One Night
There were just the two of us there that night, singing us songs of love and loneliness, songs we had never sung before, songs that probably no one had heard either. We didn’t know, it was all just there in the air, somewhere. Maybe between the sullen bartender and the glass of pink champagne, which looked more golden than pink. Maybe it was because her hair kept brushing past its surface, or maybe it was my face, I really couldn’t tell. All I could think to myself was that she was here today and that I had another blunt in my raincoat, right where I kept my wallet.
And then they kicked us out, and the blunt was gone, and the wallet was gone, and it started raining and I found out that they had taken my raincoat. I remember I was cursing them and trying to break down their door and that was when I heard her laughing. I think she was also shouting something about us being on the other street but then why would I go and try to break down a door I didn’t want to break down and so I went to her to tell her that only, she just took my hand and led me down the strangely bending roads to my place.
And so we were at the door, where we always paused to look at one another, knowing in that one glance what would happen tonight, tomorrow and until who knew when? I knew she was there just to use me and that she was there for me to do with as I pleased, and she knew I would do only what pleased her, because the only thing I wanted to do to her was to make her happy so that she would stay sometime longer, let me wake up next to her, to get a conscious whiff of her perfume to remember her by.
But in the morning she was gone, just like every other time. I looked around, helpless, as I always did, not knowing how I’d go on for the rest of my life without her, not realising that I had done so in the past. She was gone, and I knew she would be, but then there was nothing I could do about it. I knew she wanted me to be that way, and I liked sitting there thinking about her, alone on my bed, with the remains of the night like confetti for my desperation. Her absence, just like everything else about her, was an object of worship.
But then her memory started dwindling and I couldn’t remember what it felt like, being around her, so I got out my kabuki and I did what I always did because the buzz meant that I could feel what I wanted to feel and see what I wanted to see and I tried to see her but she still didn’t come back. I could see her just off the corner of my eye but I couldn’t get her to come to me.
The crack wearing off, I stayed there all day with a happy hope of sustenance that was held there by nothing but every second passing by on the watch I kept staring at. But then I knew what was going to happen when the god I never believed in made the hour of 8 strike. A joker may give false hopes and happiness to those around him but alone with himself he cannot but sever his connection with gaiety and look around him with a sheet of yellow creeping up on his vision like a dash of scotch in the bottle of cheap vodka he empties each night.
And so it was that it just took me like a second to get the cogs of my cognition out of the rut they were in and I moved from my sick hibernation to the very same place she had led me to yesterday, or at least I thought it was. It didn’t really matter. She wasn’t going to turn up anyway, she never did. But then the rum was good, and for some reason didn’t burn my throat. And the lady at the other end was pretty. So I just sat back, relaxed, and let my sick mind unfold...
And then they kicked us out, and the blunt was gone, and the wallet was gone, and it started raining and I found out that they had taken my raincoat. I remember I was cursing them and trying to break down their door and that was when I heard her laughing. I think she was also shouting something about us being on the other street but then why would I go and try to break down a door I didn’t want to break down and so I went to her to tell her that only, she just took my hand and led me down the strangely bending roads to my place.
And so we were at the door, where we always paused to look at one another, knowing in that one glance what would happen tonight, tomorrow and until who knew when? I knew she was there just to use me and that she was there for me to do with as I pleased, and she knew I would do only what pleased her, because the only thing I wanted to do to her was to make her happy so that she would stay sometime longer, let me wake up next to her, to get a conscious whiff of her perfume to remember her by.
But in the morning she was gone, just like every other time. I looked around, helpless, as I always did, not knowing how I’d go on for the rest of my life without her, not realising that I had done so in the past. She was gone, and I knew she would be, but then there was nothing I could do about it. I knew she wanted me to be that way, and I liked sitting there thinking about her, alone on my bed, with the remains of the night like confetti for my desperation. Her absence, just like everything else about her, was an object of worship.
But then her memory started dwindling and I couldn’t remember what it felt like, being around her, so I got out my kabuki and I did what I always did because the buzz meant that I could feel what I wanted to feel and see what I wanted to see and I tried to see her but she still didn’t come back. I could see her just off the corner of my eye but I couldn’t get her to come to me.
The crack wearing off, I stayed there all day with a happy hope of sustenance that was held there by nothing but every second passing by on the watch I kept staring at. But then I knew what was going to happen when the god I never believed in made the hour of 8 strike. A joker may give false hopes and happiness to those around him but alone with himself he cannot but sever his connection with gaiety and look around him with a sheet of yellow creeping up on his vision like a dash of scotch in the bottle of cheap vodka he empties each night.
And so it was that it just took me like a second to get the cogs of my cognition out of the rut they were in and I moved from my sick hibernation to the very same place she had led me to yesterday, or at least I thought it was. It didn’t really matter. She wasn’t going to turn up anyway, she never did. But then the rum was good, and for some reason didn’t burn my throat. And the lady at the other end was pretty. So I just sat back, relaxed, and let my sick mind unfold...
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