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!
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
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.
Angie Price
In the heat of the afternoon,
I wake up alone,
my eyes sealed shut with the residue of dreams
my plants need watering,
my shower needs cleaning to escape the black mold there
my brother is in the other room
with his cartoons
the noise keeping him company
and keeping me awake.
my bed is small and blue
and so am i sometimes,
but we are lovely that way,
cool despite the heat
safe despite the quiet.
and some days i may wake up and think of him
this stranger on the fringes of my life,
but i am alone really.
alone and lovely,
unobserved,
contentedly vain and shy
about my green growing eyes
and my round hips, dormant.
I wake up alone,
my eyes sealed shut with the residue of dreams
my plants need watering,
my shower needs cleaning to escape the black mold there
my brother is in the other room
with his cartoons
the noise keeping him company
and keeping me awake.
my bed is small and blue
and so am i sometimes,
but we are lovely that way,
cool despite the heat
safe despite the quiet.
and some days i may wake up and think of him
this stranger on the fringes of my life,
but i am alone really.
alone and lovely,
unobserved,
contentedly vain and shy
about my green growing eyes
and my round hips, dormant.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Firefighter, Fish, Dice
Welcome to the first post from "Glucose". The name is tentative until we receive a sizeable feedback from all members of the group.
Our set-up is very simple. One member provides a jump-off point, be it a quotation, a song, a word, an image. Anything. From there, every writer submits a form of writing inspired by the idea, whatever it is, that was submitted to the group.
Our first submission to the group was "firefighter, fish, dice". A writing that was inspired by one, two or all three of those words.
Below are the results.
We hope you enjoy.
Our set-up is very simple. One member provides a jump-off point, be it a quotation, a song, a word, an image. Anything. From there, every writer submits a form of writing inspired by the idea, whatever it is, that was submitted to the group.
Our first submission to the group was "firefighter, fish, dice". A writing that was inspired by one, two or all three of those words.
Below are the results.
We hope you enjoy.
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