No Talking on a Sunday Morning

"Morning."  I said.

"Good Morning!" She replied more cheerfully.  Always more cheerfully.

"What are you up to?"

"Watching television.  A show about hoarders.  About to have breakfast.  What are you up to?"

"Reading.  Sleeping.  Rinse & Repeat.  Kind of lonely but I've had my fill of social interaction."

There's something that happens when you're in a serious, long term relationship.  You become...serious.  You become comfortable.  Perhaps too comfortable in some cases, but in most cases its a phenomenon in which only the best of circumstances can lead to; the right alignments of moon and stars, the proper balance of humors, just the ordinate number of clouds in the sky.  And its the things that you can't recreate, of course, that you miss most.  Its those pangs which twist hardest in that chamber of mind and soul where desire is housed.

I do miss her still.  Oh god, do I miss her.  Last week a friend of min, a certain diminutive young lady with curly hair the colour of breathed-upon embers, was in my kitchen.  She was cooking.  Well, she was making macaroni and cheese; apply whichever verb to that you wish.  And, in the process of looking for something she managed to get a fingertip on the bottom of the high locker and, unable to reach any higher, pried the locker open and stepped back, nearly across the room, looking for some spice or the other and muttering curse words to herself.  The likeness; not of the person but the situation; was uncanny.  I nearly wept. 

Days like today would go unscripted, but perfectly orchestrated.  I've already made my omelette.  As usual it was more than any one person should eat in the morning.  If two were to share it...well.  There's no helping that now, is there?  And then, I turned the television on and without even changing the channel, turned it off.  I turned on the radio and, without really listening to anything, turned it off.  At the end of my restlessness I went to fetch the light book. (I've gotten into the habit of reading two books at a time: One heavy; 'The Black Jacobins' in this case, and one light; Diane Setterfield's 'The Thirteenth Tale.)  I'm only a few chapters from the end, the remaining pages gathered together look about the width of a church hymnal.  I began to read, then fell asleep.  When i woke up, I began reading, and fell asleep.  There was no smell of shampoo and body butter to wake me.  No tingle of hair in my nose or on my cheek.  And no warmth.  At around the third bout of waking I went to fetch my heavy sweater, an over-sized hoody, and an extra pillow.  The pillow I held close to me, close to my chest.  The sweater made it seem as though the thing had warm blood flowing through it; had a pulse and a furnace of life somewhere in its center.  If I could have figured out a way to have it rise and fall in a rhythm matching, but not quite in sync, with my own, then perhaps I wouldn't have thought my next thought.

And that thought was: How sad you must look?  A grown man spooning a pillow, burying his face into it in between burying his face in pages, and an equally sad looking dog nestled in the crook of his knees.  If someone were to come bursting through the front door this very second, what would you do?  How would you justify this?  Have you no shame sir?

But I did not have any shame.  Only want and a nerve wracking sort of nostalgia.  The house was quiet, except for the occasional passing traffic, and I was warm.  And comfortable.  But...it was only a pillow.  I was still lonely.  I would have loved to hear someone else gasp when the uncertainty first cropped up.  I would have liked to laugh quietly while I wiped the tears off of someone's face, and they off mine, before we both turned the page.  I would have liked someone to be there.  Not someone to talk to.  Not someone to frolic with.  Just be there.

I suppose I could have called someone.  But then, I suppose I couldn't.  Who would i call? 

"This is really weird." My cousin Delsia would say, to which I would have to agree and wonder how it was I managed to convince her to let me hold her that close to begin with.  Then, invariably, the conversation would turn to something much too practical for a Sunday morning.

"Aw, are you crying because he found his family?" Meghann would say in a tone that made her sound sweet and compassionate.  I'd nod my head meekly and she would frown and reply dryly "That's so gay."

Jamira would never sit still long enough.  Maria would want to talk about her boyfriend.  Anyone else would want to talk.  Talk, talk, talk. 

'I haven't seen you in so long.  Lets catch up!' 

'He broke my heart.  Why couldn't I have found someone like you?'

'Is this all we're going to do today?'

'Where'd you get this sweater?  Can I have it?'

'Its too quiet in here.'

'What is this?  A futon?'

'Something's poking me in my back'

'My feet are cold.'

There's no talking in the serious, long-term relationship.  When your feet get cold, you wrap them among the legs of your partner.  You get comfortable.  You are comfortable.  You are free to simply be there.  There's no need for the chase.  Not today at least.  Not on a Sunday.  You have your mate.  She's gripped close to your ribs.  Her fingers are waiting at the corners of the page because she knows you read slightly slower than she does.  There's no talking.  You kiss her neck, and she turns the page.

There was one I could reach out to, of course.  But...She's still a danger in my mind.  Missing one is bad enough.  Missing two...can that even be done?  Should it?  Perhaps I need to sleep on it.

Things that I would say to you

Its so heavy.  My reality is so heavy right now.  I'm weighted.  Weighed down.  I feel like I'll never fly.  I feel like I'll never get to where you need me to be.  I feel like you'll never understand that. 

I've smoked all the cigarettes I had in the house.  Most were broken.  Some were wet.  All were your brand.  I don't smoke.  I don't have a brand.  You're my brand.

Don't roll your eyes.  I'm allowed to miss you.  I don't care what you have to say about it.  It was real to me.  It was worth waiting.  I didn't do all those things all those years to make you love me.  I did them because I loved you.  I love you.  I miss you.  I can't turn it off.

God I wish I could turn it off.

I've been trying.  I've been trying to replace you.  If I were any good at it, though, I wouldn't be drinking alone right now, smoking your cigarettes.  With your lighter.

I used to look up at the sky and imagine you, across the sea, looking up at the same sky.  I know you weren't now.  I know you're not.  You're fast asleep.  Probably in someone else's arms.  Am i really that easy to get over?

A million, billion stars.  I'm the only one looking up.

So back to this person.  This replacement.  She's not a replacement.  That is, she can't ever really be.  Too many bad habits that we don't share in common.  Except for one: living in the past.  Of all the things we share in common I wish we didn't share that.  I see her doing things I've been doing for a year now.  Its been several years for her.  How can I be with someone that makes me think of you?  Besides, it wouldn't be fair.  Not to her.  Not to me.

And not to you.  A good part of it is to get back at you.  Its someone you don't like.  But...that's a long list, aint it?

I'm sorry.  That was me being an asshole.  But really, you have to do something about your hatred for other women.  That can't be healthy.

And why do I even want anyone anyway?  Because you have someone?  Because I want to get back at you?  Because I'm horny as hell?  I don't need to like someone for any of those.  I've had the opportunity for something meaningless.  That's not what I want.

I just...I want to kiss someone.  I want to know that I'm still worth the emotional investment.  Not just to you, but to anyone.  And I want to know that I haven't lost the one.  That I can get by.  That I can recover and keep moving.  That there's something after this.

Shut up.  Don't say anything.  Just sit there.  Drink this.  Smoke this.  Just...be here.  Listen to this song. 

There's a shadow beneath the sea
There's a shadow between you and me
I've learned that love is scared of light
Thousand seeds from a flower
Blowing through the night

See?  Its about us. 

Your blackened kiss on my cheek
Your blackened kiss runs river deep
A stranded fish dear, i'm on the sand
Blue water from a pool
Up to the clouds i'll land

I'd really like to kiss someone.  Fuck, I'll settle for someone resting their head on my chest.  You've ruined me. 

Though i am dark 'bout the whys of wanting
Though i am dark, i'm still a child
Gonna dig a coal mine, climb down deep inside
Where my shadow's got one place to go
One place to hide.

Its such a relief to know you'll never read this.

Buss Up Yuh Melon!

A friend of mine asked me today 'How do you fall in love?'

Now, lets not get into how she decided i was somehow some expert on love, or falling into love, or even being able to express what that whole deal is like.  Lets just pretend that I'm not that fucked up.  That people can ask me questions.  Lets pretend that I know what the fuck I'm talking about.

Her: How do you fall in love?
Me:  Head first.

"Seriously, the answer is always head first.  Sometimes your walking along, quite cool, quite calm, and all of a sudden your foot hits something and BAM!  You're falling, head first, sprawling out, buss up yuh melon!  That's when you stop seeing straight and start talking all fool-fool!

"And then, sometimes, you stand there and you have to psyche yourself into it.  You stand there thinking 'Okay.  This is it.  I'm gonna fall.  I'm gonna lift my feet up and point my head at the ground.  I'm gonna break my neck.  I'm gonna knock out all my teeth.  I'm gonna eat so much sand and I'm gonna do it all on purpose because that's what love is.'

"Of course, this is hardly a pleasant prospect for any sane person.  But, remember, you're not sane.  You're considering falling in love, which means you're already thinkin' all fool-fool."

Today's the Same as Yesterday, Only Today I Know

So I'm single again. Officially. No, I won't be gorging on Ice cream. No, I didn't cry myself to sleep last night. I'm not a woman. And I won't be heading out to promptly bang every woman I can find. I am a man, but I'm not a stereotype.

I am, at present, eating alone. but I've been doing that for a while now. So how do I feel about it? Oddly...free. Relieved. And of course, guilty that I don't feel worse than this. Sadness has always been something I shrugged off. An emotion that doesn't really require immediate action. if any action at all.

But that was before Merri. Back then we'd both be sad for a bit, and I'd toss my lode into the pile of sadness that I generally ignored, and she'd still be sad. And I'd feel guilty for not being sad. Which would make my great pile of sadness impossible to ignore. There was a lot of crying in those days. Mind you, there was also a lot of undirected anger in the days prior to them. Had I not had that time; had she not happened to me; I'd have probably become like one of those that I now try to avoid. (Violent when drunk, Constantly spoiling for a fight, seeking sex filled relationships with women who don't seem to mind being slapped around every once in a while.)

Yesterday, upon reading her reply, I was sad. Quite sad. I was, however, also angry. Angry that this had to be done by email. That I had to be ignored to the point of outrage before she finally just told me. And what impotent outrage. A letter. A short story. A recounting of waking dreams as I calmly went about my day and pretended nothing was wrong. As if I didn't already know what was wrong.

I guess I'm still a bit sad, and a bit angry. but as I said, this has been happening for a while now. The only difference is I don't have to feel guilty about my imaginary accusations and doubts. And I don't have to feel guilty about fantasizing about other people as the memory of her voice, her face, her touch all fade. (That's a lie. How can I forget that face?) I don't have to worry about who's going to see me when I'm out with friends, smiling and looking happier than i ought to. And I especially don't have to feel guilty for thinking, "She calls me more than Merri does." I don't have to feel bad about liking this fact.

But that's still significant, isn't it? She calls? She calls...often for no reason. Perhaps, with this release, I'll be seeing more clearly now.

A final note: I think at the core of my relative un-sadness is the implaccable thought that...we'll be together again. We've circled one another so expertly in the past that I can't imagine we won't be together again in the future. i'm not counting on it, mind you. Not aiming for it. but I do believe it. Just like i know we were broken up before I was actually told, I know we'll be getting back together. I'm just waiting on confirmation.

You always know.

A gate of ivory, A gate of horn

Once, back when Merri was still here, back when we regularly shared the same bed, I had a dream.

In my dream I was in the most perfect place.  A paradise I could hardly recognize.  And it was the perfect day.  I was leaving a tiny room through a plain wooden door and I stepped outside to greet the rising sun ambling skyward, steaming as it rose from the sea.  I dipped my toes in the sand, considered the hues of color in the sky for a moment, and began walking.  I still don't know where I was going, but I was alone.  And I wanted to find...someone.  Anyone to share this day with.  I was walking to her.

I didn't know who she was or what she looked like, but I did know who she wasn't.  She wasn't Merri.  This was an odd brand of guilt.  One flavored by elation, excitement and disappointment.  Not disappointment for my behavior or actions.  But...for being allowed to behave this way.  That doesn't really explain it.  I don't know if I can explain it.  For that matter I don't know if I should.  It was just a dream.

But after i'd stepped out into the perfect day and went out looking for her, I didn't really get very far since...she was already on her way to find me.

On her way to find me.

You might be thinking 'Okay, this is where things get hot and steamy.  He's gonna talk about breasts and penises now.'  Its not.  Sorry to disappoint.  We just sat, once we'd found one another.  Sat and chatted a bit, but I was still buzzing with the idea that she was looking for me!  The elation I was feeling in my dream-heart just talking to her was just as good as infidelity.

Especially considering the fact that every time I turned to look over my shoulder I would see Merri.  Sitting there.  Looking blankly, though not at me.  Never at me.  I'd call her name but she wouldn't respond.  We'd go on chatting, me and she, and every so often I'd look back at Merri to find...she wasn't all that concerned.  So...I thought...what else could we do?  Right here?  In front of Merri?

When I woke up she was on the far side of the bed and for the first time...first of many...our backs were turned.  I should have paid attention to this.  I should have paid attention to a lot of things.  But sometimes...you're so desperate to hold on to the good things, that you let the bad ones slide. 

Anyway, I was wracked with guilt.  I turned and pulled her to me, kissing her firmly awake.  I didn't tell her about the dream.  It was just a dream.

Just a dream.

***

That was ages ago.  Don't even remember the date.  But today...today I had the most wonderful day.  I haven't seen Merri in a year.  I haven't spoken to her in months.  People ask me about her.  I smile and give them old information.  I think about her constantly.

This morning I showered, and got dressed, in the bathroom of the tiny Hotel room Sean and I are sharing for the weekend.  I stepped through the green wooden door and onto the 'lawn' of the hotel, which is all sea sand.  The sun was already up.  The waves were sparkling under it.  A cool wind blew at me from nearly all directions.

I did go looking for her.  I'm loathe to admit it.  I feel so guilty.  In fact, i felt pretty dumb since she wasn't looking for me.  She wasn't even awake yet.

But she did wake up earlier.  And she had been looking for me.  Or at least she seemed to be.  She tends to talk in her sleep.  It might have been real.  It might have been just a dream.

An Argument that Never Happened

"Maybe we shouldn't do this."

You mean maybe you don't want to do this.  Based on nothing more than your own doubts, neuroses, and personal hangups.  Things that you search for so keenly in me because then you don't have to feel so guilty about having them.

"We're not going anywhere."

We've already come so far!  But maybe you're right.  I'm not willing to get hitched and get you knocked up so you can fulfill your dream of living without any clear means of supporting ourselves.  Sorry I wasted your time.

"I thought you would be the one to turn it all around."

And I thought we were meant to accept one another, faults an all.  I wasn't aware you needed fixing.

"I think I give up."  "I'm too tired."

Me too.  I don't know what else to do if "I love you" doesn't work.  If showing it doesn't work.  If I haven't convinced you by now, I don't know if I ever will.

[A dark day in January, 2009]
[Which is truly worse: The things we say to the ones we love or the things we only say to ourselves?]

Against the Light

In New York they walk against the light.
There'll be no delay of our daily pursuits
No insincere righteousness to fix us
to someone else's worn, bitter road.

Why should we walk when our goal is flight?
Why should we stop?
For a little thing like danger?
A little thing like fear?
A litle thing like failure?

For a little thing like the loss of life?
Which, until we stand to lose it
we have no idea of its true value.
And what would a life spent be worth
having never walked against the light?

[5:40 PM, watching the sun set from 5th floor window at Filene's Basement across from Columbus Circle. Also inspired by waiting at interections, holding Merri's hand, and wondering....]

When the left brain dreams

I had a dream, and I feel horribly guilty about it.  Yes, its silly being guilt  y about a dream.  Its just a dream afterall, all in your head.  But among those cursed to never taste the waters of forgetfulness on their way out of Morpheus' den, there's an understanding that the things we do in our dreams mean considerably less than the way we feel about them upon waking.  That's the only thing you can take away from your dreams: the emotion that you carry in you.  The way it makes you feel.  The dream itself might be an illusion, but how you feel...thats the real deal.

I was in my office.  It was my office, of course.  Why else would I be working late there.  Why else would would it be scattered with papers that I was reading, working on, sifting through.  it felt like my office, and by rule dreams that was enough to make it my own office.  And in she comes through the office doors, smilling her smile and swishing and swaying her walk.  Even in jeans and a simple blouse she looked elegant somehow.  I think that's become my type.  Elegant.  Womanly.  But this person was...just a friend.  She had that feel of 'just a friend', whatever her name was.  And this was in spite of the attraction or sexual tension.  That's part and parcel of having attractive female friends.  That's something I'm used to.

The details now are hazy.  I can't remember our conversation but I remember her.  We spoke as friends do, she reminded me about a party, and she left behind the Chinese takeout she brought me before leaving.  Walking away without a glance back.  I know because I watched her go, wary of her turning back and catching me in the act.

Do your dreams move along like movies as well?  Ignoring the elements like getting in the elevator, of getting dressed, of the actual content of the small talk?  Is that just me?  Anyway, I took the drink in my hand.  Scotch of course.  Which meant I didn't drink it straight away.  I usually just let the smell of it waft its way up into my brain.  Its a lot more pleasurable than having it burn its way down my throat anyway.  I was with what's her name and whats his face, two inconsequential extras playing the part of background chatter to her big entrance.  Which in actuality was as simple as a tingling touch on the shoulder, the neck, the cheek.  'Happy New Year' she said and then, without warning she brought her glossy lips to meet mine.  We kissed, in the sense that she initiated, but i followed through.  Those few moments were so surreal.  Her lips wer warm, and climsily placed.  This wasn't something we were used to doing.  This was a first kiss, and just sloppy enough to be real.  But it set my mind on fire.  At once I felt her arms held fast in my hand.  I felt my palms sliding across her thighes.  I felt the weight of her, th pressure of our bodies.  I was lost in her hair.  I was dazzled by the smell of her.  The taste of her.  I felt the millions of lurid possibilities between us.  A moderately long and successful career as lovers.

But that wasn't where my guilt was.

She smiled, satisfied, and I realized that she'd taken a risk and been rewarded in the simple fact that she was not rejected.  It had her loopy.  She said she was going to get a drink and while she excused herself i turned back dazed to Whats her name and What's his face, who were staring at me with eyebrows raised in equal parts amusement and amazement.

I took a large sip of my Scotch.

The scene changed to a much more crowded room, the party in full swing.  We'd had our first kiss only moments ago and already we were like old lovers.  While we rubbed elbows and chatted with other friends, we found each other across the room every too minutes, looking up at the exact same moment and finding one another's eyes, then smiling.  Has that ever happened to you?  It feels good doesn't it?  Do you know why though?  I'll tell you: Reciprocation.  We take that risk of looking desperate, of admitting that this person is on our mind nearly constantly.  Finding them looking back means that we are on their minds as well.  That's the good feeling that you can't quite identify.  That's what we look for all through our young early love lives.  Just a little reciprocation.

But this had gone on long enough.  Any longer and it would cement itself.  Or perhaps, I would cement myself, burried and founded deeply enough to make us real lovers.  Or to come to that point where we might literally become lovers.  I read somewhere, that a measure of a man's strength is in knowledge of his own weakness.  I didn't know for sure, but i wasn't sure id be strong enough to stop myself once the partiers were all gone and we were alone in a room together.  So, I sought her out.  My hands found her wrist through the crowd.  I'm ashamed to say i held it a bit too tenderly than I ought to have.  "Can we talk?"  I said, breathlessly nervous, and nodded my head toward the balcony.

She was beautiful out there.  Her hair was fixed in a tight bun that the wind couldn't undo, and so it played with the silk scarf around her neck instead.  Her brown skin glowed warmly in the moonlight, and her dark eyes twinkled with the playful lights of the city.  Most beautiful, though, was her smile.  It shone clear and white.  Young.  Expectant.  Happy.  Pleased with her evening so far and with the way she thought it might end.

This would hurt us both a little.  But she wouldn't care what it would do to her.

"I have a girlfriend."  I said.  Blurting it out seemed the right thing to do.  I had kicked around a few preambles in my head, including the ever inappropriate 'I'm not quite sure how to say this.'  But they all only seemed to cruelly prolong the tension and expectation.  And I was right.  It did hurt.  Even more upon seeing the damage I'd done to her smile.  It died slowly, and the corpse of it rotted into a frown.  A look of disappointed confusion.

I felt myself thinking of my girlfriend.  Of Merri.  Of what she might have been doing at that moment.  And I felt my left brain, my logical mind, slowly rousing.  And that's where the guilt came in.  I was lucid, aware that this was only a dream.  More than that, it was my dream.  I had control here.  And I was exerting that control, I realized, when she said the clearly logical 'Oh'.  I made her say that.  I could make her say anything.  I could make her say 'Oh.  Okay.  I'm sorry, i didn't know.' or 'Oh.  But...why didn't you tell me sooner.'  Or even 'Oh.  Well, that's okay.  I don't mind.'  And the truth was, any one of these would have been acceptable.  Yes, even the latter, I'm afraid.  My logical mind was at work, reasoning and explaining away reprecussions of it all.  I could have fallen in love with this girl.  Or at least in lust.  And I would have been okay with it, given enough of a logical argument.  And i would have enjoyed it.

And that's what's left me feeling so guilty. 

Playing the Fool

I don't know if I should be thinking of this as the first day of my vacation or no.  Its a Saturday for one thing.  For another thing I'll likely have to go into work some time next week.  But the truth is yesterday was the last day of work.  I had it in mind when I played video games until I was sick last night.  I had it on my mind when I woke up this morning and wanted nothing more than to go back to bed.

But again...that might just be because it's Saturday.

I think the topper is the fact that I'm constantly reminded that its the holidays.  That makes it real.  The music is all over the radio, the ads are all over the TV, and there's the constant sound of firecrackers in the neighborhood that are liable to drive both the dog and I absolutely batshit.  It is unmistakeably, unavoidably Christmas time.  Free time.  And for me...alone time.  Just what I wanted all year round.  Right?

I should have been travelling by now.  I should have either been on a plane or somewhere waiting for a plane.  I should have ben with the woman i love.  instead i'll be...somewhere.  I don't know yet.  I'll think of something though.  I'll go mad if I spend Christmas in a house on my own.  i'll die if I do the same for New Years.  Maybe I can convince someone to go on a road trip with me.  Maybe I can go to Mexico or Guatemala.  After a dozen trips, I'm still not fed up with Chetumal yet.  And I've never been to Flores.

Flores sounds nice.  Merri would want me to go.

With my mind, I'd do better not to speculate about why I'm spending the holidays by myself.  My doubt and insecurity can only do me harm.  But lets consider this:  People say you can't help who you fall in love with.  I disagree.  You can help it.  You can resist.  You can even ignore the fact that such a thing as love even exists.  When we do fall in love, or more accurately, when we do the things that people who are in love do, we do so by choice.  And we do so knowing that we are taking a huge risk.  That we'll get our hearts broken.  That we'll make fools of ourselves.  That the other person isn't as honest, as sweet, as kind and wonderful as you've percieved them as.  But you take that risk because you love them.  And loving them makes you feel as if you're being loved.  Even if it turns out you're only fooling yourself. 

And its worth it.  Its always worth it.  How wonderful it is to play the fool.  How wonderful it is to pretend you're still by my side, and i by yours, and that nothing; not time or space or the influences of other hearts around you can even begin to touch that.  Afterall, there's no such thing as far away.