Thursday, July 29, 2010

Actually, this is my life.

But there are, I'm sure, ficticious moments from some one else's life.

My grandfather passed away in the witchy hours between Wednesday and Thursday. I like to think that, very secretly, he would appreciate being lead gently away in the arms of three witchy young women, at least one of whom he'd loved previously.

He was eighty-eight, and served in . . . one? Both? World Wars. Definitely World War II. He flew in airplanes, was an airman, which is relatively safer than grunt work, I suppose. He came through it like this: he never, ever swore. Not a single cuss word.

Impressive, in these times. It's the year 2010, so that minus 88 is. . . 1922. So, probably just the 2nd world war, it seems. Cars were still a rich person's thing, no internet, no real phones for at least thirty years.

He owned his own bed and breakfast and is survived by his three children, all wonderful humans.

It isn't sad, I keep telling myself. It's impressive, but then I break down and can't talk and my eyes leak like mad -if it were Sara, her mouth'd be a waterfall and I'd laugh at her and she'd laugh and maybe half gag on the oceany outpouring.

He always made Sunday lunch, when we visited. And when we didn't he and his friend Bess would drive deep into the country side and try new, family owned, pubs.

This is desperate and pathetic, is what this reminiscing is. All hot and bothered because why? Because I wasn't there enough? Because I didn't bother writing enough? Because I missed so many birthdays? Didn't send cards?

"He knew you loved him," they'll say, and they'll be liars when they do. "Could've done more, you." is what I think they should say.

I almost got a speeding ticket today, too. Instead I got a citation for not having up-to-date car insurance, and after that my mom called and asked me if I could pull over. I didn't, and I didn't have to. I think the word is: sublimation.

That's all for now.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

She's crying when I come to: we are all in the room, and I'm surrounded by supplies, like a survivalist Christmas, and the others are all dressed in comfortable, loose fitting clothes (four others, precisely). Except Jasmine. Jasmine is dripping wet and naked, and crying.

First things first, I check myself. I have my camping-food bars, and a book, and bottles and bottles and bottles (seven total) of water. I walk over to Jasmine and take off my jacket, set it gently on her shoulders. "What happened?" I ask her.

"I wanted to shower first. It was early this time!"

I check my watch. She is right, the time on the face (mechanical, roman) is a good fifty minutes before the usual time.

"What were you supposed to bring?" I ask, shooing the others away.

"the buckets."

"Oh."

"I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay," I say, looking around. We'll make do, and once the bottles start emptying out, we'll fill them back up again.

"I'm hungry." This is John.

"Not yet. Why didn't you eat before we came here?"

"Fell asleep."

"In all that gear?"

John nods.

I sigh. I stand up. I say: "Okay people, we've got three days, and a liter and a half of water each, and four cliff bars each. This isn't going to be easy, and I'm going to be doing the count down. I hope you all made the appropriate arrangements and." I pause. I breathe slowly. I continue, "And I hope this is the last time we all see this room."

Monday, July 26, 2010

The room was asylum bare, and one of the others was irate. Before now, we'd only been here eye blinks, but this time i counted all the way to thirty before bouncing back.

And this time, I'd been out all night on a date, with a nice young man who told me the sunrise from this one particular spot was too good to miss, but when I got back, he was walking into the orange glow of the parking structure's elevator hub.

I called his name, and when he turned around, and I saw his cheeks glisten, his crotch dark, trickling down his leg. He opened his mouth, to say something I think, but vomited instead.

In the room, it was the black guy being irate. He demanded our names, email addresses, why we were doing this to him. I mumbled something and he turned on me, so i gave him my name, and my public email address. "Thank-you," he said. And then I was back on the top of the parking structure.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Take Two

When the call came, it was easy for him to put things on hold, and fly half way around the world.

Why wouldn't he be there for the birth of his best friend's baby? The swiss alps, bare though they now be, were a wonderful international location for a child.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

What do you do? What do you do when a character you've admired, lusted after, steps off the page of a book and into the club you're celebrating a friend's birthday at? Your friend, she hit you because you were staring.

"That trannie," You say, "She is amazing." And you buy everyone a round of shots, and then she, the trannie, comes over and introduces herself to you. You smile, manage to be smooth from the through the vodka fog.

And the night rolls on: dancing, male strippers, female strippers, table dancing, table falling, a fight.

And at the end of the night the trannie comes out of the VIP section, looks you dead in the eye and says, "I know, you know? White."

And that's the last thing you remember.

Monday, July 19, 2010

"I wish I could say that was a complete success. Instead, I will say this: there was a lot of room for improvement."

Friday, July 16, 2010

A vacation:

. . . pink pants, brown shirt. white shoes and belt and eye liner and teeth, all flashing, dancing under a strobe.

Monday, July 12, 2010

He found out as a five year old, what life is about. It's about finding the people you want to be with, being with them, and knowing when to let go of them.

Friday, July 9, 2010

We now return to our regularly scheduled moments (or: As Good as Synchronicity Gets)

I was driving, singing along to the new CD from my favorite band (it doesn't matter what, just singing along, happily tapping along.) And why not? It was cool for July, and it was so early, yeah: my windows were down and I was singing along.

It started to rain, as I crawled through the get-to-work traffic of a four way stop. I was looking around, and there's this skinny, soaked girl, smiling; huge headphones, a-frame shirt, running shorts, barefoot, whatever. We locked eyes and she smiled and walked up to my car as I stopped again, and, obviously, I'd stopped singing as she walked up to me.

The first words out of her mouth were the chorus to the song, just as it started in my car stereo. She sang along for a bit, smiling, slap drumming on my door. As the song went into its bridge, she lifted her headphones, and? Our songs were perfectly in sync.

I offered her a ride, but she shook her head.

Our song ended and she walked into the green downpour.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

He showed up with a reusable grocery bag, a mild sweat sheen and a wolfish grin. He said, "You thought I'd forgotten, didn't you?"

She smiled despite herself. "If there's meat in there, you're still in trouble."

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Dinner was three sushi rolls. Big, fat affairs, with lots of vegetables stuffed in willy-nilly, then rolled tight and trimmed neat.

They ate on her back porch, sitting on Persian-esque pillows, under a carnival tent mosquito net lit with tea candle paper lanterns that gently shifted in the breeze of a far off storm. He smiled as he dipped a chunk of rice into the soy bowl. He asked her questions, which she politely deflected. So it goes.

They drank warm Saki then lay down. They watched the silver edged clouds slowly roll over the full moon.

Thunder grumbled in the distance.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Beat.

Beat, beat.

. . . beat.

Beat.

Monday, July 5, 2010

He sighed at her question, so she asked it again. "That's it?" She asked, "There's no beginning? No head cap?"

He shrugged.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Until he turned on the lights in his apartment, since he'd been out of diapers, Neptune Rasmus had not wet himself. Today, though, when he turned on his lights, he did.

The elephant seemed to smile, then it lay down, like a cat stretching. It looked up, and batted its eyelashes at Neptune, who gingerly stepped back, and shut his door. "I've wet myself." he said, quietly.

The elephant nodded.

"Look, I have to go to bed, okay? I've got a date tomorrow." Neptune eyed the elephant nervously. He asked, "You don't have to go to the bathroom, or whatever, do you?"

The elephant shook it's head, no, and Neptune wet waddled back, until he was fully against the door.

Neptune said, "You're probably. No." Neptune started again: "I'm very tired. I think I'm so tired I'm hallucinating."

The elephant stared at him, still but for a single languid right to left tail swish.

Neptune continued: "Since you're probably not real, and you've assured me," He cluck laughed, "You've assured me you're not going to hose my apartment down. I'm going to shower. Maybe have a little cry, and go to bed. And when I wake up, you won't be there." He nodded.

And indeed, after his shower, Neptune checked his apartment, but found nii hide nor hair of the elephant he'd seen when he first arrived home that evening. He drank a glass of water, went to bed and dreamed of kissing.

Neptune woke to his alarm, and, uncustomarily, got up without hitting snooze. Cautiously, he checked his apartment again, for signs of, or an actual, elephant. Finding none, he continued with his daily routine all the way to work, where he worked, had lunch, and worked some more. Finally, it was time to change his shirt, sign out, and head to the new Indian restaurant, to meet his date, Sara Oceania. It would be their third date, as it were, and Neptune was quite excited at the prospects.