I got to go. I love you.
I love you. I do. I mean it.
Yeah. I got it. Quit being stupid.
What up doe?
Doe? What the heck does that mean?
Shut up stupid, it’s like what up dog.
Since when have you said stuff like that?
Shut up.
Whatever.
What’s going on?
Nothing, I’m on my way to work. You know I have no life.
You’re a dork.
I know.
I talked to Ash. She might come down here.
Really? Why can’t y’all ever come see me?
Y’all? That’s fucking why...you’re a stupid southerner now.
Oh, and what up doe? That’s better? At least I’m not some trashy beach bum.
Shut up.
You’re flat as a board.
You’ve got watermelons on your chest.
Anna?
Don’t.
K.
I love you.
Love you too.
Hey babe.
Sam?
Who else?
I hate Cleve.
Hun.
No, shut up. I hate him.
Why?
I broke up with him last week and he was all butt-hurt about it. So like I was at work and he was standing outside for four hours and I had to get Mike and Barrie to walk me out, and Barrie was all like “Anna, you know it doesn’t look good for business when Cleve’s hanging around outside. I need you to seriously rethink your commitment to this company.” Dumb ass, it’s a fucking restaurant. Who the hell cares? I can’t stand him.
Barrie?
No, Cleve. Well, I hate Barrie too. But Cleve, why can’t he get over it. I mean, dude, I have love handles, why the hell is he that interested? LOVE HANDLES. He’s always going on an on about how beautiful I am and how he can’t live without me, I mean, Sam, come on...he’s a douche. Lame. He’s alive right now. Walking around, breathing, just fine. Eccch. It’s just gross. He can’t like me that much.
You are pretty fantastic.
Why are you always so damn stupid?
Someone has to be.
Well, you’re really good at it.
I know. I’m sorry he’s a jerk. So is this break-up permanent? Or are you going to get back together tomorrow?
Wow, you’re stupid and an ass.
Anna, come on, I’m just asking if you broke up because of a fight, or like serious long term consequences.
Long term consequences? Wow Sam........No like, he’s just pathetic. I got sick of him mooning over me all the time. It’s pointless, I don’t get why he’s always telling me he loves me and shit, but then like, I tried to hold his hand the other day in the car, and he like totally blew me off. Two faced bastard.
Are you ok?
Yeah. I mean, I’m not sitting on the couch eating Ben and Jerry’s, watching The Notebook and crying. I mean, I’m eating the Ben and Jerry’s, but only because it’s tasty. I like food.
Ok kid. If you need anything. I mean anything, just call. I promise I’ll stop being an ass.
I don’t think that’s possible.
You’re probably right. But I’m serious.
Thanks. Love you.
Love you too.
Hey.
Hey.
Do you remember when we were kids?
Um, yeah...
When mom took us to the mall to buy Christmas presents? Josh went with daddy to go get that stupid puzzle with his face on it? Mom wanted us to go get socks. Fucking socks for Christmas. And then I had to pee and you had to take me to the bathroom? And then Ash ran off to look at some shoes so Mom took off to go catch her? And then we came out and they were gone?
Socks aren’t so bad.
Do you remember?
Yeah, I remember. You started crying and I told you to shut up and you wouldn’t, so I hit you and then the security guys came up and told me to be nice to you and you told them that I had made Mom go away. I remember.
Ok...Just checking.
Anna?
Bye.
This is Sam, sorry I’ve missed your call, please leave a message.
You need to get a better message, you sound so fucking proper. Why do you always have to be so damn nerdy? You embarrass me. So I was thinking, what the fuck? A puzzle of himself. That’s what he gave her for Christmas. I hate her. You know that? I hate Mom. She yelled at me today. Yelled. On the fucking phone. She can’t even use the damn thing and she’s yelling at me on it. She told me he’s a loser. Why? He didn’t do anything to her? He’s not a bum, I just said that cause I was upset. I mean, she doesn’t know does she? Did you fucking tell her Sam? You did didn’t you? You fuck. I hate you. Traitor. Fucking bitch, you’re just like her.
This is Sam, sorry I’ve missed your call, please leave a message.
It’s me. Sorry.
This is Sam, sorry I’ve missed your call, please leave a message.
It’s me. You know what, I’m not fucking sorry. You did tell her. Well guess what? I lied. I fucking made the whole thing up. I’m the only fucking sane one in this whole fucking family. Don’t call me ok?
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
Anna. Please talk to me. I love you.
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
Please. I love you.
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
Anna, I can’t just keep calling you. I’ll just wait until you can talk. I didn’t say anything. I love you.
Sam?
Anna?
I’m getting married!!!!
Anna? What are you talking about? To who?
Um, to Cleve, who else? Why would you ask that? I’m getting married!
Um. Congratulations.
Why aren’t you happy for me?
I am, really. I mean, I am.
------
You haven’t called me for months Anna, and now you’re getting married? To Cleve? You don’t even like him. You’ve called me so many times: “Sam, I hate him, he’s just a bum.” “Sam, he won’t leave me alone, I broke up with him, and he just calls all the time, he sits outside Outback, waiting until I get off.” “Sam, I had to hide in Cleve’s closet cause his brother came home, I was in there for hours. Just sitting there, waiting for him to leave, and then he yelled at me because I was breathing too loud. But Tony didn’t even know I was there. I hate him.”
Sam why are you crying?
Shut up, just shut up.
I love him.
How? How can you love him.
I do. He’s my husband. I love him.
I can’t do this right now. Bye Anna.
Fine.
Hi.
Sam, just be happy for me.
How Anna? I don’t know what to think. You change your mind every day. I can’t base anything off of you. I’ve never met the guy. How can I like him? I can’t. I don’t. It’s been two years. Two years of you calling me every week with a different story. I’m tired.
Sam.
Don’t.
Sam......
Fine.
I love you.
Yeah.
------
Ok. I love you too.
Are you going to come.
......Yeah. When?
Oh my God, I’m so excited. Ok, I think next month. I think we’re just going to do it on the beach. Just us and you guys and his family. Mom’s coming. I don’t want to wear white though. I’d just look fat. I’m going to do orange ok? Like this really bright orange dress, like a silk strappy one. I got these heels, they’re like peep-toe stilettos, but I don’t know if I can walk around in the sand in them. Like, I’m already falling on my face all the time, I can’t walk in sand in heels right? Like I should wear flips right? Those orange ones you got me right?
Yeah. Those would work.
Why are you such a bitch?
I don’t know. Sorry.
Ok, well, get over it. I’ll call you later, you have to get something to wear ok? Something cute, not granny looking.
Ok.
Love you.
Love you too.
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
I don’t know if I can do this. I mean, Anna, I’m scared. I don’t know what to think. You’re my baby sister. I just can’t think about you getting married, not to him at least. I shouldn’t be saying this. Not in a message. Shit, I don’t know. I can’t ever tell you what I think when I’m actually talking to you. Anna, you were pregnant. Is that why you’re doing this? I can’t believe that you love him. I don’t. I don’t believe it. Shit.
Hello?
May I please speak to Samantha Harper?
Who is this?
Ms. Harper? This is Dr. David Lenard from St. Mary’s Medical Center. I’m calling because Anna was in a car accident this morning.
What?
She was involved in an accident this morning, sometime around 4 am, it took us some time to find information on any relatives. Anna’s currently in critical condition, but we believe she’s somewhat stable. Unfortunately, I can’t give you any more details over the phone. Is there anyone who would be able to come to the hospital?
I um. I mean. I. Um. I don’t know. I.... Is she ok? What kind of accident? I mean, is she alive? Is she going to die?
Ma’am, I understand that you are upset, but to give you further details, I really need someone to come to the hospital. All I can tell you is that she’s in critical condition.
I live nine hours away. Shit.
Ma’am?
I just need to call someone...someone’s got to help me, I’ll be there. Just don’t let her die. Please. I can’t.
Ms. Harper, when you arrive at the hospital, please ask to speak to me, Dr. Lenard. I will be able to explain further when you get here. Thank you.
Thank you? THANK YOU?
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
-------
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
-------
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
-------
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
Anna. I keep calling. Every time I hope you answer. I know you’re just laying there. You’ve been lying there for months. I keep paying your bill. Keep your phone charged. I still want you to answer, even if the damn thing’s in my pocket. Shit Anna. I don’t know if you heard it. I don’t know if you were mad at me. Are. Are mad at me. ............. Can you be mad? I don’t know, I know you’re alive, but are you? Nobody will tell me anything. They just say “wait,” “we don’t know,” “her brain has activity, she might be normal, she might not wake up, we just have to wait.” I’m tired of that. I just want you to wake up. I miss you Anna. .........He had no right. He had no right to do that. I hate Florida. You know that. I live here now. Work here now. I go see you everyday. Alone. I don’t know. Maybe they think it’s weird. They don’t come anymore. At least, not when I do. Not everyday. Mom comes. Josh doesn’t. He did. I don’t know. He couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t know why I’m saying that. I can’t take it anymore. No one can. I just keep drowning in it. I mean, I don’t know what to do. Everyone fucking says that. It’s so damn cliched. Just like they say “it’ll never happen to me.” This whole story is cliched. I don’t know how you loved him. How am I supposed to forgive him? He hit you Anna. Hit you. And now you’re there..... You loved him. Love him. I guess it doesn’t matter. Will you still? Can I ask you that? ....................... Ash is fine. I mean, considering. She’s going to Berkeley next year. She’s always been the good kid. We all miss you. I miss you. I’m trying to just laugh it all off. I’m not too good at it. I’m not too good at forgiving him either. I’m trying that too. I guess you did love him. In your own fucked up way. ........................ They told me to cut it off. Your phone I mean. I don’t want to. I won’t hear you anymore. They said it isn’t saying goodbye, you’re still here. Halfway. Everything’s halfway. I’m only halfway here. That’s why I’m going to. I’m sorry Anna. I’m not giving up. I just can’t be half of anything anymore. I need to be something, I just don’t know what. Don’t give up Anna. Don’t. Come back. No one’s told me I’m an ass in forever. My head’s getting really big without you. I love you. Really, I do.
Hey
Hey, what’s up?
Nothing. What are you doing?
Anna, what’s wrong?
Nothing. What are you doing?
Anna.
Nothing.
Anna, you haven’t called in three weeks and it’s the middle of the night.
So last night I had to go to the hospital. But it wasn’t a big deal.
Anna, quit fucking around.
Really, it wasn’t a big deal. Like, so last night at work my stomach was hurting a lot, and so Leanne gave me some pepto. I didn’t have a cup, so I just drank it out of the bottle, but like, it didn’t stop hurting, so I had a little bit more and it still wasn’t getting any better. And so then Mike said to just have some bread, but then Barrie told me to get back to work. So I did, but then I started to get sick and Mike brought me something to drink and so I drank it. But like, it wasn’t getting any better, and so I just drank the rest of the pepto.
Anna, why would you drink the whole bottle?
I don’t know.
What did he bring you to drink?
Well, I think it was ginger ale, but like I said, no big deal.
Were you drinking at work?
No...Well, I mean, I didn’t know. But like, it didn’t matter, cause I had to go to the bathroom to puke and then like Barrie told me I needed to go home, and so like I was getting my stuff together and I kind of threw up on the floor. So then Mike and Leanne took me to the emergency room, and then the doctor told me I was pregnant.
------
The shitty thing is, I don’t even like Cleve. He’s just this bum. But it doesn’t matter, really, because while we were sitting in the waiting room, I started bleeding, and so the doctor took me back and he told me that I wasn’t pregnant any more. So that’s why I called. But I have to go now, I’m late for work.
Anna, wait.
I love you, MMWAH.
Anna?...Fuck.
Hello?
Sam?
Anna?
Yeah. It’s me. Are you awake?
Anna it’s fucking 4 in the morning.
I know, sorry, I love you. MMWAH.
Wait, what’s going on?
You’re asleep, it’s fine, just forget I called.
No, sorry, I’m awake, tell me.
It’s nothing really.
I wish you wouldn’t say that. I won’t get mad, I haven’t gotten mad, please just tell me. I love you kid. You’re stuck with me ok?
I’m just drunk and tired and I want to come home.
Anna don’t cry.
I hate this. I hate living. I just want to die. Do you ever think that? Do you ever think it’d just be easier if I just died? You’d be happy. Mom would like shit a brick. Dude, I should just die. Someone should arrange it. I wasn’t meant to be here.
I love you, and I’d miss you if you died. You know? Who else would wake me up in the middle of the night?
Fuck you Sam.
Anna, seriously, you’re drunk. Everything will be better in the morning. Hun, just stop crying, if you want to come home, you can.
I can’t.
Why not?
I have to work.
You can get another job.
I can’t leave Cleve.
Anna...................can we talk about this tomorrow?
It is tomorrow.
I have to be at work in like three hours, Anna please.
Fine. Sorry I’ve ruined your life. Bye.
Anna, wait. I’m just tired. You aren’t ruining anyone’s life.
Yeah. I know. Whatever. Love you, bye.
Seriously, we can talk about this. I’m sorry.
Bye.
Anna?
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
Anna, it’s me, please don’t be mad. I’m sorry, I was just tired. Please call me back ok hun? I love you.
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
It’s me again. Hun, I’m sorry, really, I was a jerk and a bad sister, please just call me back, I’m worried about you.
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
Anna...quit fucking around, it’s been like three days, just call me back, please hun? I’m really sorry. Just let me know you’re alive? I know I was a jerk, but you know I’m not nice. I love you kid. MMWAH.
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
Anna, I’m sorry. Please hun.
Sam?
Anna? Where have you been, I’ve called you like a million times.
I’ve just been working, why are you so upset?
I mean, you call me at like 4 in the morning, talk about wanting to die, and then don’t call me back for a week...I’ve left ten thousand messages.
I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t call you, and why would I want to die? You’re fucking crazy Sam.
Don’t lie.
I’m not, don’t be a bitch.
Anna, you were drunk, you might not remember. Anyway, it’s not important, I’m just glad you’re ok. Can we talk?
Talk about what?
The hospital, the baby?
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Anna? Are you ok? Please talk to me about this.
Listen, I have to get back to work, Barrie’s been on my ass. I’ve got two two tops and a 7 topper, so I got to go. I love you.
I love you. I do. I mean it.
Yeah. I got it. Quit being stupid.
What up doe?
Doe? What the heck does that mean?
Shut up stupid, it’s like what up dog.
Since when have you said stuff like that?
Shut up.
Whatever.
What’s going on?
Nothing, I’m on my way to work. You know I have no life.
You’re a dork.
I know.
I talked to Ash. She might come down here.
Really? Why can’t y’all ever come see me?
Y’all? That’s fucking why...you’re a stupid southerner now.
Oh, and what up doe? That’s better? At least I’m not some trashy beach bum.
Shut up.
You’re flat as a board.
You’ve got watermelons on your chest.
Anna?
Don’t.
K.
I love you.
Love you too.
Hey babe.
Sam?
Who else?
I hate Cleve.
Hun.
No, shut up. I hate him.
Why?
I broke up with him last week and he was all butt-hurt about it. So like I was at work and he was standing outside for four hours and I had to get Mike and Barrie to walk me out, and Barrie was all like “Anna, you know it doesn’t look good for business when Cleve’s hanging around outside. I need you to seriously rethink your commitment to this company.” Dumb ass, it’s a fucking restaurant. Who the hell cares? I can’t stand him.
Barrie?
No, Cleve. Well, I hate Barrie too. But Cleve, why can’t he get over it. I mean, dude, I have love handles, why the hell is he that interested? LOVE HANDLES. He’s always going on an on about how beautiful I am and how he can’t live without me, I mean, Sam, come on...he’s a douche. Lame. He’s alive right now. Walking around, breathing, just fine. Eccch. It’s just gross. He can’t like me that much.
You are pretty fantastic.
Why are you always so damn stupid?
Someone has to be.
Well, you’re really good at it.
I know. I’m sorry he’s a jerk. So is this break-up permanent? Or are you going to get back together tomorrow?
Wow, you’re stupid and an ass.
Anna, come on, I’m just asking if you broke up because of a fight, or like serious long term consequences.
Long term consequences? Wow Sam........No like, he’s just pathetic. I got sick of him mooning over me all the time. It’s pointless, I don’t get why he’s always telling me he loves me and shit, but then like, I tried to hold his hand the other day in the car, and he like totally blew me off. Two faced bastard.
Are you ok?
Yeah. I mean, I’m not sitting on the couch eating Ben and Jerry’s, watching The Notebook and crying. I mean, I’m eating the Ben and Jerry’s, but only because it’s tasty. I like food.
Ok kid. If you need anything. I mean anything, just call. I promise I’ll stop being an ass.
I don’t think that’s possible.
You’re probably right. But I’m serious.
Thanks. Love you.
Love you too.
Hey.
Hey.
Do you remember when we were kids?
Um, yeah...
When mom took us to the mall to buy Christmas presents? Josh went with daddy to go get that stupid puzzle with his face on it? Mom wanted us to go get socks. Fucking socks for Christmas. And then I had to pee and you had to take me to the bathroom? And then Ash ran off to look at some shoes so Mom took off to go catch her? And then we came out and they were gone?
Socks aren’t so bad.
Do you remember?
Yeah, I remember. You started crying and I told you to shut up and you wouldn’t, so I hit you and then the security guys came up and told me to be nice to you and you told them that I had made Mom go away. I remember.
Ok...Just checking.
Anna?
Bye.
This is Sam, sorry I’ve missed your call, please leave a message.
You need to get a better message, you sound so fucking proper. Why do you always have to be so damn nerdy? You embarrass me. So I was thinking, what the fuck? A puzzle of himself. That’s what he gave her for Christmas. I hate her. You know that? I hate Mom. She yelled at me today. Yelled. On the fucking phone. She can’t even use the damn thing and she’s yelling at me on it. She told me he’s a loser. Why? He didn’t do anything to her? He’s not a bum, I just said that cause I was upset. I mean, she doesn’t know does she? Did you fucking tell her Sam? You did didn’t you? You fuck. I hate you. Traitor. Fucking bitch, you’re just like her.
This is Sam, sorry I’ve missed your call, please leave a message.
It’s me. Sorry.
This is Sam, sorry I’ve missed your call, please leave a message.
It’s me. You know what, I’m not fucking sorry. You did tell her. Well guess what? I lied. I fucking made the whole thing up. I’m the only fucking sane one in this whole fucking family. Don’t call me ok?
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
Anna. Please talk to me. I love you.
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
Please. I love you.
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
Anna, I can’t just keep calling you. I’ll just wait until you can talk. I didn’t say anything. I love you.
Sam?
Anna?
I’m getting married!!!!
Anna? What are you talking about? To who?
Um, to Cleve, who else? Why would you ask that? I’m getting married!
Um. Congratulations.
Why aren’t you happy for me?
I am, really. I mean, I am.
------
You haven’t called me for months Anna, and now you’re getting married? To Cleve? You don’t even like him. You’ve called me so many times: “Sam, I hate him, he’s just a bum.” “Sam, he won’t leave me alone, I broke up with him, and he just calls all the time, he sits outside Outback, waiting until I get off.” “Sam, I had to hide in Cleve’s closet cause his brother came home, I was in there for hours. Just sitting there, waiting for him to leave, and then he yelled at me because I was breathing too loud. But Tony didn’t even know I was there. I hate him.”
Sam why are you crying?
Shut up, just shut up.
I love him.
How? How can you love him.
I do. He’s my husband. I love him.
I can’t do this right now. Bye Anna.
Fine.
Hi.
Sam, just be happy for me.
How Anna? I don’t know what to think. You change your mind every day. I can’t base anything off of you. I’ve never met the guy. How can I like him? I can’t. I don’t. It’s been two years. Two years of you calling me every week with a different story. I’m tired.
Sam.
Don’t.
Sam......
Fine.
I love you.
Yeah.
------
Ok. I love you too.
Are you going to come.
......Yeah. When?
Oh my God, I’m so excited. Ok, I think next month. I think we’re just going to do it on the beach. Just us and you guys and his family. Mom’s coming. I don’t want to wear white though. I’d just look fat. I’m going to do orange ok? Like this really bright orange dress, like a silk strappy one. I got these heels, they’re like peep-toe stilettos, but I don’t know if I can walk around in the sand in them. Like, I’m already falling on my face all the time, I can’t walk in sand in heels right? Like I should wear flips right? Those orange ones you got me right?
Yeah. Those would work.
Why are you such a bitch?
I don’t know. Sorry.
Ok, well, get over it. I’ll call you later, you have to get something to wear ok? Something cute, not granny looking.
Ok.
Love you.
Love you too.
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
I don’t know if I can do this. I mean, Anna, I’m scared. I don’t know what to think. You’re my baby sister. I just can’t think about you getting married, not to him at least. I shouldn’t be saying this. Not in a message. Shit, I don’t know. I can’t ever tell you what I think when I’m actually talking to you. Anna, you were pregnant. Is that why you’re doing this? I can’t believe that you love him. I don’t. I don’t believe it. Shit.
Hello?
May I please speak to Samantha Harper?
Who is this?
Ms. Harper? This is Dr. David Lenard from St. Mary’s Medical Center. I’m calling because Anna was in a car accident this morning.
What?
She was involved in an accident this morning, sometime around 4 am, it took us some time to find information on any relatives. Anna’s currently in critical condition, but we believe she’s somewhat stable. Unfortunately, I can’t give you any more details over the phone. Is there anyone who would be able to come to the hospital?
I um. I mean. I. Um. I don’t know. I.... Is she ok? What kind of accident? I mean, is she alive? Is she going to die?
Ma’am, I understand that you are upset, but to give you further details, I really need someone to come to the hospital. All I can tell you is that she’s in critical condition.
I live nine hours away. Shit.
Ma’am?
I just need to call someone...someone’s got to help me, I’ll be there. Just don’t let her die. Please. I can’t.
Ms. Harper, when you arrive at the hospital, please ask to speak to me, Dr. Lenard. I will be able to explain further when you get here. Thank you.
Thank you? THANK YOU?
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
-------
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
-------
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
-------
Hey, this is Anna...I’m out, but probably won’t call you back, so leave a message.
Anna. I keep calling. Every time I hope you answer. I know you’re just laying there. You’ve been lying there for months. I keep paying your bill. Keep your phone charged. I still want you to answer, even if the damn thing’s in my pocket. Shit Anna. I don’t know if you heard it. I don’t know if you were mad at me. Are. Are mad at me. ............. Can you be mad? I don’t know, I know you’re alive, but are you? Nobody will tell me anything. They just say “wait,” “we don’t know,” “her brain has activity, she might be normal, she might not wake up, we just have to wait.” I’m tired of that. I just want you to wake up. I miss you Anna. .........He had no right. He had no right to do that. I hate Florida. You know that. I live here now. Work here now. I go see you everyday. Alone. I don’t know. Maybe they think it’s weird. They don’t come anymore. At least, not when I do. Not everyday. Mom comes. Josh doesn’t. He did. I don’t know. He couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t know why I’m saying that. I can’t take it anymore. No one can. I just keep drowning in it. I mean, I don’t know what to do. Everyone fucking says that. It’s so damn cliched. Just like they say “it’ll never happen to me.” This whole story is cliched. I don’t know how you loved him. How am I supposed to forgive him? He hit you Anna. Hit you. And now you’re there..... You loved him. Love him. I guess it doesn’t matter. Will you still? Can I ask you that? ....................... Ash is fine. I mean, considering. She’s going to Berkeley next year. She’s always been the good kid. We all miss you. I miss you. I’m trying to just laugh it all off. I’m not too good at it. I’m not too good at forgiving him either. I’m trying that too. I guess you did love him. In your own fucked up way. ........................ They told me to cut it off. Your phone I mean. I don’t want to. I won’t hear you anymore. They said it isn’t saying goodbye, you’re still here. Halfway. Everything’s halfway. I’m only halfway here. That’s why I’m going to. I’m sorry Anna. I’m not giving up. I just can’t be half of anything anymore. I need to be something, I just don’t know what. Don’t give up Anna. Don’t. Come back. No one’s told me I’m an ass in forever. My head’s getting really big without you. I love you. Really, I do.
Nick Hilbourn
The Wedding
The quiet only ceased with the soft whisper of Lillian to Elliot. Her veil, a web of snowflakes falling before her eyes, shielded her face so she spoke through a frosty window to the cool winter blues and whites bruising on his cheeks.
“I think you should talk…to her,” she said.
Elliot glanced around the church at the stupefied congregation of family members and friends, heads on strings drawn to the small, lanky marionette figure in front of the door. His father stood beside the priest (using Eliot and his troupe of groomsmen as a barricade). He leaned forward and placed his hand on Eliot’s back, saying nothing for several seconds and then forced words through his lips with great effort.
“She’s right,” he said. “You should be the one.”
Eliot thought of asking his father and Lilian what it is he should say. People were turning to him now. They wanted an explanation, a word or two. Utterly perplexed, Elliot fought against the emotion surging up his body. Something tugged on his eyes, pain sliced a line from cornea to cornea along the back of his head. Everyone expected…something.
He stepped from the altar on to the aisle. Hands by his side, he had no staff or beard, but he was Moses walking the waters of stunned eyes gazing from either side of a frozen river of suits, ties and sun dresses. If he hadn’t been so nervous, he would have laughed at the movement of faces as he passed. It was an anti-wedding: the groom walking away from the bride. He was slow, but steady. Nothing could stop his movement. He was a natural phenomenon now as rigidly fluid as the cycles of the moon. His eyes weaved from side-to-side, never stopping on a single person, but, at some point, something forced him to look ahead, to look to the shadow at the end of the church. When he tried to look away his shoulders and legs became too rigid too move. Not wanting to stand still, he grudgingly agreed to glance toward the shadow hunkering in front of the large wooden doors of the church.
From the altar, she had been an echo of light bouncing off the stained glass windows. Her shadow resembled a puppet from the distant gaze of those standing with the priest, but once Elliot drew closer he saw the stringed shadow absorbing colors, soaking up shape from the swinging lamps overhead and the pins and needles of sunlight sneaking through an opening left by the large wooden doors not quite closed. For Elliot, there was a green, a black, a gray, a white, a purple. She was hideous once light embraced her. The red dress they had put on her was now a dead pink, as flat as carnations crushed for decades in the folds of a book. The fabric starved for sunlight yet unable to feast, still smattered with threads and clumps of soil and mud.
Eliot glanced back to the altar, hoping to receive some type of encouragement but faces disappeared in a curtain of white; Lillian, his father and the groomsmen were faint outlines shuffling back and forth, foot to foot, waiting for him to say something and dissolve the entire situation. He knew if he could make it disappear, then everyone present would forget about the trouble entirely. It was something ingrained in him, ingrained in all of them: to forget. At least, that was his hope. That everyone would forget, that everything would return to normal. He looked to the congregation for support, but they were opaque splotches of orange, pink, brown, white and black. It wasn’t distance; some of them were a few feet away. It was his eyes. They were clouding over, images drowning in them and when he tucked his chin against his chest and blocked his face from view to regain his vision - blinking his eyes over and over - a warm ticker-tape of tears zig-zagged over his cheeks. One stopped at his cheek, but was pushed by another to slide and rest in between the grooves of his lips. He slid his tongue along his mouth until the salty taste was gone.
As Elliot walked closer to the figure many people moved to the front of the church, mainly to escape from the smell, which was quite pungent. Elliot breathed through his mouth, but he could still taste the odor. It was moist and thick. Sweet but unbelievably foul: the sickeningly sugary perfume like chocolate too long in the sun. He wasn’t sure he would be able to go forward any farther, but the awkwardness of the situation quickly displaced the noisome scent.
When she came into full view, Elliot could see how quickly she had deteriorated in six months. The atmosphere had found her despite his best efforts. It had sniffed out her wooden cradle (though closed and hidden from the world), crawled through the earth, entered her through the nostrils, mouth, ear canal and melted her from the inside out until she was several clothes hangers swinging to and fro in a moth eaten closet of old clothes. Broomstick hair grew wild out of her head and her shoulders were lopsided so she stood like a badly built tree house. Her arms and legs faintly vacillated from side to side. Her hands were still, her calves unmoving, only her ankle and shoulders swayed from side-to-side. It seemed she was shuffling as well. The rigidity of her body, although it could have been fragility brought on by rigor mortis, seemed to tremble slightly, more so as he drew closer. And the closer Elliot got, the more sure he was that it was not the effects of bodily decomposition, but nervousness. She was scared.
It made him smile.
He opened his moth to say, “It’s okay”, but the words fell apart in his throat. He couldn’t say anything to her. Speaking to her was like speaking to a storm. There was nothing to do but watch and wait for it to be over.
Elliot ringed his hands through each other like he was squeezing the dampness from wet rags, wondering how he could make her leave without treating her roughly. He felt there was no other way but to guide her out, to touch her. Yet, he could not bring himself to do it. Her shoulders would be greasy and her body would be bulging with insects and invertebrates which were surely eating away her insides. The image was enough to make him want to vomit. The feeling subsided only when he saw a sparkle emanating from her right side. He bent down and saw a diamond ring on her finger. He smiled again, quickly widening it into an open-mouthed grin.
“You asked to be buried with it,” he said, not so much to her, but to himself as a reminder. He followed the sparkle up her slender arm bone wrapped hastily in sinew and the last vestiges of skin, gray and green like a moldy peach. He allowed himself to breathe out his nose. The smell was horrendous, yet he couldn’t get enough of it. It was her scent. It was very faint, masked almost entirely by the putrid odor of bodily humus, but it was there. An echo of an echo in the Grand Canyon, but it was there. He shook his head, imagining that what he was about to do next would look like to everyone. It would be shocking, but he couldn’t help himself. Leaning forward, he kissed her on the hard, sandpaper surface of her mouth. Her lips were gone, bone had seeped through skin and the nose was a nub protruding from her face, yet he wasn’t disgusted. She did not, could not return the kiss, but he felt a warmth shoot through his own body. Wiping away the oily residue from his mouth, he kneeled down and took her ringed hand. The congregation, already horrified by the kiss, now unhinged their jaws, rubbed their eyes, squeezed their palms against the heads – anything to block the image out or to add some sense of reality to a dream that had somehow snuck into the waking hours.
Nothing could be done.
Elliot rotated the ring on her finger until he found an engraving on its underside: “January 9”. He looked up at her, still smiling (unable to stop, in fact) and said, “That’s today.” It was the first time he had looked in her face for an extended period of time. She was expressionless. Hollow circles embraced kidney bean eyes that did not look but rather reflected the light of the room capturing it upside down with the distant glare of a pair of small camera lens. Yet, when Elliot touched her hand, she cupped it in between her two palms, a soft wet snap as she did so. Some in the congregation moaned painfully when the sound of the snap spread to them. Elliot’s hand in between hers, the palms rubbed back and forth. The ring dragged across his palm. Elliot looked into her eyes and saw his reflection.
“What is it?” he asked and felt the hands rubbing faster and faster, a rough gurgle rising in her throat. The smooth top of the ring feeling warm and comforting at first, but she continued doing it for several minutes. Elliot tried to stop the rubbing with his free hand, but she would not or could not stop. The ring dug into his palm and Elliot groaned. “Stop,” he said. “Stop, please…” She seemed unable to hear him and his voice grew louder and louder and louder. “Stop…stop….” Her eyes did not look at him, her hands did not stop rubbing and Elliot, finally, had enough.
“Anna! Stop!” he yelled and jerked his palm from between her two hands. Simultaneously, there was another wet snap, much louder, and the two hands fell to the floor. Elliot tripped over his feet and fell to his back, crawling backward, his eyes locked upon hers. He rubbed his hands roughly against the floor, leaving a scar of dark colors on the church floor. He gripped the side of a pew and pulled himself to his feet. “Out!” He yelled. “Out!” Each time he yelled, his eyes clouded and moistened until a caul of tears dripped from his eyes and dampened his face. His voice broke and his fingers trembled. He stomped toward her, arm outstretched, not angry but feigning so in order to continue moving with such force. With quick pushes he edged her closer to the door. She was unwilling to move or couldn’t move. It was unclear to him which was which. Yet, when she reached the large doors at the end of the church, he opened one of them and sent her flying over the front steps and onto the ground with a hardy shove. Her body landed with a wet thump and she was motionless. He wiped his hands against the door, ran a sleeve across his face and walked back to the altar, shaking her presence from his body as he did so.
His father and groomsmen watched him incredulously, brows furrowed, hands crossed defensively over their chests. Lillian was crying. Softly, attempting to keep it quiet, but the acoustics of the church picked up her low weeping and carried it up to the very top of the church and rained it down on the congregation.
“What?” he asked, taking her hand and pressing it against his chest. “What is it?” She wouldn’t answer him. He looked to his father and groomsmen and they said nothing. “Lillian, please, what is it?”
“Oh…Elliot…” she said, her words in short staccato breaths.
“What?” Elliot said, nearly yelling. Lillian took her hand from Elliot’s chest, removed her veil and dropped it to the floor.
“You’re still married.”
The quiet only ceased with the soft whisper of Lillian to Elliot. Her veil, a web of snowflakes falling before her eyes, shielded her face so she spoke through a frosty window to the cool winter blues and whites bruising on his cheeks.
“I think you should talk…to her,” she said.
Elliot glanced around the church at the stupefied congregation of family members and friends, heads on strings drawn to the small, lanky marionette figure in front of the door. His father stood beside the priest (using Eliot and his troupe of groomsmen as a barricade). He leaned forward and placed his hand on Eliot’s back, saying nothing for several seconds and then forced words through his lips with great effort.
“She’s right,” he said. “You should be the one.”
Eliot thought of asking his father and Lilian what it is he should say. People were turning to him now. They wanted an explanation, a word or two. Utterly perplexed, Elliot fought against the emotion surging up his body. Something tugged on his eyes, pain sliced a line from cornea to cornea along the back of his head. Everyone expected…something.
He stepped from the altar on to the aisle. Hands by his side, he had no staff or beard, but he was Moses walking the waters of stunned eyes gazing from either side of a frozen river of suits, ties and sun dresses. If he hadn’t been so nervous, he would have laughed at the movement of faces as he passed. It was an anti-wedding: the groom walking away from the bride. He was slow, but steady. Nothing could stop his movement. He was a natural phenomenon now as rigidly fluid as the cycles of the moon. His eyes weaved from side-to-side, never stopping on a single person, but, at some point, something forced him to look ahead, to look to the shadow at the end of the church. When he tried to look away his shoulders and legs became too rigid too move. Not wanting to stand still, he grudgingly agreed to glance toward the shadow hunkering in front of the large wooden doors of the church.
From the altar, she had been an echo of light bouncing off the stained glass windows. Her shadow resembled a puppet from the distant gaze of those standing with the priest, but once Elliot drew closer he saw the stringed shadow absorbing colors, soaking up shape from the swinging lamps overhead and the pins and needles of sunlight sneaking through an opening left by the large wooden doors not quite closed. For Elliot, there was a green, a black, a gray, a white, a purple. She was hideous once light embraced her. The red dress they had put on her was now a dead pink, as flat as carnations crushed for decades in the folds of a book. The fabric starved for sunlight yet unable to feast, still smattered with threads and clumps of soil and mud.
Eliot glanced back to the altar, hoping to receive some type of encouragement but faces disappeared in a curtain of white; Lillian, his father and the groomsmen were faint outlines shuffling back and forth, foot to foot, waiting for him to say something and dissolve the entire situation. He knew if he could make it disappear, then everyone present would forget about the trouble entirely. It was something ingrained in him, ingrained in all of them: to forget. At least, that was his hope. That everyone would forget, that everything would return to normal. He looked to the congregation for support, but they were opaque splotches of orange, pink, brown, white and black. It wasn’t distance; some of them were a few feet away. It was his eyes. They were clouding over, images drowning in them and when he tucked his chin against his chest and blocked his face from view to regain his vision - blinking his eyes over and over - a warm ticker-tape of tears zig-zagged over his cheeks. One stopped at his cheek, but was pushed by another to slide and rest in between the grooves of his lips. He slid his tongue along his mouth until the salty taste was gone.
As Elliot walked closer to the figure many people moved to the front of the church, mainly to escape from the smell, which was quite pungent. Elliot breathed through his mouth, but he could still taste the odor. It was moist and thick. Sweet but unbelievably foul: the sickeningly sugary perfume like chocolate too long in the sun. He wasn’t sure he would be able to go forward any farther, but the awkwardness of the situation quickly displaced the noisome scent.
When she came into full view, Elliot could see how quickly she had deteriorated in six months. The atmosphere had found her despite his best efforts. It had sniffed out her wooden cradle (though closed and hidden from the world), crawled through the earth, entered her through the nostrils, mouth, ear canal and melted her from the inside out until she was several clothes hangers swinging to and fro in a moth eaten closet of old clothes. Broomstick hair grew wild out of her head and her shoulders were lopsided so she stood like a badly built tree house. Her arms and legs faintly vacillated from side to side. Her hands were still, her calves unmoving, only her ankle and shoulders swayed from side-to-side. It seemed she was shuffling as well. The rigidity of her body, although it could have been fragility brought on by rigor mortis, seemed to tremble slightly, more so as he drew closer. And the closer Elliot got, the more sure he was that it was not the effects of bodily decomposition, but nervousness. She was scared.
It made him smile.
He opened his moth to say, “It’s okay”, but the words fell apart in his throat. He couldn’t say anything to her. Speaking to her was like speaking to a storm. There was nothing to do but watch and wait for it to be over.
Elliot ringed his hands through each other like he was squeezing the dampness from wet rags, wondering how he could make her leave without treating her roughly. He felt there was no other way but to guide her out, to touch her. Yet, he could not bring himself to do it. Her shoulders would be greasy and her body would be bulging with insects and invertebrates which were surely eating away her insides. The image was enough to make him want to vomit. The feeling subsided only when he saw a sparkle emanating from her right side. He bent down and saw a diamond ring on her finger. He smiled again, quickly widening it into an open-mouthed grin.
“You asked to be buried with it,” he said, not so much to her, but to himself as a reminder. He followed the sparkle up her slender arm bone wrapped hastily in sinew and the last vestiges of skin, gray and green like a moldy peach. He allowed himself to breathe out his nose. The smell was horrendous, yet he couldn’t get enough of it. It was her scent. It was very faint, masked almost entirely by the putrid odor of bodily humus, but it was there. An echo of an echo in the Grand Canyon, but it was there. He shook his head, imagining that what he was about to do next would look like to everyone. It would be shocking, but he couldn’t help himself. Leaning forward, he kissed her on the hard, sandpaper surface of her mouth. Her lips were gone, bone had seeped through skin and the nose was a nub protruding from her face, yet he wasn’t disgusted. She did not, could not return the kiss, but he felt a warmth shoot through his own body. Wiping away the oily residue from his mouth, he kneeled down and took her ringed hand. The congregation, already horrified by the kiss, now unhinged their jaws, rubbed their eyes, squeezed their palms against the heads – anything to block the image out or to add some sense of reality to a dream that had somehow snuck into the waking hours.
Nothing could be done.
Elliot rotated the ring on her finger until he found an engraving on its underside: “January 9”. He looked up at her, still smiling (unable to stop, in fact) and said, “That’s today.” It was the first time he had looked in her face for an extended period of time. She was expressionless. Hollow circles embraced kidney bean eyes that did not look but rather reflected the light of the room capturing it upside down with the distant glare of a pair of small camera lens. Yet, when Elliot touched her hand, she cupped it in between her two palms, a soft wet snap as she did so. Some in the congregation moaned painfully when the sound of the snap spread to them. Elliot’s hand in between hers, the palms rubbed back and forth. The ring dragged across his palm. Elliot looked into her eyes and saw his reflection.
“What is it?” he asked and felt the hands rubbing faster and faster, a rough gurgle rising in her throat. The smooth top of the ring feeling warm and comforting at first, but she continued doing it for several minutes. Elliot tried to stop the rubbing with his free hand, but she would not or could not stop. The ring dug into his palm and Elliot groaned. “Stop,” he said. “Stop, please…” She seemed unable to hear him and his voice grew louder and louder and louder. “Stop…stop….” Her eyes did not look at him, her hands did not stop rubbing and Elliot, finally, had enough.
“Anna! Stop!” he yelled and jerked his palm from between her two hands. Simultaneously, there was another wet snap, much louder, and the two hands fell to the floor. Elliot tripped over his feet and fell to his back, crawling backward, his eyes locked upon hers. He rubbed his hands roughly against the floor, leaving a scar of dark colors on the church floor. He gripped the side of a pew and pulled himself to his feet. “Out!” He yelled. “Out!” Each time he yelled, his eyes clouded and moistened until a caul of tears dripped from his eyes and dampened his face. His voice broke and his fingers trembled. He stomped toward her, arm outstretched, not angry but feigning so in order to continue moving with such force. With quick pushes he edged her closer to the door. She was unwilling to move or couldn’t move. It was unclear to him which was which. Yet, when she reached the large doors at the end of the church, he opened one of them and sent her flying over the front steps and onto the ground with a hardy shove. Her body landed with a wet thump and she was motionless. He wiped his hands against the door, ran a sleeve across his face and walked back to the altar, shaking her presence from his body as he did so.
His father and groomsmen watched him incredulously, brows furrowed, hands crossed defensively over their chests. Lillian was crying. Softly, attempting to keep it quiet, but the acoustics of the church picked up her low weeping and carried it up to the very top of the church and rained it down on the congregation.
“What?” he asked, taking her hand and pressing it against his chest. “What is it?” She wouldn’t answer him. He looked to his father and groomsmen and they said nothing. “Lillian, please, what is it?”
“Oh…Elliot…” she said, her words in short staccato breaths.
“What?” Elliot said, nearly yelling. Lillian took her hand from Elliot’s chest, removed her veil and dropped it to the floor.
“You’re still married.”
Angie Price
The Cold Shallow
1
It was the dead of afternoon and Inez languished by the pool. All around her, the heat had stilled the world to a heavy sleep. The palm branches did not wave, the movie star neighbors did not shout or screw on their marble terrace, and from inside the big white mansion the vacuum cleaner could not be heard. Her brown skin sweated and she reveled in the view of her own breasts beaded and tan between her slim arms. The pool was completely blue and transparent, like a substitute sky, and expensive lounges floated like empty clouds on its surface. She poured herself another martini and watched the green olive bob to the surface on its clear plastic skewer.
Inez was pretending to sleep, waiting for the gardener. Since Paul had gotten jealous of the old one she had been left alone for what seemed like an endless succession of languid days. But the waiting had paid off and eventually a tanned and toned successor had materialized from somewhere, presumably out of the endless flow of her husband’s cash and connections. The real stage of her and the new boy’s daytime companionship hadn’t begun but she wasn’t fazed. She had plenty of time. Usually she would have been annoyed by the fact that he hadn’t introduced himself yet, but after Paul’s reaction to the last one she wouldn’t be surprised if her husband had warned his new employee to steer clear of the lady of the house, for his own personal safety. She didn’t completely mind this, it was better if he had a clear picture of where he was in the scheme of things right from the start. It would keep things simple.
She had learned very early that what Paul didn’t know wouldn’t hurt anyone, even if what he did know would. So it was a good thing he didn’t know anything, Inez thought. She was always a silent woman when it came to men, who didn’t like talk anyways except in bed. There were other ways of communicating that she had learned long ago, and so with very few words she had always managed to get what she wanted, when she wanted it.
A thought which made her smile.
Paul red in the face and stomping, pointing his finger, veins popping. “Chirstinheaven you fucking whore, what is it that you want?!?! a goddamned gardener?!?!” And Inez quietly disrobing, naked and brown and putting on her silk bathing bottoms, sitting in the red satin lined window mirror to tie her bikini top on, looking out the mirror of the underground room into the bottom of the pool. She lost herself there in it’s familiar silence, then returned to the roaring in her ears that was her husband. Turning brown eyes on him and laying blame for the long hours and secretaries and the blatant boredom in his eyes when he touched her, running his hands over her skin like a marble banister or a vase, some finely made but not longer treasured prize. On a raging man who was anything if superior and nonchalant now.
Not that she didn’t miss Luke. Or at least parts of him. Surprisingly it was his eyes that she thought of the most, the devotion she had seen there. Those watery blue eyes had always stood out from the rest of him, as tan and taut as any part of her, but always somehow stringy and emaciated like he hadn’t had enough to eat. But wiry little muscles in those thighs and with such a loving look on his face, and wonderful slickness in his mouth and his tongue. But she had often looked in those eyes, and felt herself sinking in, down into some soft wet space. The suction just slightly cold around her as she dissolved there.
But he was gone now, and she was still here, waiting for some new stimulation. She wasn’t going to waste time on heartbreak, it never got anyone anywhere. Not that she really wanted to be anywhere but here. Here she was sexy and in control, here there was no conversation to keep up with or feign interest in. No greasy casino owners and the lesser copies of her on their arms for her to meet.
Inez had always loved the sun. She had found her place in it and she intended to stay there. That saying was one she had always taken literally, a place in the sun, all day, out back of another very expensive place was all she had ever wanted. And she got it, as she always knew she would. Nothing as small as divorce was going to stop her, so when the lawyers showed up tomorrow, she was tell them. She was sure they would listen to reason.
It was strangely cold for August. Too cold to go in the pool, though she didn’t really go in much anyways. She couldn’t really swim that well. The pool was just something to look at, something shiny and contained and blue. Something to provide contrast with her; for the guests to look at and be blinded by reflections and hence turn back to her. Of course nobody would be looking at it now, it was a terrible mess. Green and yellow algae lined the steps and were just visible in the dark spot at the deep end of the pool. The ladder was starting to look spotty, and there was a strange shadow beneath it. Some other sort of brackish fungus, or mold.
The first thing she’d have done would be to have it cleaned. Luke never liked cleaning the pool, he’d thought of himself more as a gardener than a pool boy. Towards the end it almost seemed as though he thought of himself as neither, that his status as her lover meant he not longer had to do his job. He’d show up every day with his equipment, walk into the backyard set his tools and chemicals down and then sit by her side on the ground, staring up at her until she said something or his desire to speak overwhelmed his silence. Once she even woke up to find him asleep in one of the floating lounge chairs in nothing but his jockey shorts.
What if my husband had come home and found you like that!!!
There was a ripple. Her head suddenly jerked up, her eyes wide her hair flying and her sunglasses falling off one ear and dangling.
A sudden tear in the surface of the water, like a shark swam beneath it. A white jagged cut and then suddenly it was gone.
She got up, she ran. The deck chair lay empty, a blue and white towel lying across it, stiff as a board from so many days in the sun.
2
The new boy still wasn’t speaking to her. She had even come up behind him one day. She had stood there for ten whole minutes, before he had looked at her. Then he had only glanced quickly over his shoulder at her before picking up his tools and moving on into the house.
The chicken shit punk had practically run. Good old Paulie, you could always count on him. Great at scaring lowlifes and servants. Many people asked her what she ever saw in him. Short and slightly bald he was still in good shape and could have been considered handsome; but with the manners of a bull elephant and the taste of an educated gorilla he never managed to pull away from his shortcomings. Paulie was nothing if not possessive and driven. Inez had always smiled mysteriously and vaguely. How do you tell a polite acquaintance’s acid faced wife that they only things you ever saw in your husband was a man smart enough to be rich and dumb enough to be devoted and blind?
Of course Inez herself was never really sensitive enough to discern the difference between devotion and possessiveness. So had mistaken the little gifts he had showered on her during their courtship for tokens of affection rather than expensive dog tags saying ‘Paul wuz here’. She hadn’t really cared if he loved her for sentimental reasons, it just made more sense to marry a man who passionately worshipped you if you wished to rule unrestricted over your own private, opulent kingdom of thick blue carpets and desert sun.
She had learned to tell the difference when he had blackened her eye for talking to a lounge singer. They had been out on a dinner date when he had been called away on business, so she had instructed the driver to take her to a show. It hadn’t mattered particularly which, she really didn’t care much for music. She wanted to be seen that night and if she couldn’t be seen on the arm of her powerful husband, the driver would at least offer some sort of a shield from unwanted admiration. She hadn’t done her hair for nothing, and she would never be stupid enough to have Luke over this late at night when there could be no hope of a pretext for the “odd jobs” he regularly performed for her. So she would content herself with a more distant audience; even if was really somebody else’s.
So when the singer had appeared at her table with a bottle of champagne after his set, she hadn’t been displeased. The driver had stepped out back for a smoke and she had heard a quiet step behind her. Then a pair of glasses had been set on the table, then a metal urn beside her with the green and gold bottle nestled in amongst sparkling ice cubes. The waiter had popped the cork, replaced the sweaty tube in it’s silver home and disappeared. A hand had placed itself on her shoulder and a voice in her ear asking “May I take this seat?”
She had swiveled her head (careful to stretch her long neck gracefully and keep her shoulders stretched down) and looked at him. He was 80% charisma, but still the glamour of the stage was clinging to him still, so she smiled turned back to the table. She gracefully took a sip of bubbling wine, her fingers applying just the slightest pressure to the glass so it seemed to be floating there by some special magic. The singer (she could never remember his name, even though he had a platinum record way back when) had made small talk mostly, smooth enough to never come outright and say it, but making his desire quite apparent nonetheless. She had listened attentively to his ramblings about how he was really ‘in it for the music’ and looked over his shoulder at the white light from the wall fixtures, thinking about the lovely contrast and imagining how they would look upon red seat of the window in her little underground cave. She felt his hand come to rest, fingers first, on her thigh, and made a point of twitching her leg away just enough to keep his motor running. Men didn’t like things that came too easy.
This had gone on for several minutes, and Inez was near to considering a proposition when Paulie had walked in. His hand rested on her shoulder where the singer’s had been a few minutes before, and Inez could feel the skin twitch as though he had left some handprint behind that was now burning her husband’s flesh. “Am I interrupting? Darling, why don’t you introduce me to your new friend?” While he spoke, his hand had slowly tightened on her shoulder until she winched and pushed his hand away. He leaned down and whispered into her ear. “Inez, my darling, I suggest you get your ass out of that chair and into the car; unless you want me to do it for you. Only if I have to do it, you ass will end up on the floor.”
She had dabbed her lips with the white napkin, pushed her chair back with controlled violence (just short of her husband’s crotch) and stood, throwing her stole around her shoulders. She drained her glass and said “Thank you, sir it was a lovely evening. I enjoyed your performance. My husband seems to have something he must talk to me about, but I’m sure we can all get together sometime. Perhaps we’ll have you over for a barbeque by our new pool? I’ll be sure to have something for you to autograph.” With that she spun on her heel and walked towards the exit, feeling eyes looking up at her from around the white linen tables, from at and behind the bar. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored wall by the door, and was dismayed to find her cheeks splotchy. Behind her, in the reflection, she could see her husband and the singer talking. She could imagine what he was saying, Paulie was a partial owner of the club, and she doubted that this particular act would be playing here again anytime soon.
There had been hours of screaming once Paulie had come home. She had shut herself in her rooms and was sitting at her vanity table when he returned. Her ears were ringing from the noise and the lights around her mirror had seemed to get brighter and brighter as she removed her make up and took down her hair. Carefully she had removed all the diamonds from her ears and around her neck, leaving the delicates safe in the wood and velvet box with the little lock. Paul’s volume increased every moment of her silence seeming to add fuel to the fire, even as his voice went hoarse. This wasn’t first time she had endured such a barrage, her husband had a talent for angry rants, but this was the first time she was afraid of him. Finally when she rose to change it happened.
He cut her off on her way to the closet. She stood in front of him for a second, looking straight into his eyes. Even then she didn’t know if he had it in him, but looking in his eyes she couldn’t sense or feel anything about him. It was if everything inside him had gone dark, or maybe it was just the inside of her peeking back through the lens of his eyes.
So when she stepped around him and opened the closet door she was only half surprised to hear his voice growl and scream “DON’T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME BITCH!” She took her pink satin robe off the hook inside the door and had one arm in the hole when he spun her around by the wrist. For a second he held her like that, her wrist disappearing into his red fingers, her arm raised between them like she was showing off her wedding ring, and then he hit her. Hard enough for her to slump down to the floor, her arm still extended, her wrist still viced in his hand. She didn’t cry out, but on the inside, some tiny bubble had popped. She had never loved her husband, but now there was a crashing sound in her head as a pane of glass slid down between them. When they looked at each other the next morning over the breakfast table they both knew.
When Paul went to work, she had seduced Luke again. She came up behind him and slipped her hands around his waist, under his white polo with the little palm logo on it “Oasis Pools and Services” and ran her hands over him like a sculptor caressing their own statue. He immediately turned in her arms, his blue eyes closed, and kissed her. She bent her back. He leaned into her. He put his hand on her cheek and stroked.
She grabbed his away and placed it on her breast. Even as his thumb moved itself in a small slow circle, he opened his eyes. She turned her head away, placing it on his shoulder but he had already seen. His hands went to her shoulders and she stood completely still keeping her head in it’s place between his neck and collarbone. If she didn’t move maybe the scene could be avoided.
“I’m going to kill him.”
“No, Luke. You aren’t. And I’m not leaving him either. I’ve told you, from the very start, that I’m not going to give any of this up. A few bruises don’t change this.”
“The bastard will do it again. He’s dangerous and I won’t let him anywhere near you, not after this.” Luke’s eyes were beginning to get puddly, his lips were paling and his cheeks were blotching.
“I know he’s dangerous. I got sloppy, and it won’t happen again.”
“But, guys like him don’t change! I can’t let you….”
“Bullshit. You don’t let me do stuff. You are not the boss.” She moved her hands over his back, trailing them down to his buttocks.
Luke simply stood. “You could divorce him. I could take pictures; we could take them to court for the judge to see. You could keep the house, you could keep everything.” He paused, then pushed her back by the shoulders and took her chin in his hands. “Inez, I love you. We could finally be together; he wouldn’t be able to stop us anymore. He’d be gone. It would be just us all the time, just you and me. He’d be all gone and we’d be alone. We wouldn’t have to worry about anybody finding us, ever.” His hands were tightening and she could feel that he was getting excited, aroused by the thought. He had never said the words before; they had always been tucked safely beneath the palms, dormant and safe in the dirt. Now he had dug up a squirming mess laid it slimy and muddy on her crystal perfect world.
“How’s that going to work?” She shook her head way and stepped away from him. “I’ve been cheating on him for years. Last night I had dinner with another man, I may not have been fucking him but a whole restaurant full of people saw me with him. A whole restaurant of people saw me fight with Paul, a whole restaurant of people that have heard the rumors and know more about us that Paulie ever will if you can keep your fucking head straight.”
She sat down in a nearby lawn chair, and poured herself a glass from the sweaty pitcher of martinis that the maid had laid out there for her, just like she did every morning at 11am. “All of the other servants know about us Luke. And that means that other people’s servants know too. Right now they’re keeping quiet because once one of us gets caught all the other husbands and wives get suspicious. Our little arrangement isn’t unique, no matter how pleasant it is. So it suits them right now to be mute. But if the secret comes out, or if I try to divorce my husband, why should the rest of the staff bother to keep quiet, especially once lawyers or PI’s start asking questions? I’m an outright bitch most of the time so they aren’t going to risk their skins for me. Or for the guy who cleans the ice queen’s skimmer. They also know that Paul has never hit me before. More than a couple of them think I had it coming. So a few little snapshots of a one time incident certainly isn’t going to be enough in court, not when it comes up against my little indiscretions! I would lose everything! I’d be lucky to get a job as a cocktail waitress in this town after Paul was done with me! We have our fun and I like you around but…I’m not going to leave a good life here to live with you in a shit-hole apartment. Not for a stupid black eye. Not because you say you love me. So the way I see it is, let’s have our fun today and then it would be best if you didn’t come back for a while. Paul is bound to start getting suspicious after today so we need to stay away from each other. Until things calm down. I can think of some excuse to why I had to let you go, we’ll get somebody else for a while, and then I’ll find another excuse to hire you back. You have other jobs you can do to keep going for now. I know how to handle Paul and I’ll get things back to where they were in no time. Then we can go on just like we were. It’ll be like this never ever happened baby.” She stood up and let her pool robe fall open to reveal her body, dusted with gold bronzing powder and wrapped only in a string closed bikini. She poured another martini into a blue tinted glass, plopped in a skewered olive on a red toothpick, took Luke’s hand and wrapped it loosely around the stem. Now it was her caressing his face. Devotion had tied him to her from the start, if she could just soothe him a little, he would be alright, he would see what she was talking about.
Luke kept staring at her, his mouth in a white line and his eyes wide and white and blue. It seemed like his pupils had constricted themselves out of existence and there was nothing left but the watery blue irises wobbling there on either side of his perfect nose. He drank the whole cocktail in one huge gulp, then gave a wet cough and looked down. He twirled the glass in his fingers by the stem for a second then threw it. It smashed against the rock grotto with the entrance to the underground room. He looked her and said “It’s alright Inez. I know that you love me. It’s not safe for us now, so you don’t have to say it. You don’t even have to know it, because I do and soon you will too.” Then he lifted her up and carried her to the grotto door and they descended together. Down in the dark they made love while Inez stared out the window into the turquoise of the pool. Sun pierced through the water but around them there was only red velvet and darkness. It wasn’t until after, when he had left and she turned on the light to find her black suit, that she realized he had cut his foot on the broken glass and left his blood behind him, staining the white stone floor.
3
The fucking lawyers were finally here. Two men in blue suits carrying briefcases, they couldn’t have been more cliché or more reassuring. Too bad she had to hide. She was completely drunk and wearing a thong swimsuit. Not exactly the best costume or attitude for a legal battle. She couldn’t even remember going to bed last night, she must have fallen asleep in the underground cave again. Too many martinis and too much memory. Many nights now she had simply laid on her red velvet seat and in a haze-like sleep stared out into the dark waters of the pool until morning. She hardly bothered with the house; there were no visitors now that Paul’s associates no longer came by. All she really wanted was to be in the sun so there was no point. Being alone in that huge house made her feel thin and faded. She’d just stay here by the pool as long as she wanted to. It wasn’t like there was somewhere else she had to be.
So as they closed the garden gate, casually glancing at the white columns and green palms of the back porch, she grabbed up her drink and a towel and headed back underground. She ducked behind the rock wall that slowly piled up to conceal the entrance to the underground lounge. She peered around the edge, while she reached for the latch. They didn’t seem to be looking too hard. Too busy admiring the house and taking notes. Probably making estimates for the settlement. Her hand waved in the air as she fumbled at the entrance. She needed to make sure she wasn’t seen yet, she was sure there were some clothes she could change into down there and some make up. Just then, her fingertips slipped forward into shadow as the door opened.
“I don’t really think you need to worry. They already think you’re a whore, and they know you’re a drunk.”
Inez could not move. Then the shadow of fingers passed over her wrist and she was pulled into shadow.
4
Beneath the rock wall, Inez sat on the red lounge and looked into the pale face of her lover. Behind her was a glass-contained carefully sterilized world of blue green water. In front of her was a world of white and green tiles, divided in half by a line of shadow. Half in and half out of that light his face hovered over a slice of white throat. His eyes shone blue, untouched by dark pupils. The tile floor shone with shards of glass, and in places, dried blood marred the tile. The floor had never been cleaned since Luke’s last night. The door to the world above revealed a crack of clear sunlight, streaking across the floor and ending in a beam over her heart.
“It’s been a while since our last visit here together. You would expect things to be a little different this time around. Time heals all wounds, that sort of thing. Too bad it’s all bullshit.”
Vivid memories of them together suddenly sprang together in Inez’s thoughts. Luke’s first day at work, the first day she seduced him. He had only been 20 then, a student at the local tech school. He wanted to work on computers, designing video games of all things. She had gradually talked him into taking on more and more hours with the service that had assigned him to her and Paul’s house. It was the only way he could spend time with her and still get his job done, so Paul wouldn’t become suspicious, she told him. In truth she had just liked having him around, tending to her every need, fiddling around with the garden plants, mostly palms and cacti, which actually needed little attention. Not that he had a clue of what to do with them. She never remembered exactly what time of day it was when he arrived then, and she never remembered when he left. He would appear like a ghost and then vanish until the next day. Saturday and Sunday would pass without him, she would loiter outside and then venture out at night to the lights of the strip, glowing with diamonds. Bronzing power dusting her temples and her shoulders. Monday would come around again, and he would be there fiddling in the dirt by the pool while she recovered from the night before.
She never told him she loved him, and he assumed he knew. She never mentioned the word love until their last night together here. How long ago had that been? Long enough for Paul to find somebody else and leave her. She had seen them once at a party thrown by acquaintances, who apparently had been unaware of the split. The girl was tiny, almost five feet tall, with tiny features and pale white skin. She looked like a china doll. She couldn’t have been more than twenty one. She wore a silver gown and carried a tiny black bag. She had black feathers in her hair and seemingly wore no makeup. She drifted wanly along beside Paul, smiling on cue. The rumor at the party was she barely spoke English. Inez sat at the bar and tried to look nonchalant while the couples came by to leave condolences. A few of the husband slipped their office numbers into her palm when they shook hands. After that there were no more invitations, and the long string of days by the pool began.
“I lived here like a ghost after he left. You could have tried to come back to me then. Why did you wait? Did you expect me to call you? Did you expect me to beg? You knew you couldn’t expect me to change. I don’t change. I don’t want to. Why would I change what I worked to so hard to become?”
She stood, blinded as the beam from the door fell across her left eye. “You always were…”
Suddenly the light was blinding. She felt nothing, just a tingling in her fingers. As her robe fell from her shoulders, she looked down.
“This place could never change. Just like you. You never change even after your whole world comes crashing down around you. You just can’t let go. This place is so fucking important to you, you’re willing to give me up to it just so you can hang around here in your bathing suit and drink martini’s alone for eternity. And I’m stuck here with you. Whether you want me here or not. I couldn’t have loved you anymore, trust me I tried. I’ve pulled you along in this relationship from the start and now that I want to leave you alone, I can’t! If you are so determined to have this place, you can have it, but I’m never leaving here again, whether you want me to or not. You can have you precious world, but now I’m part of the bargain.”
Luke heard strings. The blue light filtering down through the pool enveloped his mind, and as his hands moved over her shoulders to rest below her chin he thought of all the nights he had slept in this very room, catching a few hours before dawn after a chilly night keeping watch outside on the rocks of the waterfall. Keeping watch through the lighted windows as she removed her makeup and jewels, disappeared into the bathroom, and then lay down alone in her room. He watched her husband pacing in his bedroom, trying the locked door between them, watching the blue lit screen of the flat panel television.
When it was over, he laid her down on the red velvet below the window. Carefully he placed her on her back, one arm behind her head so her neck wouldn’t get sore. Her head turned toward the side so she could look out into the pool. Then closed the door to the outside and waited there with her until nightfall. He emerged then and wandered around the poolside, uprooting rose buses and collecting her various toiletries, her glass martini pitcher (he made sure the pitcher was full before he left.) He arranged his gifts around her, the pitcher and glasses near to her dangling right hand. The roses he trimmed of thorns and set at the foot of the bier.
Then he climbed the stairs. He turned to take one last look at the house. With no light coming from within, it looked like a tomb, and frightened he looked away. Catching one last look at the stars, he walked to the steps that lead down in the shallow end of the pool. The water was no longer sky blue, but opaque and black. As the water hit his ankles, he stopped, hearing a sudden slicing of water. Trembling he looked back up at the sky, but no doubt could enter him and he submerged himself in the chilly liquid. With strong strokes he pulled himself to the deep end, and lay in a dead man’s float beneath the diving board. She would be right beneath him now. And even though he couldn’t see her through the inky, chlorinated waters, he suspected that he could see no less than she.
When morning found them, the sun’s rays sought out the still murky, slightly molded bottom. Luke cast a shadow as his head bumped dully against the Spanish themed tile on the side. Beneath him the light reflected from the window, obscuring the view within. But in one small place a pair of black eyes could be seen as they looked upward toward the quavering yellow disk.
A week later, when the realtor and her unfortunate clients discovered the now swollen and sun decayed body floating in the pool, it was drained. The house was sold to a young casino owner and his lover. Inez was not discovered (lying elegantly intact on her velvet chair) until the new pool boy walked down the slow incline to clean the last of the mold from the nooks of the waterfall. Later, she was removed, burned and secreted away into a small cemetery, one of many embellished boxes reserved for her since her marriage. But the young man could swear at his first glance, the woman behind the glass stirred towards him, smiling a cool smile.
1
It was the dead of afternoon and Inez languished by the pool. All around her, the heat had stilled the world to a heavy sleep. The palm branches did not wave, the movie star neighbors did not shout or screw on their marble terrace, and from inside the big white mansion the vacuum cleaner could not be heard. Her brown skin sweated and she reveled in the view of her own breasts beaded and tan between her slim arms. The pool was completely blue and transparent, like a substitute sky, and expensive lounges floated like empty clouds on its surface. She poured herself another martini and watched the green olive bob to the surface on its clear plastic skewer.
Inez was pretending to sleep, waiting for the gardener. Since Paul had gotten jealous of the old one she had been left alone for what seemed like an endless succession of languid days. But the waiting had paid off and eventually a tanned and toned successor had materialized from somewhere, presumably out of the endless flow of her husband’s cash and connections. The real stage of her and the new boy’s daytime companionship hadn’t begun but she wasn’t fazed. She had plenty of time. Usually she would have been annoyed by the fact that he hadn’t introduced himself yet, but after Paul’s reaction to the last one she wouldn’t be surprised if her husband had warned his new employee to steer clear of the lady of the house, for his own personal safety. She didn’t completely mind this, it was better if he had a clear picture of where he was in the scheme of things right from the start. It would keep things simple.
She had learned very early that what Paul didn’t know wouldn’t hurt anyone, even if what he did know would. So it was a good thing he didn’t know anything, Inez thought. She was always a silent woman when it came to men, who didn’t like talk anyways except in bed. There were other ways of communicating that she had learned long ago, and so with very few words she had always managed to get what she wanted, when she wanted it.
A thought which made her smile.
Paul red in the face and stomping, pointing his finger, veins popping. “Chirstinheaven you fucking whore, what is it that you want?!?! a goddamned gardener?!?!” And Inez quietly disrobing, naked and brown and putting on her silk bathing bottoms, sitting in the red satin lined window mirror to tie her bikini top on, looking out the mirror of the underground room into the bottom of the pool. She lost herself there in it’s familiar silence, then returned to the roaring in her ears that was her husband. Turning brown eyes on him and laying blame for the long hours and secretaries and the blatant boredom in his eyes when he touched her, running his hands over her skin like a marble banister or a vase, some finely made but not longer treasured prize. On a raging man who was anything if superior and nonchalant now.
Not that she didn’t miss Luke. Or at least parts of him. Surprisingly it was his eyes that she thought of the most, the devotion she had seen there. Those watery blue eyes had always stood out from the rest of him, as tan and taut as any part of her, but always somehow stringy and emaciated like he hadn’t had enough to eat. But wiry little muscles in those thighs and with such a loving look on his face, and wonderful slickness in his mouth and his tongue. But she had often looked in those eyes, and felt herself sinking in, down into some soft wet space. The suction just slightly cold around her as she dissolved there.
But he was gone now, and she was still here, waiting for some new stimulation. She wasn’t going to waste time on heartbreak, it never got anyone anywhere. Not that she really wanted to be anywhere but here. Here she was sexy and in control, here there was no conversation to keep up with or feign interest in. No greasy casino owners and the lesser copies of her on their arms for her to meet.
Inez had always loved the sun. She had found her place in it and she intended to stay there. That saying was one she had always taken literally, a place in the sun, all day, out back of another very expensive place was all she had ever wanted. And she got it, as she always knew she would. Nothing as small as divorce was going to stop her, so when the lawyers showed up tomorrow, she was tell them. She was sure they would listen to reason.
It was strangely cold for August. Too cold to go in the pool, though she didn’t really go in much anyways. She couldn’t really swim that well. The pool was just something to look at, something shiny and contained and blue. Something to provide contrast with her; for the guests to look at and be blinded by reflections and hence turn back to her. Of course nobody would be looking at it now, it was a terrible mess. Green and yellow algae lined the steps and were just visible in the dark spot at the deep end of the pool. The ladder was starting to look spotty, and there was a strange shadow beneath it. Some other sort of brackish fungus, or mold.
The first thing she’d have done would be to have it cleaned. Luke never liked cleaning the pool, he’d thought of himself more as a gardener than a pool boy. Towards the end it almost seemed as though he thought of himself as neither, that his status as her lover meant he not longer had to do his job. He’d show up every day with his equipment, walk into the backyard set his tools and chemicals down and then sit by her side on the ground, staring up at her until she said something or his desire to speak overwhelmed his silence. Once she even woke up to find him asleep in one of the floating lounge chairs in nothing but his jockey shorts.
What if my husband had come home and found you like that!!!
There was a ripple. Her head suddenly jerked up, her eyes wide her hair flying and her sunglasses falling off one ear and dangling.
A sudden tear in the surface of the water, like a shark swam beneath it. A white jagged cut and then suddenly it was gone.
She got up, she ran. The deck chair lay empty, a blue and white towel lying across it, stiff as a board from so many days in the sun.
2
The new boy still wasn’t speaking to her. She had even come up behind him one day. She had stood there for ten whole minutes, before he had looked at her. Then he had only glanced quickly over his shoulder at her before picking up his tools and moving on into the house.
The chicken shit punk had practically run. Good old Paulie, you could always count on him. Great at scaring lowlifes and servants. Many people asked her what she ever saw in him. Short and slightly bald he was still in good shape and could have been considered handsome; but with the manners of a bull elephant and the taste of an educated gorilla he never managed to pull away from his shortcomings. Paulie was nothing if not possessive and driven. Inez had always smiled mysteriously and vaguely. How do you tell a polite acquaintance’s acid faced wife that they only things you ever saw in your husband was a man smart enough to be rich and dumb enough to be devoted and blind?
Of course Inez herself was never really sensitive enough to discern the difference between devotion and possessiveness. So had mistaken the little gifts he had showered on her during their courtship for tokens of affection rather than expensive dog tags saying ‘Paul wuz here’. She hadn’t really cared if he loved her for sentimental reasons, it just made more sense to marry a man who passionately worshipped you if you wished to rule unrestricted over your own private, opulent kingdom of thick blue carpets and desert sun.
She had learned to tell the difference when he had blackened her eye for talking to a lounge singer. They had been out on a dinner date when he had been called away on business, so she had instructed the driver to take her to a show. It hadn’t mattered particularly which, she really didn’t care much for music. She wanted to be seen that night and if she couldn’t be seen on the arm of her powerful husband, the driver would at least offer some sort of a shield from unwanted admiration. She hadn’t done her hair for nothing, and she would never be stupid enough to have Luke over this late at night when there could be no hope of a pretext for the “odd jobs” he regularly performed for her. So she would content herself with a more distant audience; even if was really somebody else’s.
So when the singer had appeared at her table with a bottle of champagne after his set, she hadn’t been displeased. The driver had stepped out back for a smoke and she had heard a quiet step behind her. Then a pair of glasses had been set on the table, then a metal urn beside her with the green and gold bottle nestled in amongst sparkling ice cubes. The waiter had popped the cork, replaced the sweaty tube in it’s silver home and disappeared. A hand had placed itself on her shoulder and a voice in her ear asking “May I take this seat?”
She had swiveled her head (careful to stretch her long neck gracefully and keep her shoulders stretched down) and looked at him. He was 80% charisma, but still the glamour of the stage was clinging to him still, so she smiled turned back to the table. She gracefully took a sip of bubbling wine, her fingers applying just the slightest pressure to the glass so it seemed to be floating there by some special magic. The singer (she could never remember his name, even though he had a platinum record way back when) had made small talk mostly, smooth enough to never come outright and say it, but making his desire quite apparent nonetheless. She had listened attentively to his ramblings about how he was really ‘in it for the music’ and looked over his shoulder at the white light from the wall fixtures, thinking about the lovely contrast and imagining how they would look upon red seat of the window in her little underground cave. She felt his hand come to rest, fingers first, on her thigh, and made a point of twitching her leg away just enough to keep his motor running. Men didn’t like things that came too easy.
This had gone on for several minutes, and Inez was near to considering a proposition when Paulie had walked in. His hand rested on her shoulder where the singer’s had been a few minutes before, and Inez could feel the skin twitch as though he had left some handprint behind that was now burning her husband’s flesh. “Am I interrupting? Darling, why don’t you introduce me to your new friend?” While he spoke, his hand had slowly tightened on her shoulder until she winched and pushed his hand away. He leaned down and whispered into her ear. “Inez, my darling, I suggest you get your ass out of that chair and into the car; unless you want me to do it for you. Only if I have to do it, you ass will end up on the floor.”
She had dabbed her lips with the white napkin, pushed her chair back with controlled violence (just short of her husband’s crotch) and stood, throwing her stole around her shoulders. She drained her glass and said “Thank you, sir it was a lovely evening. I enjoyed your performance. My husband seems to have something he must talk to me about, but I’m sure we can all get together sometime. Perhaps we’ll have you over for a barbeque by our new pool? I’ll be sure to have something for you to autograph.” With that she spun on her heel and walked towards the exit, feeling eyes looking up at her from around the white linen tables, from at and behind the bar. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored wall by the door, and was dismayed to find her cheeks splotchy. Behind her, in the reflection, she could see her husband and the singer talking. She could imagine what he was saying, Paulie was a partial owner of the club, and she doubted that this particular act would be playing here again anytime soon.
There had been hours of screaming once Paulie had come home. She had shut herself in her rooms and was sitting at her vanity table when he returned. Her ears were ringing from the noise and the lights around her mirror had seemed to get brighter and brighter as she removed her make up and took down her hair. Carefully she had removed all the diamonds from her ears and around her neck, leaving the delicates safe in the wood and velvet box with the little lock. Paul’s volume increased every moment of her silence seeming to add fuel to the fire, even as his voice went hoarse. This wasn’t first time she had endured such a barrage, her husband had a talent for angry rants, but this was the first time she was afraid of him. Finally when she rose to change it happened.
He cut her off on her way to the closet. She stood in front of him for a second, looking straight into his eyes. Even then she didn’t know if he had it in him, but looking in his eyes she couldn’t sense or feel anything about him. It was if everything inside him had gone dark, or maybe it was just the inside of her peeking back through the lens of his eyes.
So when she stepped around him and opened the closet door she was only half surprised to hear his voice growl and scream “DON’T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME BITCH!” She took her pink satin robe off the hook inside the door and had one arm in the hole when he spun her around by the wrist. For a second he held her like that, her wrist disappearing into his red fingers, her arm raised between them like she was showing off her wedding ring, and then he hit her. Hard enough for her to slump down to the floor, her arm still extended, her wrist still viced in his hand. She didn’t cry out, but on the inside, some tiny bubble had popped. She had never loved her husband, but now there was a crashing sound in her head as a pane of glass slid down between them. When they looked at each other the next morning over the breakfast table they both knew.
When Paul went to work, she had seduced Luke again. She came up behind him and slipped her hands around his waist, under his white polo with the little palm logo on it “Oasis Pools and Services” and ran her hands over him like a sculptor caressing their own statue. He immediately turned in her arms, his blue eyes closed, and kissed her. She bent her back. He leaned into her. He put his hand on her cheek and stroked.
She grabbed his away and placed it on her breast. Even as his thumb moved itself in a small slow circle, he opened his eyes. She turned her head away, placing it on his shoulder but he had already seen. His hands went to her shoulders and she stood completely still keeping her head in it’s place between his neck and collarbone. If she didn’t move maybe the scene could be avoided.
“I’m going to kill him.”
“No, Luke. You aren’t. And I’m not leaving him either. I’ve told you, from the very start, that I’m not going to give any of this up. A few bruises don’t change this.”
“The bastard will do it again. He’s dangerous and I won’t let him anywhere near you, not after this.” Luke’s eyes were beginning to get puddly, his lips were paling and his cheeks were blotching.
“I know he’s dangerous. I got sloppy, and it won’t happen again.”
“But, guys like him don’t change! I can’t let you….”
“Bullshit. You don’t let me do stuff. You are not the boss.” She moved her hands over his back, trailing them down to his buttocks.
Luke simply stood. “You could divorce him. I could take pictures; we could take them to court for the judge to see. You could keep the house, you could keep everything.” He paused, then pushed her back by the shoulders and took her chin in his hands. “Inez, I love you. We could finally be together; he wouldn’t be able to stop us anymore. He’d be gone. It would be just us all the time, just you and me. He’d be all gone and we’d be alone. We wouldn’t have to worry about anybody finding us, ever.” His hands were tightening and she could feel that he was getting excited, aroused by the thought. He had never said the words before; they had always been tucked safely beneath the palms, dormant and safe in the dirt. Now he had dug up a squirming mess laid it slimy and muddy on her crystal perfect world.
“How’s that going to work?” She shook her head way and stepped away from him. “I’ve been cheating on him for years. Last night I had dinner with another man, I may not have been fucking him but a whole restaurant full of people saw me with him. A whole restaurant of people saw me fight with Paul, a whole restaurant of people that have heard the rumors and know more about us that Paulie ever will if you can keep your fucking head straight.”
She sat down in a nearby lawn chair, and poured herself a glass from the sweaty pitcher of martinis that the maid had laid out there for her, just like she did every morning at 11am. “All of the other servants know about us Luke. And that means that other people’s servants know too. Right now they’re keeping quiet because once one of us gets caught all the other husbands and wives get suspicious. Our little arrangement isn’t unique, no matter how pleasant it is. So it suits them right now to be mute. But if the secret comes out, or if I try to divorce my husband, why should the rest of the staff bother to keep quiet, especially once lawyers or PI’s start asking questions? I’m an outright bitch most of the time so they aren’t going to risk their skins for me. Or for the guy who cleans the ice queen’s skimmer. They also know that Paul has never hit me before. More than a couple of them think I had it coming. So a few little snapshots of a one time incident certainly isn’t going to be enough in court, not when it comes up against my little indiscretions! I would lose everything! I’d be lucky to get a job as a cocktail waitress in this town after Paul was done with me! We have our fun and I like you around but…I’m not going to leave a good life here to live with you in a shit-hole apartment. Not for a stupid black eye. Not because you say you love me. So the way I see it is, let’s have our fun today and then it would be best if you didn’t come back for a while. Paul is bound to start getting suspicious after today so we need to stay away from each other. Until things calm down. I can think of some excuse to why I had to let you go, we’ll get somebody else for a while, and then I’ll find another excuse to hire you back. You have other jobs you can do to keep going for now. I know how to handle Paul and I’ll get things back to where they were in no time. Then we can go on just like we were. It’ll be like this never ever happened baby.” She stood up and let her pool robe fall open to reveal her body, dusted with gold bronzing powder and wrapped only in a string closed bikini. She poured another martini into a blue tinted glass, plopped in a skewered olive on a red toothpick, took Luke’s hand and wrapped it loosely around the stem. Now it was her caressing his face. Devotion had tied him to her from the start, if she could just soothe him a little, he would be alright, he would see what she was talking about.
Luke kept staring at her, his mouth in a white line and his eyes wide and white and blue. It seemed like his pupils had constricted themselves out of existence and there was nothing left but the watery blue irises wobbling there on either side of his perfect nose. He drank the whole cocktail in one huge gulp, then gave a wet cough and looked down. He twirled the glass in his fingers by the stem for a second then threw it. It smashed against the rock grotto with the entrance to the underground room. He looked her and said “It’s alright Inez. I know that you love me. It’s not safe for us now, so you don’t have to say it. You don’t even have to know it, because I do and soon you will too.” Then he lifted her up and carried her to the grotto door and they descended together. Down in the dark they made love while Inez stared out the window into the turquoise of the pool. Sun pierced through the water but around them there was only red velvet and darkness. It wasn’t until after, when he had left and she turned on the light to find her black suit, that she realized he had cut his foot on the broken glass and left his blood behind him, staining the white stone floor.
3
The fucking lawyers were finally here. Two men in blue suits carrying briefcases, they couldn’t have been more cliché or more reassuring. Too bad she had to hide. She was completely drunk and wearing a thong swimsuit. Not exactly the best costume or attitude for a legal battle. She couldn’t even remember going to bed last night, she must have fallen asleep in the underground cave again. Too many martinis and too much memory. Many nights now she had simply laid on her red velvet seat and in a haze-like sleep stared out into the dark waters of the pool until morning. She hardly bothered with the house; there were no visitors now that Paul’s associates no longer came by. All she really wanted was to be in the sun so there was no point. Being alone in that huge house made her feel thin and faded. She’d just stay here by the pool as long as she wanted to. It wasn’t like there was somewhere else she had to be.
So as they closed the garden gate, casually glancing at the white columns and green palms of the back porch, she grabbed up her drink and a towel and headed back underground. She ducked behind the rock wall that slowly piled up to conceal the entrance to the underground lounge. She peered around the edge, while she reached for the latch. They didn’t seem to be looking too hard. Too busy admiring the house and taking notes. Probably making estimates for the settlement. Her hand waved in the air as she fumbled at the entrance. She needed to make sure she wasn’t seen yet, she was sure there were some clothes she could change into down there and some make up. Just then, her fingertips slipped forward into shadow as the door opened.
“I don’t really think you need to worry. They already think you’re a whore, and they know you’re a drunk.”
Inez could not move. Then the shadow of fingers passed over her wrist and she was pulled into shadow.
4
Beneath the rock wall, Inez sat on the red lounge and looked into the pale face of her lover. Behind her was a glass-contained carefully sterilized world of blue green water. In front of her was a world of white and green tiles, divided in half by a line of shadow. Half in and half out of that light his face hovered over a slice of white throat. His eyes shone blue, untouched by dark pupils. The tile floor shone with shards of glass, and in places, dried blood marred the tile. The floor had never been cleaned since Luke’s last night. The door to the world above revealed a crack of clear sunlight, streaking across the floor and ending in a beam over her heart.
“It’s been a while since our last visit here together. You would expect things to be a little different this time around. Time heals all wounds, that sort of thing. Too bad it’s all bullshit.”
Vivid memories of them together suddenly sprang together in Inez’s thoughts. Luke’s first day at work, the first day she seduced him. He had only been 20 then, a student at the local tech school. He wanted to work on computers, designing video games of all things. She had gradually talked him into taking on more and more hours with the service that had assigned him to her and Paul’s house. It was the only way he could spend time with her and still get his job done, so Paul wouldn’t become suspicious, she told him. In truth she had just liked having him around, tending to her every need, fiddling around with the garden plants, mostly palms and cacti, which actually needed little attention. Not that he had a clue of what to do with them. She never remembered exactly what time of day it was when he arrived then, and she never remembered when he left. He would appear like a ghost and then vanish until the next day. Saturday and Sunday would pass without him, she would loiter outside and then venture out at night to the lights of the strip, glowing with diamonds. Bronzing power dusting her temples and her shoulders. Monday would come around again, and he would be there fiddling in the dirt by the pool while she recovered from the night before.
She never told him she loved him, and he assumed he knew. She never mentioned the word love until their last night together here. How long ago had that been? Long enough for Paul to find somebody else and leave her. She had seen them once at a party thrown by acquaintances, who apparently had been unaware of the split. The girl was tiny, almost five feet tall, with tiny features and pale white skin. She looked like a china doll. She couldn’t have been more than twenty one. She wore a silver gown and carried a tiny black bag. She had black feathers in her hair and seemingly wore no makeup. She drifted wanly along beside Paul, smiling on cue. The rumor at the party was she barely spoke English. Inez sat at the bar and tried to look nonchalant while the couples came by to leave condolences. A few of the husband slipped their office numbers into her palm when they shook hands. After that there were no more invitations, and the long string of days by the pool began.
“I lived here like a ghost after he left. You could have tried to come back to me then. Why did you wait? Did you expect me to call you? Did you expect me to beg? You knew you couldn’t expect me to change. I don’t change. I don’t want to. Why would I change what I worked to so hard to become?”
She stood, blinded as the beam from the door fell across her left eye. “You always were…”
Suddenly the light was blinding. She felt nothing, just a tingling in her fingers. As her robe fell from her shoulders, she looked down.
“This place could never change. Just like you. You never change even after your whole world comes crashing down around you. You just can’t let go. This place is so fucking important to you, you’re willing to give me up to it just so you can hang around here in your bathing suit and drink martini’s alone for eternity. And I’m stuck here with you. Whether you want me here or not. I couldn’t have loved you anymore, trust me I tried. I’ve pulled you along in this relationship from the start and now that I want to leave you alone, I can’t! If you are so determined to have this place, you can have it, but I’m never leaving here again, whether you want me to or not. You can have you precious world, but now I’m part of the bargain.”
Luke heard strings. The blue light filtering down through the pool enveloped his mind, and as his hands moved over her shoulders to rest below her chin he thought of all the nights he had slept in this very room, catching a few hours before dawn after a chilly night keeping watch outside on the rocks of the waterfall. Keeping watch through the lighted windows as she removed her makeup and jewels, disappeared into the bathroom, and then lay down alone in her room. He watched her husband pacing in his bedroom, trying the locked door between them, watching the blue lit screen of the flat panel television.
When it was over, he laid her down on the red velvet below the window. Carefully he placed her on her back, one arm behind her head so her neck wouldn’t get sore. Her head turned toward the side so she could look out into the pool. Then closed the door to the outside and waited there with her until nightfall. He emerged then and wandered around the poolside, uprooting rose buses and collecting her various toiletries, her glass martini pitcher (he made sure the pitcher was full before he left.) He arranged his gifts around her, the pitcher and glasses near to her dangling right hand. The roses he trimmed of thorns and set at the foot of the bier.
Then he climbed the stairs. He turned to take one last look at the house. With no light coming from within, it looked like a tomb, and frightened he looked away. Catching one last look at the stars, he walked to the steps that lead down in the shallow end of the pool. The water was no longer sky blue, but opaque and black. As the water hit his ankles, he stopped, hearing a sudden slicing of water. Trembling he looked back up at the sky, but no doubt could enter him and he submerged himself in the chilly liquid. With strong strokes he pulled himself to the deep end, and lay in a dead man’s float beneath the diving board. She would be right beneath him now. And even though he couldn’t see her through the inky, chlorinated waters, he suspected that he could see no less than she.
When morning found them, the sun’s rays sought out the still murky, slightly molded bottom. Luke cast a shadow as his head bumped dully against the Spanish themed tile on the side. Beneath him the light reflected from the window, obscuring the view within. But in one small place a pair of black eyes could be seen as they looked upward toward the quavering yellow disk.
A week later, when the realtor and her unfortunate clients discovered the now swollen and sun decayed body floating in the pool, it was drained. The house was sold to a young casino owner and his lover. Inez was not discovered (lying elegantly intact on her velvet chair) until the new pool boy walked down the slow incline to clean the last of the mold from the nooks of the waterfall. Later, she was removed, burned and secreted away into a small cemetery, one of many embellished boxes reserved for her since her marriage. But the young man could swear at his first glance, the woman behind the glass stirred towards him, smiling a cool smile.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
A Cool Dark Room
Welcome to project number two for glucose: a writers' group.
Our topic this month is a quote by poet George Keithley, "“…the room was cool when they awoke/ in one another’s arms/ in the middle of the dark…” .
Once again, all writers were asked to write something inspired by the lines above. The writing didn't have to have the exact wording of the poem within it, but some of us decided to put in there.
We hope you enjoy!
Our topic this month is a quote by poet George Keithley, "“…the room was cool when they awoke/ in one another’s arms/ in the middle of the dark…” .
Once again, all writers were asked to write something inspired by the lines above. The writing didn't have to have the exact wording of the poem within it, but some of us decided to put in there.
We hope you enjoy!
Nick Hilbourn
The Creator God
The Creator God, who was named PATRICK, leaned over a tangle of veins, sinew, muscle and bones wrapped in an olive bag of skin; His hands thinning through the soft, wet yarn of thick and frizzled hair lying atop the bag as a bush upon a puffball mushroom.
In the evening, the day closed its eyes and the toothy skyline of the city swallowed the sun until only the cerulean shadow of light dressed the sky.
Sitting in a chair, pulled close to the beg, which was the altar of the tangled veins, sinew, muscle and bones wrapped in an olive bag of skin, who was named Virginia, the Creator God took a bite of a tuna sandwich purchased from the cafeteria downstairs, leaned His head and Arms against the beg and listened to the steady chirp of the machine inserted into the olive bag of skin, allowing His Most Holy Smile to brush the bedsheets as He rubbed His Red, Puffy Eyes against His Arm until They shut.
By the door of the hospital room, Terance, looked out the window as the city swallowed the sun, then walked to the side of his Father and asked if he could go to the bathroom. The Creator God nodded and took Terrance by the hand to a bathroom down the hall.
“Doesn’t mommy have a bathroom in her room?” asked Terrance.
“This one is better,” said the Creator God and pointed to a blue door marked “Men”. Terrance walked inside and peed against a shiny, linoleum altar of urine, flushed it and walked outside.
There stood the Creator God, waiting. “Did you wash your hands?” He asked.
“No,” said Terrance and returned to the bathroom to wash his hands. When he emerged again, the Creator God took his hand and walked with him down the hall.
Halfway to the hospital room, the Creator God asked Terrance, “Are you hungry?” Terrance shrugged. “Would you like to go get some candy? Something to drink?”
“Momma said no candy after seven o’clock,” replied Terrance. The Creator God paused and Terrance felt a movement in his stomach, the energy emanating from the Most Holy Silence of the Creator God.
“It’ll be okay,” said the Creator God slowly.
“Okay,” said Terrance.
The Creator God picked Terrance up and carried him to the cafeteria, now dark and lit only by the dim stars of several vending machines.
Terrance purchased a Pepsi and a Snickers bar by way of a gracious gift bestowed upon him by the Creator God, then ate the Snickers bar and drank the Pepsi, sitting across from the Creator God at a table in the cafeteria.
“Feel better?” asked the Creator God.
“Yep,” said Terrance.
“Ready to go?” asked the Creator God, picking Terrance back up.
“Yes,” replied Terrance, tossing the Pepsi and Snickers wrapper into a nearby trash can. “Could you let me down?”
“You don’t want to be carried?”
“Nope,” said Terrance and the Creator God gently set Terrance upon the linoleum floor. Incensed with the spirits of chocolate, sugar and caffeine, Terrance sped down the hall toward the elevator. The Creator God was far behind him, traveling as if through a thick soup of swamp. “C’mon daddy!” shouted Terrance. The Creator God was silent and Terrance hopped up and down, awaiting his arrival and pressing the elevator button as many times as he could before the doors opened. When they did, Terrance rushed inside.
“Wait,” said the Creator God and Terrance waited. The Creator God glided into the elevator, grinning at the sprite movements of Terrance, giggling as he oohed and aahed at the closing of the doors, laughing when Terrance insisted on pushing the button for the fourth floor.
“Why do you like the elevator so much?” asked the Creator God.
“It’s like being in a spaceship!” exclaimed Terrance.
“It’s a very small spaceship.”
“So? It’s still a spaceship!” The Creator God laughed loudly.
When the elevator doors opened, Terrance ran into the hallway, knocking on walls and skipping in circles.
“Stop,” said the Creator God sternly. He had changed much since stepping onto the fourth floor. “Stay beside Me,” He said. Terrance returned to His side. The Creator God’s Mouth, which had been loose and rubbery in the cafeteria and elevator, had developed into a stone artifice. It was unchanging, unmoving. Terrance thought the Creator God was playing a game. He looked like a walking statue.
Terrance grabbed the Creator God’s Hand and it was dry, cold.
“You can play in the toy room,” said the Creator God. “It has a television in there and everything…you remember the nurse showed you?”
“Yes,” answered Terrance.
“You can go play there if you want to.”
“I want to be with you.” The Creator God stopped at the hospital room.
“Okay,” He said, a grin briefly appeared on his face. “But you have to be quiet.”
Terrance was.
Once he and the Creator God entered the room, it was utter silence. Terrance found a chair near the window and the Creator God sat by the bed again. The light had been completely swallowed by the city and only the distant stars of cars and office building windows could be seen. Terrance watched them until he felt sleepy. He turned and saw the Creator God slumped on the bed, His Eyes open and unblinking. Terrance walked to Him and set his arms and head on the bed beside the Creator God’s arms and head.
“I’m sleepy,” said Terrance. The Creator God nodded.
“Me too,” He replied.
“What are those beeps for?” asked Terrance and the Creator God did something He had never done before. His Body trembled and His Face fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. He buried His Head deep in the bedsheets and yelled loudly, louder than Terrance had ever heard anyone yell.
At once, His Body transfigured.
The Creator God’s Arms and Chest, Head and Legs bled away. He shrank like a deflating balloon. His Shoulders wilted as the petals of a flower dry and thirsty in the sun. Terrance couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The Creator God lifted to heaven as steam rising in the shower and in His Place left a small man, slightly overweight in a t-shirt, shorts, socks and sandals yelling into a bedsheet.
Terrance cried too.
He wrapped his arms around the man and said, “It’s okay, daddy.”
The Creator God, who was named PATRICK, leaned over a tangle of veins, sinew, muscle and bones wrapped in an olive bag of skin; His hands thinning through the soft, wet yarn of thick and frizzled hair lying atop the bag as a bush upon a puffball mushroom.
In the evening, the day closed its eyes and the toothy skyline of the city swallowed the sun until only the cerulean shadow of light dressed the sky.
Sitting in a chair, pulled close to the beg, which was the altar of the tangled veins, sinew, muscle and bones wrapped in an olive bag of skin, who was named Virginia, the Creator God took a bite of a tuna sandwich purchased from the cafeteria downstairs, leaned His head and Arms against the beg and listened to the steady chirp of the machine inserted into the olive bag of skin, allowing His Most Holy Smile to brush the bedsheets as He rubbed His Red, Puffy Eyes against His Arm until They shut.
By the door of the hospital room, Terance, looked out the window as the city swallowed the sun, then walked to the side of his Father and asked if he could go to the bathroom. The Creator God nodded and took Terrance by the hand to a bathroom down the hall.
“Doesn’t mommy have a bathroom in her room?” asked Terrance.
“This one is better,” said the Creator God and pointed to a blue door marked “Men”. Terrance walked inside and peed against a shiny, linoleum altar of urine, flushed it and walked outside.
There stood the Creator God, waiting. “Did you wash your hands?” He asked.
“No,” said Terrance and returned to the bathroom to wash his hands. When he emerged again, the Creator God took his hand and walked with him down the hall.
Halfway to the hospital room, the Creator God asked Terrance, “Are you hungry?” Terrance shrugged. “Would you like to go get some candy? Something to drink?”
“Momma said no candy after seven o’clock,” replied Terrance. The Creator God paused and Terrance felt a movement in his stomach, the energy emanating from the Most Holy Silence of the Creator God.
“It’ll be okay,” said the Creator God slowly.
“Okay,” said Terrance.
The Creator God picked Terrance up and carried him to the cafeteria, now dark and lit only by the dim stars of several vending machines.
Terrance purchased a Pepsi and a Snickers bar by way of a gracious gift bestowed upon him by the Creator God, then ate the Snickers bar and drank the Pepsi, sitting across from the Creator God at a table in the cafeteria.
“Feel better?” asked the Creator God.
“Yep,” said Terrance.
“Ready to go?” asked the Creator God, picking Terrance back up.
“Yes,” replied Terrance, tossing the Pepsi and Snickers wrapper into a nearby trash can. “Could you let me down?”
“You don’t want to be carried?”
“Nope,” said Terrance and the Creator God gently set Terrance upon the linoleum floor. Incensed with the spirits of chocolate, sugar and caffeine, Terrance sped down the hall toward the elevator. The Creator God was far behind him, traveling as if through a thick soup of swamp. “C’mon daddy!” shouted Terrance. The Creator God was silent and Terrance hopped up and down, awaiting his arrival and pressing the elevator button as many times as he could before the doors opened. When they did, Terrance rushed inside.
“Wait,” said the Creator God and Terrance waited. The Creator God glided into the elevator, grinning at the sprite movements of Terrance, giggling as he oohed and aahed at the closing of the doors, laughing when Terrance insisted on pushing the button for the fourth floor.
“Why do you like the elevator so much?” asked the Creator God.
“It’s like being in a spaceship!” exclaimed Terrance.
“It’s a very small spaceship.”
“So? It’s still a spaceship!” The Creator God laughed loudly.
When the elevator doors opened, Terrance ran into the hallway, knocking on walls and skipping in circles.
“Stop,” said the Creator God sternly. He had changed much since stepping onto the fourth floor. “Stay beside Me,” He said. Terrance returned to His side. The Creator God’s Mouth, which had been loose and rubbery in the cafeteria and elevator, had developed into a stone artifice. It was unchanging, unmoving. Terrance thought the Creator God was playing a game. He looked like a walking statue.
Terrance grabbed the Creator God’s Hand and it was dry, cold.
“You can play in the toy room,” said the Creator God. “It has a television in there and everything…you remember the nurse showed you?”
“Yes,” answered Terrance.
“You can go play there if you want to.”
“I want to be with you.” The Creator God stopped at the hospital room.
“Okay,” He said, a grin briefly appeared on his face. “But you have to be quiet.”
Terrance was.
Once he and the Creator God entered the room, it was utter silence. Terrance found a chair near the window and the Creator God sat by the bed again. The light had been completely swallowed by the city and only the distant stars of cars and office building windows could be seen. Terrance watched them until he felt sleepy. He turned and saw the Creator God slumped on the bed, His Eyes open and unblinking. Terrance walked to Him and set his arms and head on the bed beside the Creator God’s arms and head.
“I’m sleepy,” said Terrance. The Creator God nodded.
“Me too,” He replied.
“What are those beeps for?” asked Terrance and the Creator God did something He had never done before. His Body trembled and His Face fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. He buried His Head deep in the bedsheets and yelled loudly, louder than Terrance had ever heard anyone yell.
At once, His Body transfigured.
The Creator God’s Arms and Chest, Head and Legs bled away. He shrank like a deflating balloon. His Shoulders wilted as the petals of a flower dry and thirsty in the sun. Terrance couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The Creator God lifted to heaven as steam rising in the shower and in His Place left a small man, slightly overweight in a t-shirt, shorts, socks and sandals yelling into a bedsheet.
Terrance cried too.
He wrapped his arms around the man and said, “It’s okay, daddy.”
Sarah Henderson
Three Sides to Every Story
The Voyeur
She sat up quietly. Waking up was always like crossing over into another world. It took ten minutes. She had to wait for only ten minutes, in between, where dreams and reality hadn’t quite separated yet. She counted her breath. Familiarity brought it back. She thought of her grandmother. She’d always said only crazy people had the same dream more than once. Even now, as she laughed at how ridiculous it was, even though she’d been gone for sixty years, she couldn’t help thinking her grandmother was right. Her dreams haunted her, maybe she was a little crazy. They weren’t real anyway. Just like a bad horror movie that sticks to your memory. “Good,” she thought, “distractions always make it easier, I can sort it out then.” She got up, switched on the lamp, and walked towards the hallway. Outside a dog started to bark. “Why are dogs are always barking at midnight?,” she asked the empty house, turning her head towards the window behind her. It was then she tripped. Her red shoe laying in the middle of the hall where she had left it last night, forgetting to put it away. The dog stopped barking as the white skin of her knee split open against the door frame. The small trickle of blood terrified her.
She sat there in the middle of the moonless night, wearing an old nightgown, holding her knee. Tears ran down her face. She wasn’t crying. There was no feeling in the cut. The emptiness, the stillness of the night was haunting. She could hear the wind passing through the trees, blowing through them like they would blow through wind chimes. The shadows danced on the floor, surrounding her. She couldn’t tell the difference anymore. His face was there, it was real. “Why are you still watching me?” He didn’t answer. In the park, surrounded by trees, they both stood. His brown eyes were piercing. Far off, just beyond the line of sight, she could see shapes in the blue sky. Bright as daylight, though the air around her was dark and heavy. She turned to his eyes, but couldn’t see them anymore. The shapes were moving, as they came closer she couldn’t see them any better. Barking outside, the dog drew her eyes to the window. His were staring back. Dreams should slip away. But they didn’t. Not anymore. Standing up, she felt as if weight was falling onto her body. She was too old to do this.
Slowly she walked to the sink, splashed water on her face, and stared into her own eyes. It was still surprising to see her own face. Her hair used to be brown. Dark, thick, and long. She thought of Snow White. “What if she had slept for sixty years? What kind of dreams would she have had?” It was a cliche she couldn’t let go of. Sleep. The worlds that existed when we didn’t. There was always a scientific explanation. Synapses, neurons, memory processing. She couldn’t believe in science; it was too tangible, too real. Life never felt that real. She couldn’t see the film reels, but they were always there. She thought about that day in the field. They had gone with a picnic basket. She couldn’t stop the smile from showing on her face, star crossed lovers on a picnic. It sounded just like a dime store romance novel. Her dress had been red. Red and covered in tiny white flowers. It clashed with his blue shirt, but the film played in black and white. Regret chased her. Pine trees surrounded them. He always hated pines, said they were common, useless. She had always laughed at him. Coming to terms with his idiosyncracies. Laughing only made him angry. Mud from the path smeared her new shoes. It had upset him more than it upset her. Loving him, even then, meant losing a little bit of herself.
He wanted the most secret place, the most beautiful. Second best was never good enough. They walked until she was out of breath. She had never been one for exercise. Finally he turned and smiled. The birds flew out of the trees, soaring around the small clearing. Pulling out the soft wool blanket, she sat down and smiled back at him. He reached down and grabbed her small wrist, pulling her up so she was standing next to him, staring into his brown eyes. She could see the birds reflecting back. Knowing he shouldn’t, knowing she shouldn’t, he leaned over to kiss her. Kissing was always a complicated thing. Movies made it look so easy. John Wayne would lean over, grab his leading woman, and pull her into a long embrace where no one’s nose bumped, no one’s teeth gnashed against the others. It wasn’t that way here. He hit her hard, her mouth ringing, she pulled back. She was relieved. Kissing him was like saying yes. They both laughed and he sat down, taking her alongside him. She wanted to kiss him. Instead, she turned to her basket. Offering him a sandwich, she set herself a million miles away. The rest of the day was uneventful. Uneventful and unforgettable.
Sighing, she stood up straight and assessed herself in the mirror one last time. Her eyes never changed. They were always the same deep green. Nothing to speak of, but always the same. Walking back to her bedroom, she realized she finally knew the meaning of “padding.” Alone, in the dark, it was still humiliating. Habit overtook her exhaustion. She reached over to brush her hair, forgetting it was already cut off. Another sigh escaped her lips. Pulling the white covers back, she slowly returned to her position in her bed. Mentally, she retraced her night. His eyes were still staring at her. Giving in and giving up, she rolled over, clasped her hands to her chest, and breathed deeply. As time passed, she felt herself rolling back. Back into the sleep she had just left. Sleeping alone was all she had ever known. She had never learned to stop hating it.
Waking up in the daylight was different. In the morning she could forget. Nightmares, dreams, memory, they faded away with the bright sun’s light. This time, as she pulled her blankets off of her weary body, she could feel each and every bone ache. Exhaustion had quickly become a familiar presence. She thought back. How had she gotten here? It seemed as the last day she had lived had been with him. Everything in between was gone. Last night had been washed away by new dreams. Now, it was all coming back. Looking out the window, she could make out where his eyes had been. She had seen them so often it was hard to know if they were really there. Solid ideas turned to mush in a blender. Time, dates, memories. None of them were distinct. He stood in the field again, looking at her. She was standing there, wearing the same red dress. She reached up for her hair, but it was gone. It was short and gray. The dog was barking again. She could see trees in the distance, the grass surrounding her. The wind blowing through the leaves whistled in her ears. But the dog was barking, her hand was still leaning against the window frame. She was wearing the nightgown. She wanted it to end.
The Picture
Four solid frames. He had four solid frames surrounding everything he knew. Behind him there was nothing. He had never turned his head to look, glued to the image ahead. He knew her face as if it were his own. Sometimes she could see him. The first time, years ago, had been right after. She had turned to the window to watch the rain stream down in trails. After a few minutes, she begun to trace the water with the tip of her fingernail. Going up the glass, following where the water had been, the nail barely touching. He had followed her fingers with his own. Tracing where it had gone. The moment he caught her, the moment they had touched, she jumped. His eyes caught her. She saw him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She had stared back for only a few seconds, shook her head and turned away. He knew she thought it was a dream, accidental imagination brought on by cold, dreary, rain. The weather novels are made of. He had waited from that moment on.
The next time he knew she couldn’t let the rain wash it away. It had been sunny. Warmth from the house poured into his window. Summer, the next year. He had barely slept for months, waiting for the next glimpse. The next time he would catch her. He was afraid she had forgotten. He would have given a hundred years just for five minutes. But he had to be fair. She had been laughing, a friend standing and waiting in the other room. Turning her head to walk into the room, he caught her eyes. She gasped. He knew she hadn’t forgotten. It wasn’t enough. “What’s wrong?” he heard from the other room. “Nothing, I just thought I saw a spider,” with that, she turned and walked out of the room, out of his life. It would be years before he would catch her again.
Her hair was getting longer. She had never cut it short. But it was much longer now. It was still the same deep brown, but it had changed somehow. He knew somewhere deep down she remembered. She wouldn’t forget that day. He knew she’d remember until she died. Unless she did. It was always at the back of his mind. What if she didn’t remember? She had wanted to forget so much. She might have accomplished it. He couldn’t wouldn’t let her. He remembered. He remembered the trees, the way he had made her walk for miles until he found the perfect place. He knew he was too difficult to love. Even then, before he became only a haunting image, it was too much. Sitting there, waiting, watching, he was crazy. The closer she got to the edge, the more he was falling off. It was desperation. Doing nothing but watching her. He prayed she wouldn’t forget. That she hadn’t already. She rolled over in the bed. His mind came back to her. Her eyes were open. They were looking at him. He was afraid of all the possibilities. But she was sleeping. She was only dreaming. He had to stay desperate.
She woke up often. Always, she would turn and look at him. Still sleeping, still dreaming, but she looked. It gave him hope. It only happened then, in the dead of night. She no longer looked out the window. The curtains were nearly always closed. She was busy, running in and out of the room, out of the house. He waited. His life hung on those few moments when she would look at him. He didn’t know what she knew, what she was thinking. But she hadn’t forgotten. Dreams wouldn’t let her forget. The dark was comforting to him now. Sunlight only reminded him that she was gone. Who wasn’t happy in the daylight? He could watch her at night. There were times when he didn’t want her to see him. She had walked in once. Tired, a little drunk, she had stumbled into the room. She had thrown her shoes across the floor. Grabbing her clothes, she ran into the bathroom. She was older then. She didn’t want to admit it, but her hair had a few strands of gray. She wasn’t old enough, not for that. He could hear the faucet, the water splashing in the tub. He was most afraid then. When she came back, her wet hair was soaking her nightgown. She hadn’t bothered to dry off. Tears were already flowing down her face. He wanted to give up. How could it go on like this, not knowing what hurt her, what made her cry. He could only count the number of tears that fell on the floor. Listen to the sobs she rarely let out. Her life was becoming a blur. He could only hold on to those few moments. The memory of that one day had to be enough. It was fading.
But it didn’t. She grew older. Her hair grew gray. She slept less. She spent more time watching the window. He didn’t understand her anymore. Guessing was impossible. He had long ago accepted he wouldn’t escape. As long as she didn’t forget, he could stay. He would die knowing she hadn’t forgotten. It was enough. As her hair turned gray, she began to cut it off. She spent more time alone. Her dreams began to haunt her. Talking to herself she would mutter his name. He began to hope. He didn’t want to. It had been easier to believe it was over. Giving up and giving in was always easier. Hoping took energy he didn’t have anymore. The crazier she became, the more she fell off, the closer he got to the edge. But he went on.
And then, it happened. She had been staring longer lately. The past few years he could hardly recognize her. It was only her eyes that were the same. The same piercing green. When she fell, he was terrified. He didn’t want her to leave, not yet. It didn’t happen. She went back to sleep. He never thought it would happen then. He could almost feel the heat from the sun. Eyes blurred, angry and scared. She stood at the window, her hand against the frame. He wanted it to end. She looked into his eyes. She had never seen him like this. It was clear, the two eyes recognized his own. There was no distraction, no possibility she was dreaming. And so she screamed. Angry, bitter, horrendous screams. She stared and yelled. The violence of her voice shook the walls, shook the four frames he had lived his life through. And then, she spoke. “Leave, just leave. I don’t want you. I never have.” Walking out into the hall, he couldn’t see her for a moment. Swinging open the door, she turned back to him. She picked up the red shoe, still lying on the hallway floor. Turning back, he could see the rage in her eyes. The fury of years of unrequited life. He knew it was the end. “I hate you,” screaming one last time, with strength she was too old to have any more, she threw the shoe. He saw her eyes even through the red flying towards him. All he could hear was the glass breaking all around him. He closed his eyes with relief. It was the end. It was over.
The House
The air blowing over his skin woke him up. It was cold in the room, wind blowing through the broken window. The unfamiliarity of lying on the floor made him open his eyes. He wasn’t alone. She was barely moving, barely breathing, but she was awake, staring at his face. Her hands were touching his. He realized they were lying on shards of glass. “Why did you stay?” He asked, terrified and confused, “All this time, why did you stay?” “How could I leave?” He turned to sit up. She held on. They both stood up. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what to do. “It’s ok,” she said, not afraid for the first time. She knew she wasn’t crazy anymore. He couldn’t tell if he was. “I don’t know where I am.” He turned and looked out the window, the house stood in a field, surrounded by trees. It was eerily familiar. There was a single red shoe lying on top of a soft wool blanket. He turned back to her. His arm was resting on her back. The blue of his shirt clashed with the red and white of her dress. The cool wind was still blowing from the open window. “Have you ever known?” she replied “Did it ever matter?” He looked at her. Her green eyes. His brown eyes. “No.” Knowing he shouldn’t, knowing she shouldn’t. He leaned over and kissed her.
The Voyeur
She sat up quietly. Waking up was always like crossing over into another world. It took ten minutes. She had to wait for only ten minutes, in between, where dreams and reality hadn’t quite separated yet. She counted her breath. Familiarity brought it back. She thought of her grandmother. She’d always said only crazy people had the same dream more than once. Even now, as she laughed at how ridiculous it was, even though she’d been gone for sixty years, she couldn’t help thinking her grandmother was right. Her dreams haunted her, maybe she was a little crazy. They weren’t real anyway. Just like a bad horror movie that sticks to your memory. “Good,” she thought, “distractions always make it easier, I can sort it out then.” She got up, switched on the lamp, and walked towards the hallway. Outside a dog started to bark. “Why are dogs are always barking at midnight?,” she asked the empty house, turning her head towards the window behind her. It was then she tripped. Her red shoe laying in the middle of the hall where she had left it last night, forgetting to put it away. The dog stopped barking as the white skin of her knee split open against the door frame. The small trickle of blood terrified her.
She sat there in the middle of the moonless night, wearing an old nightgown, holding her knee. Tears ran down her face. She wasn’t crying. There was no feeling in the cut. The emptiness, the stillness of the night was haunting. She could hear the wind passing through the trees, blowing through them like they would blow through wind chimes. The shadows danced on the floor, surrounding her. She couldn’t tell the difference anymore. His face was there, it was real. “Why are you still watching me?” He didn’t answer. In the park, surrounded by trees, they both stood. His brown eyes were piercing. Far off, just beyond the line of sight, she could see shapes in the blue sky. Bright as daylight, though the air around her was dark and heavy. She turned to his eyes, but couldn’t see them anymore. The shapes were moving, as they came closer she couldn’t see them any better. Barking outside, the dog drew her eyes to the window. His were staring back. Dreams should slip away. But they didn’t. Not anymore. Standing up, she felt as if weight was falling onto her body. She was too old to do this.
Slowly she walked to the sink, splashed water on her face, and stared into her own eyes. It was still surprising to see her own face. Her hair used to be brown. Dark, thick, and long. She thought of Snow White. “What if she had slept for sixty years? What kind of dreams would she have had?” It was a cliche she couldn’t let go of. Sleep. The worlds that existed when we didn’t. There was always a scientific explanation. Synapses, neurons, memory processing. She couldn’t believe in science; it was too tangible, too real. Life never felt that real. She couldn’t see the film reels, but they were always there. She thought about that day in the field. They had gone with a picnic basket. She couldn’t stop the smile from showing on her face, star crossed lovers on a picnic. It sounded just like a dime store romance novel. Her dress had been red. Red and covered in tiny white flowers. It clashed with his blue shirt, but the film played in black and white. Regret chased her. Pine trees surrounded them. He always hated pines, said they were common, useless. She had always laughed at him. Coming to terms with his idiosyncracies. Laughing only made him angry. Mud from the path smeared her new shoes. It had upset him more than it upset her. Loving him, even then, meant losing a little bit of herself.
He wanted the most secret place, the most beautiful. Second best was never good enough. They walked until she was out of breath. She had never been one for exercise. Finally he turned and smiled. The birds flew out of the trees, soaring around the small clearing. Pulling out the soft wool blanket, she sat down and smiled back at him. He reached down and grabbed her small wrist, pulling her up so she was standing next to him, staring into his brown eyes. She could see the birds reflecting back. Knowing he shouldn’t, knowing she shouldn’t, he leaned over to kiss her. Kissing was always a complicated thing. Movies made it look so easy. John Wayne would lean over, grab his leading woman, and pull her into a long embrace where no one’s nose bumped, no one’s teeth gnashed against the others. It wasn’t that way here. He hit her hard, her mouth ringing, she pulled back. She was relieved. Kissing him was like saying yes. They both laughed and he sat down, taking her alongside him. She wanted to kiss him. Instead, she turned to her basket. Offering him a sandwich, she set herself a million miles away. The rest of the day was uneventful. Uneventful and unforgettable.
Sighing, she stood up straight and assessed herself in the mirror one last time. Her eyes never changed. They were always the same deep green. Nothing to speak of, but always the same. Walking back to her bedroom, she realized she finally knew the meaning of “padding.” Alone, in the dark, it was still humiliating. Habit overtook her exhaustion. She reached over to brush her hair, forgetting it was already cut off. Another sigh escaped her lips. Pulling the white covers back, she slowly returned to her position in her bed. Mentally, she retraced her night. His eyes were still staring at her. Giving in and giving up, she rolled over, clasped her hands to her chest, and breathed deeply. As time passed, she felt herself rolling back. Back into the sleep she had just left. Sleeping alone was all she had ever known. She had never learned to stop hating it.
Waking up in the daylight was different. In the morning she could forget. Nightmares, dreams, memory, they faded away with the bright sun’s light. This time, as she pulled her blankets off of her weary body, she could feel each and every bone ache. Exhaustion had quickly become a familiar presence. She thought back. How had she gotten here? It seemed as the last day she had lived had been with him. Everything in between was gone. Last night had been washed away by new dreams. Now, it was all coming back. Looking out the window, she could make out where his eyes had been. She had seen them so often it was hard to know if they were really there. Solid ideas turned to mush in a blender. Time, dates, memories. None of them were distinct. He stood in the field again, looking at her. She was standing there, wearing the same red dress. She reached up for her hair, but it was gone. It was short and gray. The dog was barking again. She could see trees in the distance, the grass surrounding her. The wind blowing through the leaves whistled in her ears. But the dog was barking, her hand was still leaning against the window frame. She was wearing the nightgown. She wanted it to end.
The Picture
Four solid frames. He had four solid frames surrounding everything he knew. Behind him there was nothing. He had never turned his head to look, glued to the image ahead. He knew her face as if it were his own. Sometimes she could see him. The first time, years ago, had been right after. She had turned to the window to watch the rain stream down in trails. After a few minutes, she begun to trace the water with the tip of her fingernail. Going up the glass, following where the water had been, the nail barely touching. He had followed her fingers with his own. Tracing where it had gone. The moment he caught her, the moment they had touched, she jumped. His eyes caught her. She saw him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She had stared back for only a few seconds, shook her head and turned away. He knew she thought it was a dream, accidental imagination brought on by cold, dreary, rain. The weather novels are made of. He had waited from that moment on.
The next time he knew she couldn’t let the rain wash it away. It had been sunny. Warmth from the house poured into his window. Summer, the next year. He had barely slept for months, waiting for the next glimpse. The next time he would catch her. He was afraid she had forgotten. He would have given a hundred years just for five minutes. But he had to be fair. She had been laughing, a friend standing and waiting in the other room. Turning her head to walk into the room, he caught her eyes. She gasped. He knew she hadn’t forgotten. It wasn’t enough. “What’s wrong?” he heard from the other room. “Nothing, I just thought I saw a spider,” with that, she turned and walked out of the room, out of his life. It would be years before he would catch her again.
Her hair was getting longer. She had never cut it short. But it was much longer now. It was still the same deep brown, but it had changed somehow. He knew somewhere deep down she remembered. She wouldn’t forget that day. He knew she’d remember until she died. Unless she did. It was always at the back of his mind. What if she didn’t remember? She had wanted to forget so much. She might have accomplished it. He couldn’t wouldn’t let her. He remembered. He remembered the trees, the way he had made her walk for miles until he found the perfect place. He knew he was too difficult to love. Even then, before he became only a haunting image, it was too much. Sitting there, waiting, watching, he was crazy. The closer she got to the edge, the more he was falling off. It was desperation. Doing nothing but watching her. He prayed she wouldn’t forget. That she hadn’t already. She rolled over in the bed. His mind came back to her. Her eyes were open. They were looking at him. He was afraid of all the possibilities. But she was sleeping. She was only dreaming. He had to stay desperate.
She woke up often. Always, she would turn and look at him. Still sleeping, still dreaming, but she looked. It gave him hope. It only happened then, in the dead of night. She no longer looked out the window. The curtains were nearly always closed. She was busy, running in and out of the room, out of the house. He waited. His life hung on those few moments when she would look at him. He didn’t know what she knew, what she was thinking. But she hadn’t forgotten. Dreams wouldn’t let her forget. The dark was comforting to him now. Sunlight only reminded him that she was gone. Who wasn’t happy in the daylight? He could watch her at night. There were times when he didn’t want her to see him. She had walked in once. Tired, a little drunk, she had stumbled into the room. She had thrown her shoes across the floor. Grabbing her clothes, she ran into the bathroom. She was older then. She didn’t want to admit it, but her hair had a few strands of gray. She wasn’t old enough, not for that. He could hear the faucet, the water splashing in the tub. He was most afraid then. When she came back, her wet hair was soaking her nightgown. She hadn’t bothered to dry off. Tears were already flowing down her face. He wanted to give up. How could it go on like this, not knowing what hurt her, what made her cry. He could only count the number of tears that fell on the floor. Listen to the sobs she rarely let out. Her life was becoming a blur. He could only hold on to those few moments. The memory of that one day had to be enough. It was fading.
But it didn’t. She grew older. Her hair grew gray. She slept less. She spent more time watching the window. He didn’t understand her anymore. Guessing was impossible. He had long ago accepted he wouldn’t escape. As long as she didn’t forget, he could stay. He would die knowing she hadn’t forgotten. It was enough. As her hair turned gray, she began to cut it off. She spent more time alone. Her dreams began to haunt her. Talking to herself she would mutter his name. He began to hope. He didn’t want to. It had been easier to believe it was over. Giving up and giving in was always easier. Hoping took energy he didn’t have anymore. The crazier she became, the more she fell off, the closer he got to the edge. But he went on.
And then, it happened. She had been staring longer lately. The past few years he could hardly recognize her. It was only her eyes that were the same. The same piercing green. When she fell, he was terrified. He didn’t want her to leave, not yet. It didn’t happen. She went back to sleep. He never thought it would happen then. He could almost feel the heat from the sun. Eyes blurred, angry and scared. She stood at the window, her hand against the frame. He wanted it to end. She looked into his eyes. She had never seen him like this. It was clear, the two eyes recognized his own. There was no distraction, no possibility she was dreaming. And so she screamed. Angry, bitter, horrendous screams. She stared and yelled. The violence of her voice shook the walls, shook the four frames he had lived his life through. And then, she spoke. “Leave, just leave. I don’t want you. I never have.” Walking out into the hall, he couldn’t see her for a moment. Swinging open the door, she turned back to him. She picked up the red shoe, still lying on the hallway floor. Turning back, he could see the rage in her eyes. The fury of years of unrequited life. He knew it was the end. “I hate you,” screaming one last time, with strength she was too old to have any more, she threw the shoe. He saw her eyes even through the red flying towards him. All he could hear was the glass breaking all around him. He closed his eyes with relief. It was the end. It was over.
The House
The air blowing over his skin woke him up. It was cold in the room, wind blowing through the broken window. The unfamiliarity of lying on the floor made him open his eyes. He wasn’t alone. She was barely moving, barely breathing, but she was awake, staring at his face. Her hands were touching his. He realized they were lying on shards of glass. “Why did you stay?” He asked, terrified and confused, “All this time, why did you stay?” “How could I leave?” He turned to sit up. She held on. They both stood up. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what to do. “It’s ok,” she said, not afraid for the first time. She knew she wasn’t crazy anymore. He couldn’t tell if he was. “I don’t know where I am.” He turned and looked out the window, the house stood in a field, surrounded by trees. It was eerily familiar. There was a single red shoe lying on top of a soft wool blanket. He turned back to her. His arm was resting on her back. The blue of his shirt clashed with the red and white of her dress. The cool wind was still blowing from the open window. “Have you ever known?” she replied “Did it ever matter?” He looked at her. Her green eyes. His brown eyes. “No.” Knowing he shouldn’t, knowing she shouldn’t. He leaned over and kissed her.
Angela Johnson
I was never one for marriage. I believed that marriage was a waste of time, money and energy. I felt that if you wanted to be with someone, then be with them. Why do you have to spend money and argue over stupid things like colors or who should come just to tell the world that you are with this person. After college, I watched each of my friends get married. I had so many dresses but they were my friends. I wanted to be there for them regardless of whether or not I thought the ceremony was unnecessary. Besides me, I had one friend left to joke with about not being married. All of us went partying one night and Janice meet Bruce. Bruce was a cool cat with no job but cute as hell. The two danced all night and woke up together the next morning next to the pool of the beach house we used every year. Six months later and countless tales of public sex, the two were to be wed. I was part of a dying breed. I was going to be the odd man out for now on. If we going skating and there is a call for couple skating, you will see me on the inner part of the circle skating with six years who even have someone to skate with. But for the last time, I will put on the dress, walk down the aisle with a smile; wish my friend all the luck in the world.
Janice’s wedding changed my life forever. Her wedding changed my ideals, changed the way I looked at the world and the people in it. My original escort for the wedding suddenly got sick so Janice replaced him with Brice. Brice was a fine specimen of a man standing at 6ft even, nicely built and the smoothest skin I’ve seen on a brother in a long time. During the ceremony, we allowed our eyes to do what our lips couldn’t. As the guest and my friends enjoyed the reception, Brice said the right things and made all the right moves. By the time I got to my car to leave, he had successfully retrieved my number and a scheduled date.
Time past and the journey of liking someone suddenly became the journey of loving someone. If you had asked me a year before if I believed in love, I would have told you love was for suckers. When Brice asked me to marry him, I didn’t hesitate like I had envisioned. I figured being asked would never be an issue because the person I was going to be with would understand that marriage was not something I was interested in. Once he asked, I figured why the hell not? What else am I going to be doing? We went through the necessary planning and the day went according to plan. I rush through details because this is not where my tale begins, it’s where it ends.
After two years of marriage, things began to change. Every little thing became an issue. We both traveled a lot because of work but we were aware of one another’s occupation before we got together. Our morning encounters went from quickies in the kitchen to texts messages from the car. By the time either one of us got home, we had grab take out for ourselves. The very things that I predicted for the marriages of my friends were happening to me. Us not being ones to submit to failing, we agreed to marriage counseling. Any form of therapy is a useless thing to participate in. I am paying someone to tell me what I already knew.
I would say after the third session there was a change. We felt the passion that left our marriage again. There was conversation again. There was intimacy again. Things made since again.
One morning Brice woke up early to fix me breakfast in bed. He had to leave for Maine that morning. This was going to be the first of several trips so that he could finalized a merger. I kissed him goodbye and watched him leave. When it was time for him to go to Maine, we went through the same routine. He would come home, tell me how much he loved me over and over again. Life was good.
Several months later, on one of the mornings Brice was to leave, I received a phone. The caller was male asking who resided at this number. I told him none of his business and hung up the phone. Brice walked in and asked who was on the phone. I told him wrong number and kissed him goodbye.
You ever watch a movie and yell at the people in the movie what to do next? I felt like a voice was telling me to figure out what the call was about. Another voice was telling me to stop reading so much into the call. I went to the phone and searched caller id for the number. I stared at the number for about 15 minutes and finally pressed the dial button. The same voice answered the phone. I paused as he said hello. I cleared my throat and told him that he called the house earlier that morning. I heard him sigh. He sounded so certain to figure out who we were but now he sounds as if he didn’t know what to say. “I apologize for being so rude earlier. I was a little upset.” he replied. “That is all fine and well but what is it that you want,” I asked as stern as I possibly could. He explained that he found the number on the floor of his bedroom with a name written on the top. I swallowed hard and asked what the name was. He confirmed that the name was Brice. There was no way to tell myself he was lying. He had no reason to call me out of the blue and lie about finding my number on the floor of his bedroom. We talked for about and hour and a half. I guess there was a lot for us to talk about considering our spouses were sleeping together. I gained a friend that day one that would be able to trust more than any.
Both Brice and Alex’s wife Adrienne would be gone for two weeks. Every night that went by, Alex and I talked. We talked about everything from how we met our spouse to the current episodes of Hero. We made one another laugh during a time we should have be crying, during a time when were suppose ask what happened. There is not real explanation for the bond that we created. Little did I know that we both had a similar idea but were too afraid to voice it. Perhaps in due time we would come up with enough courage to talk about it.
We had two days before our spouses were to come home and Alex came up with a plan. He suggested that we catch a flight together and surprise our spouses. To be honest with you, I was more nervous to meet Alex then to confront Brice. I had often dreamed of what Alex look like, what he would wear when we met and I often had pleasant thoughts of him as well. I told him that was a great idea. We both agreed to catch the last flight of the night which left us an hour to pack. Before he hung up the phone, he asked me what I would be wearing. I told him a fitted long sleeve white shirt with dark blue jeans. I started to ask him what he would be wearing but he cut me off and told me that he would find me. I told him to tell me something so I would know. He told me he would be wearing Ralph Lauren cologne. I hung up the phone and pack my things.
I took a cab to the airport, walked in and, brought my airline ticket. I tried not to look anxious but I couldn’t help. I heard them call my flight. The flight attendant smiled as she took my ticket. I walked on the plane and scanned every face trying to figure out which one was Alex. For a second , I made myself laugh. I thought to myself what if Alex was girl. What if Alex was serial killer with this elaborate plan to kidnap and kill his victims. As I placed my bag above my sit, a voice offered to help me. Before I turned to respond , I inhaled and smelt the cologne. I saw his hands reach up to mine and push my bags in the cabinet. I felt like everything was moving in slow motion. I exhaled and turn to face him. An immediate smile graced my face. He had beautiful brown eyes. He blinked and smiled back. We took our seats next to one another and buckled our seat belts. We sat in silence for awhile. Talking on the phone was easy. Being face to face was kind of weird.
About 20 minutes after take off, Alex spoke. “I’m going to order a drink would you like one? I turned and nodded. He asked me what kind but I told him to surprise me. After ordering, he turned to me and stated that I was a lot taller than he imagined but I looked exactly how he pictured me. I told him that I could never put a face to the body. “Oh god so what was I then?, he asked. “A blur.” I answered. We laughed and dialogue became a little easier as the flight progressed. We both agreed that we would leave the plane and airport at different times so people wouldn’t assume we were together.
Once the plane landed, we departed according to plan. We exchanged cell numbers so we could update one another. I went to the far left of the airport to wait on Alex’s flight to arrive. A little over an hour pasted and Alex came exiting the terminal. I stood there with a sign bearing his name. He stopped for second with sort of a guilty look on his face. He gathered himself and walked towards me. “Surprised.” I yelled. “ You’re right a surprise.” he replied. “ I figured we could spend the day in D.C. and return home the next day. I had a few days off and was getting bored around the house so I figured I would surprise you. Alex stuttered a little as he agreed that the idea was a good one. We flagged down a cab and headed to a hotel about seven miles from the airport.
As we checked in and made our way to the room, not much was said. I looked at the desk clerk and noticed that he looked puzzled. I looked at Alex to see if he noticed. He said he was tired and wanted to sleep a little. Once he rested he said he would take me out on the town. I let him sleep while I went the spa . I texted Alex what hotel we were staying in. He quickly texted me back saying that they had just checked in. Funny how our spouses brought us to their meeting spot. Alex sent me another text saying that Adrienne had given him the same excuse about being tired so he said he would meet me in the spa.
While I was getting a back massage, I felt the size of the hands change. I immediately knew who the hands belonged to. I turned over and smiled. I honestly don’t think I could keep a frown with this man. He helped me up and we went to the mud pool. We sat and talked about how long should we let our spouse think we don’t know. But we really didn’t want to talk about them so we changed the subject and enjoyed the mud pool.
Soon we showered off and went to wake of spouses. By the time I went to open my room door, Brice was dressed. He said that he felt better and was ready to go eat. He gave me a few to get dressed and escorted me to the restaurant in the hotel lobby. Brice was always a gentleman, he always knew what to say and what to do. We sat down and Brice ordered the most expense wine on the menu. I asked him what the occasion was. “I can’t treat my wife to a romantic evening just because.” he asked. I forced a smile on my face and turned to face the front door. Alex walks in with Adrienne. She is pretty. She doesn’t look better than me but I see the appeal. The two of them walked past. I made no eye contact with Alex and vice versa. Brice couldn’t help but look and Adrienne returned the same worried glance. Guilt has a way of making you lose control of some the most basic motor functions. The both of us had a some what pleasant evening with our spouses. Before we left the restaurant, Brice had to go to restroom so I waited in the lobby. I text Alex to see how things were going. He text back saying that Adrienne was in the bathroom. All of sudden I became enraged. I got mad when I first saw walk past but I became pissed just thinking about them two secretly meeting in the bathroom. I got up to walk back in the restaurant to catch them when Brice came walking out. He asked me what was wrong. I told him nothing and we returned to the room.
I couldn’t sleep. Life was okay when Brice wasn’t in my presence. I was okay being upset without seeing him. I knew once I saw him, I wouldn’t be able to control myself, that I might act a fool once I saw him. I went on the balcony and called Alex. Lucky, he couldn’t sleep either. He was feeling the same rage I was. We had both been fooled into believing we were our spouse’s one and only. What were we suppose to do next?
The next morning, I woke up with an attitude. Brice was getting mad because he couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. I wanted him to walk around not knowing for once. The two of entered the elevator and took it to the lobby. He kept asking what was wrong. I told him I was fine and to drop it. We both walked to the desk to check out. As he was signing the receipt, Alex and his wife walked up. Everyone spoke to be polite, watching one another’s behavior as if they knew a secret. As I grabbed my bad to leave, Alex winked at me. I returned the gesture with a smile and the that was the last time I saw him.
One month later
The room was cool when they awoke in one another’s arms in the middle of the dark. Adrienne sat up and went to cut the lamp on. A spark came from the light and hit the floor. The room quickly became engulfed in flames. The two jumped out of the bed and tried to get out but the door was jammed. As they screamed for help both couldn’t help but think to themselves, I wouldn’t have been in this predicament if I was home with my spouse.
Six Months Later
The room was cool when they awoke in one another’s arms in the middle of the dark. I turn to Alex only to smile. He looked to me and whispered in my ear,” No regrets.”
You are probably wondering what happened. Remember how I said that marriage was a waste of time, money, and energy. Well, I lied. If you put in the time, money and energy, the results are plentiful. One night, during our daily conversations, Alex and I came up with a plan to make sure we got the better end of the deal. I would discuss what was done but then I would just be incriminating myself, now wouldn’t I?
The two were sent to the hospital for observation and contacted Alex and I because were written down as emergency contact. The two of us took the same flight we took a month before and headed to the hospital in separate cabs. The police told us that our spouse was in a room with someone else at the time of the fire. They assumed they were married but realized they had checked into the hotel separately. Because our spouses affair we received all of their assests according to the clauses set in our marriage contract . All in all, marriage gave me everything I ever wanted and then some. So I am glad to say I was wrong, everybody should get married.
Janice’s wedding changed my life forever. Her wedding changed my ideals, changed the way I looked at the world and the people in it. My original escort for the wedding suddenly got sick so Janice replaced him with Brice. Brice was a fine specimen of a man standing at 6ft even, nicely built and the smoothest skin I’ve seen on a brother in a long time. During the ceremony, we allowed our eyes to do what our lips couldn’t. As the guest and my friends enjoyed the reception, Brice said the right things and made all the right moves. By the time I got to my car to leave, he had successfully retrieved my number and a scheduled date.
Time past and the journey of liking someone suddenly became the journey of loving someone. If you had asked me a year before if I believed in love, I would have told you love was for suckers. When Brice asked me to marry him, I didn’t hesitate like I had envisioned. I figured being asked would never be an issue because the person I was going to be with would understand that marriage was not something I was interested in. Once he asked, I figured why the hell not? What else am I going to be doing? We went through the necessary planning and the day went according to plan. I rush through details because this is not where my tale begins, it’s where it ends.
After two years of marriage, things began to change. Every little thing became an issue. We both traveled a lot because of work but we were aware of one another’s occupation before we got together. Our morning encounters went from quickies in the kitchen to texts messages from the car. By the time either one of us got home, we had grab take out for ourselves. The very things that I predicted for the marriages of my friends were happening to me. Us not being ones to submit to failing, we agreed to marriage counseling. Any form of therapy is a useless thing to participate in. I am paying someone to tell me what I already knew.
I would say after the third session there was a change. We felt the passion that left our marriage again. There was conversation again. There was intimacy again. Things made since again.
One morning Brice woke up early to fix me breakfast in bed. He had to leave for Maine that morning. This was going to be the first of several trips so that he could finalized a merger. I kissed him goodbye and watched him leave. When it was time for him to go to Maine, we went through the same routine. He would come home, tell me how much he loved me over and over again. Life was good.
Several months later, on one of the mornings Brice was to leave, I received a phone. The caller was male asking who resided at this number. I told him none of his business and hung up the phone. Brice walked in and asked who was on the phone. I told him wrong number and kissed him goodbye.
You ever watch a movie and yell at the people in the movie what to do next? I felt like a voice was telling me to figure out what the call was about. Another voice was telling me to stop reading so much into the call. I went to the phone and searched caller id for the number. I stared at the number for about 15 minutes and finally pressed the dial button. The same voice answered the phone. I paused as he said hello. I cleared my throat and told him that he called the house earlier that morning. I heard him sigh. He sounded so certain to figure out who we were but now he sounds as if he didn’t know what to say. “I apologize for being so rude earlier. I was a little upset.” he replied. “That is all fine and well but what is it that you want,” I asked as stern as I possibly could. He explained that he found the number on the floor of his bedroom with a name written on the top. I swallowed hard and asked what the name was. He confirmed that the name was Brice. There was no way to tell myself he was lying. He had no reason to call me out of the blue and lie about finding my number on the floor of his bedroom. We talked for about and hour and a half. I guess there was a lot for us to talk about considering our spouses were sleeping together. I gained a friend that day one that would be able to trust more than any.
Both Brice and Alex’s wife Adrienne would be gone for two weeks. Every night that went by, Alex and I talked. We talked about everything from how we met our spouse to the current episodes of Hero. We made one another laugh during a time we should have be crying, during a time when were suppose ask what happened. There is not real explanation for the bond that we created. Little did I know that we both had a similar idea but were too afraid to voice it. Perhaps in due time we would come up with enough courage to talk about it.
We had two days before our spouses were to come home and Alex came up with a plan. He suggested that we catch a flight together and surprise our spouses. To be honest with you, I was more nervous to meet Alex then to confront Brice. I had often dreamed of what Alex look like, what he would wear when we met and I often had pleasant thoughts of him as well. I told him that was a great idea. We both agreed to catch the last flight of the night which left us an hour to pack. Before he hung up the phone, he asked me what I would be wearing. I told him a fitted long sleeve white shirt with dark blue jeans. I started to ask him what he would be wearing but he cut me off and told me that he would find me. I told him to tell me something so I would know. He told me he would be wearing Ralph Lauren cologne. I hung up the phone and pack my things.
I took a cab to the airport, walked in and, brought my airline ticket. I tried not to look anxious but I couldn’t help. I heard them call my flight. The flight attendant smiled as she took my ticket. I walked on the plane and scanned every face trying to figure out which one was Alex. For a second , I made myself laugh. I thought to myself what if Alex was girl. What if Alex was serial killer with this elaborate plan to kidnap and kill his victims. As I placed my bag above my sit, a voice offered to help me. Before I turned to respond , I inhaled and smelt the cologne. I saw his hands reach up to mine and push my bags in the cabinet. I felt like everything was moving in slow motion. I exhaled and turn to face him. An immediate smile graced my face. He had beautiful brown eyes. He blinked and smiled back. We took our seats next to one another and buckled our seat belts. We sat in silence for awhile. Talking on the phone was easy. Being face to face was kind of weird.
About 20 minutes after take off, Alex spoke. “I’m going to order a drink would you like one? I turned and nodded. He asked me what kind but I told him to surprise me. After ordering, he turned to me and stated that I was a lot taller than he imagined but I looked exactly how he pictured me. I told him that I could never put a face to the body. “Oh god so what was I then?, he asked. “A blur.” I answered. We laughed and dialogue became a little easier as the flight progressed. We both agreed that we would leave the plane and airport at different times so people wouldn’t assume we were together.
Once the plane landed, we departed according to plan. We exchanged cell numbers so we could update one another. I went to the far left of the airport to wait on Alex’s flight to arrive. A little over an hour pasted and Alex came exiting the terminal. I stood there with a sign bearing his name. He stopped for second with sort of a guilty look on his face. He gathered himself and walked towards me. “Surprised.” I yelled. “ You’re right a surprise.” he replied. “ I figured we could spend the day in D.C. and return home the next day. I had a few days off and was getting bored around the house so I figured I would surprise you. Alex stuttered a little as he agreed that the idea was a good one. We flagged down a cab and headed to a hotel about seven miles from the airport.
As we checked in and made our way to the room, not much was said. I looked at the desk clerk and noticed that he looked puzzled. I looked at Alex to see if he noticed. He said he was tired and wanted to sleep a little. Once he rested he said he would take me out on the town. I let him sleep while I went the spa . I texted Alex what hotel we were staying in. He quickly texted me back saying that they had just checked in. Funny how our spouses brought us to their meeting spot. Alex sent me another text saying that Adrienne had given him the same excuse about being tired so he said he would meet me in the spa.
While I was getting a back massage, I felt the size of the hands change. I immediately knew who the hands belonged to. I turned over and smiled. I honestly don’t think I could keep a frown with this man. He helped me up and we went to the mud pool. We sat and talked about how long should we let our spouse think we don’t know. But we really didn’t want to talk about them so we changed the subject and enjoyed the mud pool.
Soon we showered off and went to wake of spouses. By the time I went to open my room door, Brice was dressed. He said that he felt better and was ready to go eat. He gave me a few to get dressed and escorted me to the restaurant in the hotel lobby. Brice was always a gentleman, he always knew what to say and what to do. We sat down and Brice ordered the most expense wine on the menu. I asked him what the occasion was. “I can’t treat my wife to a romantic evening just because.” he asked. I forced a smile on my face and turned to face the front door. Alex walks in with Adrienne. She is pretty. She doesn’t look better than me but I see the appeal. The two of them walked past. I made no eye contact with Alex and vice versa. Brice couldn’t help but look and Adrienne returned the same worried glance. Guilt has a way of making you lose control of some the most basic motor functions. The both of us had a some what pleasant evening with our spouses. Before we left the restaurant, Brice had to go to restroom so I waited in the lobby. I text Alex to see how things were going. He text back saying that Adrienne was in the bathroom. All of sudden I became enraged. I got mad when I first saw walk past but I became pissed just thinking about them two secretly meeting in the bathroom. I got up to walk back in the restaurant to catch them when Brice came walking out. He asked me what was wrong. I told him nothing and we returned to the room.
I couldn’t sleep. Life was okay when Brice wasn’t in my presence. I was okay being upset without seeing him. I knew once I saw him, I wouldn’t be able to control myself, that I might act a fool once I saw him. I went on the balcony and called Alex. Lucky, he couldn’t sleep either. He was feeling the same rage I was. We had both been fooled into believing we were our spouse’s one and only. What were we suppose to do next?
The next morning, I woke up with an attitude. Brice was getting mad because he couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. I wanted him to walk around not knowing for once. The two of entered the elevator and took it to the lobby. He kept asking what was wrong. I told him I was fine and to drop it. We both walked to the desk to check out. As he was signing the receipt, Alex and his wife walked up. Everyone spoke to be polite, watching one another’s behavior as if they knew a secret. As I grabbed my bad to leave, Alex winked at me. I returned the gesture with a smile and the that was the last time I saw him.
One month later
The room was cool when they awoke in one another’s arms in the middle of the dark. Adrienne sat up and went to cut the lamp on. A spark came from the light and hit the floor. The room quickly became engulfed in flames. The two jumped out of the bed and tried to get out but the door was jammed. As they screamed for help both couldn’t help but think to themselves, I wouldn’t have been in this predicament if I was home with my spouse.
Six Months Later
The room was cool when they awoke in one another’s arms in the middle of the dark. I turn to Alex only to smile. He looked to me and whispered in my ear,” No regrets.”
You are probably wondering what happened. Remember how I said that marriage was a waste of time, money, and energy. Well, I lied. If you put in the time, money and energy, the results are plentiful. One night, during our daily conversations, Alex and I came up with a plan to make sure we got the better end of the deal. I would discuss what was done but then I would just be incriminating myself, now wouldn’t I?
The two were sent to the hospital for observation and contacted Alex and I because were written down as emergency contact. The two of us took the same flight we took a month before and headed to the hospital in separate cabs. The police told us that our spouse was in a room with someone else at the time of the fire. They assumed they were married but realized they had checked into the hotel separately. Because our spouses affair we received all of their assests according to the clauses set in our marriage contract . All in all, marriage gave me everything I ever wanted and then some. So I am glad to say I was wrong, everybody should get married.
Donald Quist
Glissando
It was her stirring that had startled Keith awake. He pulled back from her embrace and tried to squint through the dark. From above he looked like a man admiring a painting… Except he was naked and horizontal on a leather couch which didn’t belong to him. Come to think of it, Keith didn’t know anyone who owned a leather couch. He started to panic.
George could hear his heartbeat quicken. Her ear was smashed against his bare chest. She ran her fingertips over her body, conducting a minor physical. From what she could gather she was naked. He was naked too. He was a He, very much a He, if the warm fleshy cylinder shaped object slapped up against her thigh was any indication. She was on a leather couch, real leather. Luckily the room was so cool she wasn’t sticking to it; she hated that. However, leather, being the material that it is, was susceptible to temperature change and at that moment George was particularly uncomfortable. She felt like she was sprawled over a block of ice. Later she would tell Abby to invest in a throw or an afghan, preferably from Crate & Barrel.
Keith last remembered drinking at the bar alone. Everything after that got kind of fuzzy. He assumed he had met a girl at the bar, they hit it off and she invited him back to her place. It was a completely reasonable series of events, not too incongruous, plausible if it weren’t for the fact that Keith was socially retarded. How was it that a man whose hobbies included hunting for rare Magic the Gathering cards, looking for continuity mistakes in Doctor Who and writing letters to major television broadcasting stations detailing the reasons why airing a live action Inuyasha series would prove lucrative, could convince a woman he didn’t even know to have sex with him. Maybe they didn’t have sex. He felt his penis. Sticky, wet, pubic hairs matted and patted. Yup, they had had sex. Maybe she was a he. There was only one way to be certain.
George was thinking about of lot of things when Keith’s hands began to roam her body, namely her ever-mounting credit card debt. She wouldn’t have minded Keith’s curiosity if only he had some finesse. He wringed and prodded, groped and grinded, probing her as if he were administering a health exam. George tried to ignore it as long as she could, hoping he would eventually get bored and drift off back to sleep. She was doing well she thought, turning a cheek to his countless boob grabs and butt squeezes, forgiving him for dashing his ring finger in and out of her vagina like he was ‘Backspacing’ on a keyboard. However, when she felt a wet thumb press into her ear she had had enough.
“Motherfucker, did you just give me a wet-willy?”
Keith didn’t know how to answer that. Short answer, yes. Long answer, maybe. At some point it had become less about finding out whether the human being he had just slept with was a woman and more about seeing how far he could go before waking it up. Obviously, she had been awake, no telling how long.
“Answer me,” she growled. “Did you just give me a wet willy?”
Her voice was kind of deep for a girl. Keith began to doubt his powers of deduction.
“I know you hear me!”
She was incredibly snit. Keith feigned a soft snore hoping that somehow, just maybe, he could diffuse the situation by pretending to be asleep.
When George heard the nasally gurgle of his fake snore she became enraged. The only thing she hated more than sticking to a hot leather couch was having her intelligence insulted. She pinched his nipples and twisted them until he yelped in pain.
“OWWWW!”
She released and shoved him off of the couch. He hit the bare hardwood floor with a loud THWACK.
“Jesus titty-fucking Christ,” he cried. “Goddamnit.”
George didn’t care for blasphemy either, or using the Lord’s name in vain. She was a devote Catholic.
Keith rubbed his ass. He was pretty sure he had broken it… Well, it felt like it was broken. Keith heard her rise from the couch. Then he felt a heel fall into his abdomen. The air was forced out of his lungs and he curled into a fetal position. As he whimpered for her to stop a tiny fist hit his inner thigh, then his right arm, then his head.
“I can’t fucking believe you’d use profanity like that,” she screamed at him.
Keith was confused by her religious conviction.
“But you just cursed right then,” Keith shouted back.
“Yeah but it wasn’t blasphemy, you piece of shit!”
“I’m getting preached to by a chick who just had unprotected sex with a complete stranger,” Keith exclaimed.
Silence.
Silence and then Keith heard her back away.
George was putting some serious thought into what he just said. He had a point, but she couldn’t let him know that.
“It wasn’t unprotected, I’m sure of it,” George argued.
“When you say, ‘I’m sure of it,’ it just sounds like you’re unsure.”
“Well I am. I know myself, I’m careful. I never forget to take my Yaz and I never forget to carry condoms. Trust me, there’s a used rubber here somewhere on Abby’s floor.”
“Abby, that’s you,” he asked with a little more excitement in his voice than he had intended for her to hear.
“No, Abby is the girl whose apartment this is.”
“And what’s your name?”
“You don’t know my name,” George asked, twisting her lips up into a pouty frown she usually reserved for having pretend arguments with boys she liked; it kept things lighthearted and playful. However, in the dark the “look” lost its effect. She just came off sounding hurt and upset.
“Do you know mine,” he spat.
“Roger,” George fired.
“Not even close,” he sighed. “So, do you want to know my name?”
Something in his voice made George want to go on the defense.
“Did I ask for your name? I don’t want to know your name. There’s no point in learning your name. We’ll probably never see each other again,” George barked.
“It’s Keith.”
“What?”
“My name is Keith.”
“WOW. Look you don’t have to stick around here to prove how good a guy you are okay. I get it. You can go now.”
Keith ignored her.
“And what am I supposed to call you… Not-Amy,” Keith asked, quite pleased with himself for delivering such a clever quip.
“A-B-B-Y, Abby, not Amy, dick,” she said, taking a seat on the couch. Keith could hear the cushions squish and squeal beneath her weight, sharp and soft onomatopoeias - like air escaping a half deflated balloon and the squeak of a finger pushing across the hood of a car freshly waxed. He heard a few springs pop. From the muscle memory of his fingertips he remembered she was thick but not fat. Her breasts were large, heavy and real. Her butt was wide and…
“Why would I refer to myself in the third person,” she boomed, pulling back Keith’s attention.
He was grateful. He feared if he had gone on thinking about her body much longer he would get excited.
“I thought you were just being a bitch,” Keith responded.
George had trouble believing this boy could lack so much social grace. Even if he wasn’t familiarized with the proper etiquette of a one-night-stand, he was expected to know better than to infer a girl was a bitch, to her face. Everything he said was wrong, everything he did was wrong and George couldn’t help finding that a little cute.
“You have no idea you just insulted me do you?”
Though George couldn’t see his face she could feel him staring back at her blankly. He was like a new born.
“No wonder I jumped your bones. You’re emotionally abject. Man, you are so fantastically glib.”
Glib? Keith hated it when people used four-letter vocab words just to sound smarter than the person they were talking to. Keith knew four-letter vocab words.
She continued, “Here I am getting all pissed off. Getting mad at you is like trying to sue a puppy for shitting on your floor, he didn’t know.”
“Well that’s kinda harsh don’t you think,” Keith bemoaned.
It was something about the way he said it, something about the meekness in his voice, something that made George fidget uncomfortably. She had hurt him, and though that had been her intention something, something, something suddenly made her acerbic tone a little too caustic. She could feel him, through the darkness, slipping away, retreating into himself. She called after him.
“My name is George,” said George. “And yeah, I know it’s a guy’s name so don’t.”
“Don’t what,” he asked.
“Don’t start cracking on my name.”
“Why would I do that? Your name is George, why’s that funny?”
“It’s not, but that doesn’t usual stop people from… Well, you know.”
“Y-yeah,” he said, and with a groan rose to his feet. “So why the hell is your apartment so dark?”
“It’s not my apartment. This is Abby’s apartment.”
“Right.”
“This place is a loft, that’s why our voices are echoing like mad. It’s huge, and open, and it came fully furnished. It’s really a beautiful space it just…”
“Has no windows?”
“Not even one.”
“Man, how would she know what time it is?”
“A clock, Keith.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” he said. George could hear his breathing get heavier. He was nervous and he didn’t know what to say next. “So is this place rent controlled too?”
“Yeah, actually. I don’t know how she found a place like this on the Lower Eastside.”
Why Would Keith be in the Lower Eastside?
“The Lower Eastside,” he repeated.
“Yeah, we’re like a couple of blocks from Canal and the Bowery.” She explained.
“The Lower eastside,” Keith exclaimed. He was confused. “But, but, but…”
“But what, butt?”
“But the last thing I remember I was sitting in a bar in Hoboken.”
“Yeah, that’s where I must’ve met you. JINX, right, I love that place. They’ve got this special – Pat’s Blue Ribbon and a shot of Wild Turkey for $2.00. Who does that? You go there often? I don’t remember ever seeing you,” she said.
“Well, yeah it’s just down the street from my house… Wait what do you mean you don’t remember ever having seen me? You didn’t know my name until five minutes ago. I’m not sure you even know what I look like. Can you even remember anything from last night?”
“Never-mind that. Did you just say you lived down the street from that place?” She pretended to wretch. “Oh my God, you’re a Jersey Boy. Fucking gross, now I’m going to have to get checked and… ”
Once again, Keith found himself offended. In his desperation to make her feel just as inferior Keith decided to attack her promiscuity.
“Are you serious? You’re the chick running around sleeping with random strangers. If anyone should be getting tested it’s me. You were looking for cock in Jersey. You got a Jersey cock. What did you expect? You’re so starved for it I’m surprised you didn’t drop to your knees and start sucking me off at the bar.”
She went quiet. Keith had proved victorious but he didn’t feel much like celebrating. He feared he had gone too far. After her silence went on for more than thirty seconds he feared he had ruined any opportunity he might have had to get to know her.
George was thinking. George was thinking about boys, well, one in particular, Keith. In the dark people do things they’d never do in the light. People are honest in the dark. Keith’s outburst was honest. It was an honest reaction to George’s teasing. And where most guys would ignore or shrug off her insults with the hope that it would somehow provide them with another opportunity to sleep with her, this boy, Keith, wasn’t so eager. He wasn’t willing to compromise his integrity for a lay, and that frightened George. Keith was an anomaly, standing in blatant defiance of everything she had learned about the opposite sex, everything she had come to know and value as true. It was scary but it was exciting and she hadn’t felt excited in a long, long time. He might have royally screwed any chances he may have had to sleep with her again but at the very least he had earned the truth.
“I must have thought you were like me – slumming it. Jinx is where people in the city go to drink for cheap. I don’t go there with the intention of sleeping someone…”
“But I bet that shit keeps happening,” he snapped.
He was still angry. He deserved the whole truth.
“Yeah, it keeps happening. I go out blow money I don’t have getting drunk and fuck the first guy to show any interest. I do that because my life is shit, I’m going nowhere and I’ve acquired so much credit card debit the government has to garnish my wages. My parents have disowned me. I’m unemployed and live with my friend Abby sleeping on her couch, this couch.”
He, Keith, was rendered speechless. George could feel his anger slip away.
“Well…Wow. Okay,” Keith stammered. “Well, at least you’ve got your health, huh?”
George began to laugh, loud and booming. She didn’t know why she was laughing. What Keith had said wasn’t particularly funny or clever but it was right, right for that moment in time and she welcomed that with giggles. Her chuckles reverberated off the distant walls and slammed Keith’s eardrums.
Keith got a brief impression of the size of the room. It was vast and empty, like his chances, he thought. His armpits started to sweat.
“I guess you’re right,” George said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “And what about you? You don’t exactly seem like the type to hit up bars and drink until you blackout.”
“My girlfriend broke up with me,” Keith said.
“Oh, sorry to hear that,” George said. They were both surprised by how genuine she sounded. “How long had you two been dating?”
“About two years, which is a big deal to me, you know? Last week I told her I thought we should move in together but she wasn’t feeling it, apparently. She was avoiding me until yesterday afternoon when she finally found the balls to tell me it’s over.”
“I’m sorry,” George said.
“Why do you keep apologizing? It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yeah, I know. I was just trying to be nice is all. You actually seem like a nice guy, you know, when you’re not fondling a girl you believe to be unconscious.”
They laughed.
“Yeah, sorry about that, I was just… Well… I don’t know exactly what I was doing,” Keith mumbled. “But, I’m not one of those creeps that tries to take advantage of women.”
“You never had a one night stand?”
“No.”
“Well, if we had drinks in our hands this would be the part where we cheers. I always wanted to be someone’s first,” George said.
“First one night stand?”
“First anything,” she sighed.
Silence.
Comfortable silence.
He found her redoubtable. She found him quixotic. Maybe she could be his catalyst. Maybe he could make her a better woman. Maybe she could be the standard to which he’ll hold every girl he’ll ever meet. Perhaps this was one of those chances for love everybody spent so much time talking about. Perhaps they could be each other’s greatest mistake. There was something, something, something, even if they didn’t know what to call it.
“What if I don’t want this to be a one night stand,” he asked.
She sat there thinking. She thought of a million excuses. There were clear reasons why she and he would never work but she couldn’t find an excuse for, a way out of, the question she found most pertinent. Why Not? She couldn’t think of a reason not to try.
“Look, you think you might want breakfast or something, you know assuming it still is breakfast,” she asked.
“Sure. Um, is there a bathroom around here though, I have to take a piss.”
George cringed. Later she would work on his speech.
They stood. In the darkness Keith reached out his hands and George found his wrist and pulled him to her side. She rolled her fingers into his palm then clasped her hand with his. Together they walked forward. She said she was thirsty. Keith didn’t mind the detour. He didn’t want to pull away. He feared that if he let go of her hand he might never find her again, and though he knew that was ridiculous, it didn’t make it any less true.
George led Keith to the kitchen. She knew the way. She knew the space. She wore it well, as if it were her own. She navigated smoothly. Keith’s arms never grazed a wall his feet never fumbled or tripped. They reached the kitchen and George was thirsty. Releasing Keith’s hand she leaned over to pull open the refrigerator door.
The light blinded them. Once their eyes adjusted they discovered themselves bathed in the soft florescent glow of an icebox.
George saw him. He was tall, lanky, with the face of a child. His facial hair looked as though it had been penciled on. He had an emo/mall hair-cut and the black bangs of his thick shaggy mane fell over part of his left eye. His chest was sunken in and his shoulders hunched over leaving his arms to hang straight down, hands swinging at his waist. And for the first time she wondered if she was good enough. Keith was as pure and untried as griege goods fresh from the loon, and she was a harlot.
Keith saw her. She was pale, her body accented by freckles. Her skin was supple. Her knees touched and her hips were wider than her shoulders. She was shaped like a bowling pin. Her hair was dyed a red that frequented leaves in fall. Grey hairs sprinkled atop her head danced in the light. She had a tattoo of an anchor on both her forearms, which was funny because she was so small, tiny, tinier than Keith had been expecting. Her eyes roared – big and lightning blue, invasive and furious and Keith wondered if he could handle her. Could he be what she needed him to be?
George reached into the fridge and pulled out a large jug of orange juice. She flicked the cap off, took a sip and handed it off to Keith. He cradled the jug and touched it to his lips. Then together, but separately, they swallowed some of their insecurities. They swallowed some of their naive notions about the nature of being, about the world and their place in it. They replaced the orange juice, smiled and closed the door, returning to one another’s arms in the middle of the dark.
It was her stirring that had startled Keith awake. He pulled back from her embrace and tried to squint through the dark. From above he looked like a man admiring a painting… Except he was naked and horizontal on a leather couch which didn’t belong to him. Come to think of it, Keith didn’t know anyone who owned a leather couch. He started to panic.
George could hear his heartbeat quicken. Her ear was smashed against his bare chest. She ran her fingertips over her body, conducting a minor physical. From what she could gather she was naked. He was naked too. He was a He, very much a He, if the warm fleshy cylinder shaped object slapped up against her thigh was any indication. She was on a leather couch, real leather. Luckily the room was so cool she wasn’t sticking to it; she hated that. However, leather, being the material that it is, was susceptible to temperature change and at that moment George was particularly uncomfortable. She felt like she was sprawled over a block of ice. Later she would tell Abby to invest in a throw or an afghan, preferably from Crate & Barrel.
Keith last remembered drinking at the bar alone. Everything after that got kind of fuzzy. He assumed he had met a girl at the bar, they hit it off and she invited him back to her place. It was a completely reasonable series of events, not too incongruous, plausible if it weren’t for the fact that Keith was socially retarded. How was it that a man whose hobbies included hunting for rare Magic the Gathering cards, looking for continuity mistakes in Doctor Who and writing letters to major television broadcasting stations detailing the reasons why airing a live action Inuyasha series would prove lucrative, could convince a woman he didn’t even know to have sex with him. Maybe they didn’t have sex. He felt his penis. Sticky, wet, pubic hairs matted and patted. Yup, they had had sex. Maybe she was a he. There was only one way to be certain.
George was thinking about of lot of things when Keith’s hands began to roam her body, namely her ever-mounting credit card debt. She wouldn’t have minded Keith’s curiosity if only he had some finesse. He wringed and prodded, groped and grinded, probing her as if he were administering a health exam. George tried to ignore it as long as she could, hoping he would eventually get bored and drift off back to sleep. She was doing well she thought, turning a cheek to his countless boob grabs and butt squeezes, forgiving him for dashing his ring finger in and out of her vagina like he was ‘Backspacing’ on a keyboard. However, when she felt a wet thumb press into her ear she had had enough.
“Motherfucker, did you just give me a wet-willy?”
Keith didn’t know how to answer that. Short answer, yes. Long answer, maybe. At some point it had become less about finding out whether the human being he had just slept with was a woman and more about seeing how far he could go before waking it up. Obviously, she had been awake, no telling how long.
“Answer me,” she growled. “Did you just give me a wet willy?”
Her voice was kind of deep for a girl. Keith began to doubt his powers of deduction.
“I know you hear me!”
She was incredibly snit. Keith feigned a soft snore hoping that somehow, just maybe, he could diffuse the situation by pretending to be asleep.
When George heard the nasally gurgle of his fake snore she became enraged. The only thing she hated more than sticking to a hot leather couch was having her intelligence insulted. She pinched his nipples and twisted them until he yelped in pain.
“OWWWW!”
She released and shoved him off of the couch. He hit the bare hardwood floor with a loud THWACK.
“Jesus titty-fucking Christ,” he cried. “Goddamnit.”
George didn’t care for blasphemy either, or using the Lord’s name in vain. She was a devote Catholic.
Keith rubbed his ass. He was pretty sure he had broken it… Well, it felt like it was broken. Keith heard her rise from the couch. Then he felt a heel fall into his abdomen. The air was forced out of his lungs and he curled into a fetal position. As he whimpered for her to stop a tiny fist hit his inner thigh, then his right arm, then his head.
“I can’t fucking believe you’d use profanity like that,” she screamed at him.
Keith was confused by her religious conviction.
“But you just cursed right then,” Keith shouted back.
“Yeah but it wasn’t blasphemy, you piece of shit!”
“I’m getting preached to by a chick who just had unprotected sex with a complete stranger,” Keith exclaimed.
Silence.
Silence and then Keith heard her back away.
George was putting some serious thought into what he just said. He had a point, but she couldn’t let him know that.
“It wasn’t unprotected, I’m sure of it,” George argued.
“When you say, ‘I’m sure of it,’ it just sounds like you’re unsure.”
“Well I am. I know myself, I’m careful. I never forget to take my Yaz and I never forget to carry condoms. Trust me, there’s a used rubber here somewhere on Abby’s floor.”
“Abby, that’s you,” he asked with a little more excitement in his voice than he had intended for her to hear.
“No, Abby is the girl whose apartment this is.”
“And what’s your name?”
“You don’t know my name,” George asked, twisting her lips up into a pouty frown she usually reserved for having pretend arguments with boys she liked; it kept things lighthearted and playful. However, in the dark the “look” lost its effect. She just came off sounding hurt and upset.
“Do you know mine,” he spat.
“Roger,” George fired.
“Not even close,” he sighed. “So, do you want to know my name?”
Something in his voice made George want to go on the defense.
“Did I ask for your name? I don’t want to know your name. There’s no point in learning your name. We’ll probably never see each other again,” George barked.
“It’s Keith.”
“What?”
“My name is Keith.”
“WOW. Look you don’t have to stick around here to prove how good a guy you are okay. I get it. You can go now.”
Keith ignored her.
“And what am I supposed to call you… Not-Amy,” Keith asked, quite pleased with himself for delivering such a clever quip.
“A-B-B-Y, Abby, not Amy, dick,” she said, taking a seat on the couch. Keith could hear the cushions squish and squeal beneath her weight, sharp and soft onomatopoeias - like air escaping a half deflated balloon and the squeak of a finger pushing across the hood of a car freshly waxed. He heard a few springs pop. From the muscle memory of his fingertips he remembered she was thick but not fat. Her breasts were large, heavy and real. Her butt was wide and…
“Why would I refer to myself in the third person,” she boomed, pulling back Keith’s attention.
He was grateful. He feared if he had gone on thinking about her body much longer he would get excited.
“I thought you were just being a bitch,” Keith responded.
George had trouble believing this boy could lack so much social grace. Even if he wasn’t familiarized with the proper etiquette of a one-night-stand, he was expected to know better than to infer a girl was a bitch, to her face. Everything he said was wrong, everything he did was wrong and George couldn’t help finding that a little cute.
“You have no idea you just insulted me do you?”
Though George couldn’t see his face she could feel him staring back at her blankly. He was like a new born.
“No wonder I jumped your bones. You’re emotionally abject. Man, you are so fantastically glib.”
Glib? Keith hated it when people used four-letter vocab words just to sound smarter than the person they were talking to. Keith knew four-letter vocab words.
She continued, “Here I am getting all pissed off. Getting mad at you is like trying to sue a puppy for shitting on your floor, he didn’t know.”
“Well that’s kinda harsh don’t you think,” Keith bemoaned.
It was something about the way he said it, something about the meekness in his voice, something that made George fidget uncomfortably. She had hurt him, and though that had been her intention something, something, something suddenly made her acerbic tone a little too caustic. She could feel him, through the darkness, slipping away, retreating into himself. She called after him.
“My name is George,” said George. “And yeah, I know it’s a guy’s name so don’t.”
“Don’t what,” he asked.
“Don’t start cracking on my name.”
“Why would I do that? Your name is George, why’s that funny?”
“It’s not, but that doesn’t usual stop people from… Well, you know.”
“Y-yeah,” he said, and with a groan rose to his feet. “So why the hell is your apartment so dark?”
“It’s not my apartment. This is Abby’s apartment.”
“Right.”
“This place is a loft, that’s why our voices are echoing like mad. It’s huge, and open, and it came fully furnished. It’s really a beautiful space it just…”
“Has no windows?”
“Not even one.”
“Man, how would she know what time it is?”
“A clock, Keith.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” he said. George could hear his breathing get heavier. He was nervous and he didn’t know what to say next. “So is this place rent controlled too?”
“Yeah, actually. I don’t know how she found a place like this on the Lower Eastside.”
Why Would Keith be in the Lower Eastside?
“The Lower Eastside,” he repeated.
“Yeah, we’re like a couple of blocks from Canal and the Bowery.” She explained.
“The Lower eastside,” Keith exclaimed. He was confused. “But, but, but…”
“But what, butt?”
“But the last thing I remember I was sitting in a bar in Hoboken.”
“Yeah, that’s where I must’ve met you. JINX, right, I love that place. They’ve got this special – Pat’s Blue Ribbon and a shot of Wild Turkey for $2.00. Who does that? You go there often? I don’t remember ever seeing you,” she said.
“Well, yeah it’s just down the street from my house… Wait what do you mean you don’t remember ever having seen me? You didn’t know my name until five minutes ago. I’m not sure you even know what I look like. Can you even remember anything from last night?”
“Never-mind that. Did you just say you lived down the street from that place?” She pretended to wretch. “Oh my God, you’re a Jersey Boy. Fucking gross, now I’m going to have to get checked and… ”
Once again, Keith found himself offended. In his desperation to make her feel just as inferior Keith decided to attack her promiscuity.
“Are you serious? You’re the chick running around sleeping with random strangers. If anyone should be getting tested it’s me. You were looking for cock in Jersey. You got a Jersey cock. What did you expect? You’re so starved for it I’m surprised you didn’t drop to your knees and start sucking me off at the bar.”
She went quiet. Keith had proved victorious but he didn’t feel much like celebrating. He feared he had gone too far. After her silence went on for more than thirty seconds he feared he had ruined any opportunity he might have had to get to know her.
George was thinking. George was thinking about boys, well, one in particular, Keith. In the dark people do things they’d never do in the light. People are honest in the dark. Keith’s outburst was honest. It was an honest reaction to George’s teasing. And where most guys would ignore or shrug off her insults with the hope that it would somehow provide them with another opportunity to sleep with her, this boy, Keith, wasn’t so eager. He wasn’t willing to compromise his integrity for a lay, and that frightened George. Keith was an anomaly, standing in blatant defiance of everything she had learned about the opposite sex, everything she had come to know and value as true. It was scary but it was exciting and she hadn’t felt excited in a long, long time. He might have royally screwed any chances he may have had to sleep with her again but at the very least he had earned the truth.
“I must have thought you were like me – slumming it. Jinx is where people in the city go to drink for cheap. I don’t go there with the intention of sleeping someone…”
“But I bet that shit keeps happening,” he snapped.
He was still angry. He deserved the whole truth.
“Yeah, it keeps happening. I go out blow money I don’t have getting drunk and fuck the first guy to show any interest. I do that because my life is shit, I’m going nowhere and I’ve acquired so much credit card debit the government has to garnish my wages. My parents have disowned me. I’m unemployed and live with my friend Abby sleeping on her couch, this couch.”
He, Keith, was rendered speechless. George could feel his anger slip away.
“Well…Wow. Okay,” Keith stammered. “Well, at least you’ve got your health, huh?”
George began to laugh, loud and booming. She didn’t know why she was laughing. What Keith had said wasn’t particularly funny or clever but it was right, right for that moment in time and she welcomed that with giggles. Her chuckles reverberated off the distant walls and slammed Keith’s eardrums.
Keith got a brief impression of the size of the room. It was vast and empty, like his chances, he thought. His armpits started to sweat.
“I guess you’re right,” George said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “And what about you? You don’t exactly seem like the type to hit up bars and drink until you blackout.”
“My girlfriend broke up with me,” Keith said.
“Oh, sorry to hear that,” George said. They were both surprised by how genuine she sounded. “How long had you two been dating?”
“About two years, which is a big deal to me, you know? Last week I told her I thought we should move in together but she wasn’t feeling it, apparently. She was avoiding me until yesterday afternoon when she finally found the balls to tell me it’s over.”
“I’m sorry,” George said.
“Why do you keep apologizing? It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yeah, I know. I was just trying to be nice is all. You actually seem like a nice guy, you know, when you’re not fondling a girl you believe to be unconscious.”
They laughed.
“Yeah, sorry about that, I was just… Well… I don’t know exactly what I was doing,” Keith mumbled. “But, I’m not one of those creeps that tries to take advantage of women.”
“You never had a one night stand?”
“No.”
“Well, if we had drinks in our hands this would be the part where we cheers. I always wanted to be someone’s first,” George said.
“First one night stand?”
“First anything,” she sighed.
Silence.
Comfortable silence.
He found her redoubtable. She found him quixotic. Maybe she could be his catalyst. Maybe he could make her a better woman. Maybe she could be the standard to which he’ll hold every girl he’ll ever meet. Perhaps this was one of those chances for love everybody spent so much time talking about. Perhaps they could be each other’s greatest mistake. There was something, something, something, even if they didn’t know what to call it.
“What if I don’t want this to be a one night stand,” he asked.
She sat there thinking. She thought of a million excuses. There were clear reasons why she and he would never work but she couldn’t find an excuse for, a way out of, the question she found most pertinent. Why Not? She couldn’t think of a reason not to try.
“Look, you think you might want breakfast or something, you know assuming it still is breakfast,” she asked.
“Sure. Um, is there a bathroom around here though, I have to take a piss.”
George cringed. Later she would work on his speech.
They stood. In the darkness Keith reached out his hands and George found his wrist and pulled him to her side. She rolled her fingers into his palm then clasped her hand with his. Together they walked forward. She said she was thirsty. Keith didn’t mind the detour. He didn’t want to pull away. He feared that if he let go of her hand he might never find her again, and though he knew that was ridiculous, it didn’t make it any less true.
George led Keith to the kitchen. She knew the way. She knew the space. She wore it well, as if it were her own. She navigated smoothly. Keith’s arms never grazed a wall his feet never fumbled or tripped. They reached the kitchen and George was thirsty. Releasing Keith’s hand she leaned over to pull open the refrigerator door.
The light blinded them. Once their eyes adjusted they discovered themselves bathed in the soft florescent glow of an icebox.
George saw him. He was tall, lanky, with the face of a child. His facial hair looked as though it had been penciled on. He had an emo/mall hair-cut and the black bangs of his thick shaggy mane fell over part of his left eye. His chest was sunken in and his shoulders hunched over leaving his arms to hang straight down, hands swinging at his waist. And for the first time she wondered if she was good enough. Keith was as pure and untried as griege goods fresh from the loon, and she was a harlot.
Keith saw her. She was pale, her body accented by freckles. Her skin was supple. Her knees touched and her hips were wider than her shoulders. She was shaped like a bowling pin. Her hair was dyed a red that frequented leaves in fall. Grey hairs sprinkled atop her head danced in the light. She had a tattoo of an anchor on both her forearms, which was funny because she was so small, tiny, tinier than Keith had been expecting. Her eyes roared – big and lightning blue, invasive and furious and Keith wondered if he could handle her. Could he be what she needed him to be?
George reached into the fridge and pulled out a large jug of orange juice. She flicked the cap off, took a sip and handed it off to Keith. He cradled the jug and touched it to his lips. Then together, but separately, they swallowed some of their insecurities. They swallowed some of their naive notions about the nature of being, about the world and their place in it. They replaced the orange juice, smiled and closed the door, returning to one another’s arms in the middle of the dark.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)