SEX AND DRUGS AND VIOLENCE! Or maybe just the sex. Arrr was looking good but then so was his cousin, Paul. Paul I crushin on since Arrr slept with Mena which seemed like a stake, a claim, a no-you-don't-Cleo, so I turn, I focus, I see Paul, I say, hey. Hey, Paul. We go away, retreat, to be with God you know, in the woods, someone's cabin, bunch of us, minister, chaperones, God. We load up the van. God's van. Or maybe just the church's. Helping Paul, talking myself into Paul, we carry something together, to the van, and he says, "Arrr wants to know if you'll go out with him this weekend." Oh does he now. But then, what of Paul? What of Mena? Mena is not with us this weekend. Cleo say yes. She kicks herself but yes it is despite the ow the kicking. Brief stab, looking at Paul as he asks for someone else not him, liking Paul so much. But it's been Arrr, always Arrr, every Sunday, Arrr. And of course, God. And Cleo, in third person. Or maybe first. Second. So we are in the van, driving, in the seat way back, I next to Arrr, thinking. What does this mean, to go out for the weekend? What is expected? What will happen? What will become? What will be said to Mena? That one, push back to later, to return trip. It's not like she didn't go out with your boys. It's not like she didn't know you liked Arrr. You both liked him. So that time her, this time you. Arrr, he rakes it in. Arrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Woods, nice, pretty, bugs. Wooden swing out back. You and Arrr, covert flirting. Too shy with him, too shy with you. Nothing will come of this. Nightfall, that night, next night, who remembers. On the swing, between Paul and Arrr. They rough housing, you loving it. They get touchier. Feelier. You shove. They tease. And you do love them, you love them both. Good friends, they are, and sexy, guy friends, guys you'd sleep with. At the same time? That's what they're suggesting. That's what they'd like to know. They still poking, prodding you, teasing, tickling, you getting upset now, you getting afraid. Mad, maybe. Yeahhhh. You're pissed. You shove them both off you, walk to the picnic table, sit next to someone. Someone else, and stare STONILY and POINTEDLY away, not toward the swing at all. OH NO I DON'T THINK SO. Twenty-one or -two years later you remember pieces of that weekend, and you think, damn. What if I had been open to that? What would that have been like? One more thing unknown. Not that she regrets it, not regret. Nostalgic. Curious. Summer swing. God.
September 2, 2003
She blew in with the fog and she stayed a while. I was at my desk, fondling the coffeemaker. It's how I know I'm alive. That, and the shaking. She stared at me as hard as a woodchipper eating through bone so I tried out my best grin and called her "kid," what all women like to be called. She didn't ease up on the eyeballing, and she wouldn't sit down; instead she leaned both arms on the desk and gave me a good look down her blouse. "They say when you reach the end of your rope, you should tie a knot and hang on." My bleary eyes searched hers for meaning but all I got was the laserbeam stare. What was she on to?
"Listen, kid--" "Every cloud has a silver lining." She walked away on those heels, those, those heels. Her skirt strained its seams with each step, and her stockings were, were impossibly--before I could think up a good word, she turned with much urgency, and said, "Every rose has its thorn." The dame might've been nuts, but I admit she was reeling me in. I paused, then threw out a line. "Today . . . it's the first day of the rest of my life." She nodded, watched me as she walked. She seemed to be moving in a circle. "Feeling bad is just a new sensation." "It could be worse." "Make lemonade. Since there are lemons. Here." She was breathing fast and her eyes rolled so far back that for a second, whites were all that showed. I hoped she wasn't going into some kind of fit, because I was starting to enjoy this. I thought of another one, hoped it would make her feel better. "Often when in a tunnel, you'll notice a light at the end. Just look toward that. And . . . you'll feel . . . better." She was at the window now, gripping the sill. "I think I'm gonna puke." "Christ, baby. There's more, come on. Don't give up yet." "I--I--" "Most of the mountains--come on, you know this one! Most of the mountains we have in life--finish it for me." She was sprawled on the floor. Her mouth moved, and she whispered. "We've built ourselves." "That's right! Good. Come on, see if you can stand. I'll help you out: What is pain? What is pain, sweetheart?" She rose to her knees. "Pain. Weakness leaving the body." "Yes, good. Yes." I leaned back. "Pain. It'll feel better when it stops hurting." "It's better than feeling nothing at all." "Nature's way of letting us know we're still alive." "No pain, no gain." She was standing again, leaning against the wall. She looked a little healthier. "That one sucks." "Sorry . . . seems to be the hardest word." "If it doesn't kill you, what's it gonna do? Make you stronger is what." "The road to success is always under construction." "Oooh. Nice." "Thanks." "Coffee?" "Nah. I just wanted to, you know. Make you feel better." "And I do. Seriously." "Really?" "Sure." "Well, your eyes are brighter." "Yours too, doll." "With visions of redemption, I walk against the crowd." "Exactly." "There is no comfort in the truth." "That one, I'm not so sure about." She sat down, and kicked off her shoes, and the hurricane light that had kept her going was stilled. She sagged from all corners. I threw her a Goody's, and she sprinkled it over her face. "You always make me feel better," she said with a sniff. "Happy birthday." "You remembered." "It's why I'm here." "That's it? Only reason?" "And to tell you that it's always darkest before the dawn." "Come on, a shot of caffeine'll do you good." "I just don't drink coffee. I thank you, though." "Sure?" She nodded, and we both leaned back, and every so often caught each other's eye. Less often than that, we'd smile. "Sorry this sucks so bad," she whispered after a while, and I shook my head. "It doesn't. It really doesn't." To hell with the coffee. We curled up under the desk and took a nap.August 31, 2003
