November 9, 2002

Muerte Del Tramposo

Haze formed in left eye. Sticky, fuzzy, twitchy haze moved from corners to center as I clicked, dragged mouse; filtering, erasing, putting finishing touches on artwork. Eyelashes stuck together, saw them bunching through the haze, foggy black cobwebs. Blinked hard, looked at clock. Photoshopping three hours. Seemed like 20 minutes.

It was cold near the window, but there was the never ending hot lack of sleep in my face.

It was 4:45 on a Friday. You’d be home in an hour or so, depending on the traffic, depending on whether you stopped for drinks afterwards. 4:45 on a Friday. That meant dim sum from the Phoenix and shots of vodka.

The bed wasn’t made, and there was laundry strewn across the floor. It had to be done, but my ass was asleep on the chair.

It was 5:02 on a Friday when I moved my legs; they were like logs, stiff, heavy. I dragged them to the freezer and took a swig out of the bottle. It was 5:23 by the time I picked up the laundry. I had no energy to do the laundry; I shoved it in the closet and at 5:27, curled up in the red satin sheets. 5:30. Sharp. Twitch. I hated wearing socks in bed.

I took the day off work today, it was just too much effort getting dressed and out of the house. A week ago I was putting on my least comfortable underwear and my short skirt. High heels. Makeup.

A week ago I came home and I saw. I watched from the door crack and I saw.

You said she was just an associate.

I squeezed the pillow against my body like a lover and stroked it. Against the grain wasn’t nearly as soft. Entangled in my fingers, a long, blonde hair. Cheaply bleached, I guessed.

5:42. Haze was forming again, this time, both eyes clouded. Mascara ran down my cheek until there was a black line down the right side of my red face. Knuckles white and fingers red.

I smelled the dim sum coming up the stairs. Heavy, energetic footsteps. Freezer. Vodka. Chug. Teeth grinding, eyes squinted and throbbing I opened the door. I could see clearly, your light khaki casual suit, pressed just too much. The dumpling smell made me nauseous. The clock in the kitchen was five minutes fast, read 5:53. Teeth slipped on each other in an uncomfortable squeal.

You used a fork and knife to eat your dim sum. Metal on teeth. I had to get out of here.

“You can’t go on like this,” you said. It sounded hollow and awkward. “She’s not important to me. I just needed it.” I remember how you looked at her. Kissed her. So gently. Your lips like dew on rose petals, sliding so gently.

“

What do you mean, needed it?” I could not believe how cold and nasally my voice was. “Am I THAT unimportant to you?”

“You know I care about you, baby. Don’t get all self-deprecating on me.”

I took breaths through clenched teeth. 6:12 on the fast clock. Stomped on linoleum. Two more shots of vodka and the world has slowed itself. Eyes. Up, fluorescent lights flashed epileptically. Blinked away smoggy eyes. Throat, esophagus. Tightened, strained for a breath. Eyes darted, flash, shine.

I dropped my clothes to the linoleum. Nipples felt like mouthwash on tongue. Cold, tingly. He would look, and he would love it.

6:13. My fingers hugged the handle. Knuckles white again. The fluorescents flickered again. Your eyes followed my nude body and I could see you bulge in khaki. “I love you,” you said.

I whipped the blade across your neck.

In filmic realism I can see you. Like licking yogurt off a spoon, you kissed her. So softly. Warm moist liquid sacks, bright red, collide so softly. Like licking yogurt off a spoon.

Hand still but body shaking. I taste your scent in the air; musky, manly. Cologne wafts up the vents and into my nostrils. I see your body quiver, the redness ejaculates, spraying wildly from the hole in your neck.

Long blonde stick straight hair flowed over her breasts. Behind my eyelids her show keeps playing. Her pasty bare ass bounced up and down, like Jell-O, wetting your rod, sliding up and down. Her lip sucked outwards between yours, biting lightly; tongues licking yogurt again. You never kissed me so softly.

Penetration merits more penetration; steel drips with blood, tears. I was your last erection.

Little puddles have soaked into the carpet; red turns to brown. White and brown cow-like carpet starts to smell after a few days. In a few days I’ll be lying regretless on the beach, forgetting you. Hair crisp and scorching to the touch, sunburn turning to freckled tan. Guapo waiters serve cold piña coladas dripping condensation on bright pink coasters.

At 6:34 I pocketed the seven hundred dollars cash you had been hiding under the bed, and shoved your wallet into my handbag. In a few days I will be speaking Spanish in short shorts. Smoking pot from sterling silver bowls, drinking Coronas on the beach. In a few days I will be sexually harassed by Mexican locals, and loving it. Singing Ana Bárbara in Don Carlos’s Karaoke Espectacular. Sucking tourists tongues like grapes, caressing their skin, and licking their lips like they were crème brulee. In a few days the cow stains will be noticed, my apartment searched. Nothing a little bleach can’t handle. Anyone with half a brain won’t blame me.

In a few days there will be nothing they can do about it.

if anyone has any comments on this piece, please give them to me, as it is a work in progress... downvote me all you want, i'm not looking for points, but feedback and readings. btw, not a true story :-)

I am going to node until my fingers bleed because I am depressed.

---

I love you more than anything, and I've never even touched your face.

It never used to be this hard. You went to school in your little pink dress with your little pink bow and your little pink backpack and the lunch your mommy and daddy packed for you. You read books like See Spot Run and Sally, Dick, and Jane. It was easy to get the teachers to like you because all you had to do was look cute and read well and color inside the lines. If you liked a boy, you hit him and chased him and made him know very well that you didn't like him, and that his cooties were unappreciated and unwanted. You went home to mommy and daddy and hugged and cuddled and played outside in the leaves when fall came and in the snow when winter came and baked cookies and felt happy. You didn't know better yet, that this was not life.

Then, slowly, things became more complicated. You had to work harder to make teachers appreciate or even notice you. You developed in areas the other kids hadn't yet, not knowing why you had to be different. Boys you liked weren't satisfied to be beat up by you anymore, they wanted things like kisses and touches and you didn't know how to handle that.

But slowly you learned, this is how you wanted it to be all along. Occasionally, you'd beat a boy up to make him like you, but it always ended the same way -- in kisses and touches.

And then you went to college and realized that you missed mommy and daddy holding your little hand and tying the little pink ribbon into your hair. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't please the teacher who adored everyone in the class but you. And you couldn't understand why no boys ever saw you, regardless of how you treated them or how great your personality was.

And then you met him, whom you've never touched, never stared at, never kissed. And you love him more than you ever imagined you could love anyone, and he isn't even here. You couldn't get enough of each other, and spoke as often as possible, hours on end on the computer, on the phone. The distance meant nothing but that you couldn't actually touch. You know you will someday.

But things changed again. You've been together so long you take things for granted. He was always there, and now he's busy, busy trying to be with you, as slow a process as it might be. He never does forget you, but you need his attention, which was once a given, but which you must now beg for, but he can't always be there anymore. One day, he will be. You must know this, no matter how frustrated and alone you feel. He loves you, he will be with you.

Whenever, wherever, we're meant to be together.

---

I apologize for the use of the you pronoun instead of the I pronoun, but somehow, detaching myself from the situation made it easier to node, and easier to feel a release. I also apologize for anyone who actually read this node, as I really just needed to write out my pain, which is the only way I ever feel better.

Within us all lives an enigma
Often not fully realized until our deaths.
It tells us more about ourselves
Than any deliberation experienced in our lives.

The enigma was always there with Tom, but it only became transparent on the day they buried his body in the ground. Speakers came up to the front of the service and delivered words about him. First came his friends and the people he worked with. Being in the field of entertainment and the arts, the collection of people who came to honor him on this day was a most interesting group. They told others how Tom had inspired them and encouraged them towards success in their chosen fields. Others told how Tom was like a magnet of kindness whose door was open to anyone. We knew, for he had opened his home to us two months ago to allow us to shoot an experimental television show there. His door was always open to us and he made sure we knew. So many others told similar tales. It placed an almost angelic glow around Tom's name.

Then came the other side of the coin. His family, most of which lived in the northern part of the United States while Tom lived in Florida, came forward to speak. To them, Tom was a man they hardly knew. His two ex-wives were there as well as his son and grandson. With tears in his eyes, Tom's son told the people gathered for his father's funeral that he wished he could have known his father the way they did. These were images of the father he never knew being painted on the stage before him. He knew his father as a distant man he rarely spoke to and almost never saw.

When it came to relationships with people, Tom and I had quite a bit in common. We were open to embrace all manner of people and to do all we could for them. It was easy for him to love people and for him to be loved in return. Yet, when the love became a responsibility and a requirement rather than an adventure, the loss of appeal felt like a jagged wound. To ride is always easy, but to stay is very difficult. There is a huge chasm between wanting to do something and having to do it. I struggle with it every day and so did he. Yet a part of me wonders if maybe people aren't meant to be all things to the people in their lives and maybe some of us are not meant to focus in one direction. Perhaps we are the adventurers who must embrace the champagne of life at every crossing. We are the ones who must always be open to what the road ahead brings, no matter what the cost. It is our way. Others must have the stability and the responsibility of a set course in life. Maybe we spend too much time concerning ourself with perceived faults and trying to correct them than we do realizing that not everyone can excel in all areas of life. Is it better to be fair to mediocre at all things and get passing grades or is it better to do your best with what you are best at?

A friend and I were going to attend the funeral but were not able due to a schedule conflict with our jobs. We were able to rendezvous later with those who had attended. We went to the bar where Tom liked to hang out. His family sat at one end of the room and his friends and co-workers on the other. My friend and I sat together mid-way between the two groups. His family sat quietly, talking amongst themselves and sadly remembering what they could of the man who was husband, father, brother, uncle. His friends and co-workers laughed and drank, toasting to the memory of a man who would have done the same had any of them left this place. They did it the way Tom would have and that seemed to offend his family because they never really understood him. When the table of friends ordered a round of Glenlivet and we did the same, his family looked on and shook their heads. It was Tom's drink of choice and it was a kind of communion with him.

A life can be lived to the fullest. A life can be lived quietly. It can be lived according to a standardized format. A life can be filled with sorrow and regret. In the end it is still a life that was lived and that is all that really matters. Your ship has some of the strongest sails on the seas and it will sail far and wide on the oceans of our dreams. Farewell, fellow adventurer. Clear skies ahead, Tom.

a day late...

second international freedom festival and oh, the things/people/music to do/see/hear...

all in a day that's been led up to by almost 11,000 others

still vivid in my mind's eye...

oldest friend moving away (farther away)

sadly, i've not seen him in so long and now the distance that has served as my excuse is increasing by more than i care to imagine. what an ache it is to miss someone.

distant friend drawing nearer

i'd not known he was away for so long...
someone who was, at one time, one of my greatest friends. we'd lost touch, then exchanged numbers on meeting again, each promising to call the other and each failing to do so. strange how four years is so little and so much. we again exchanged numbers. i fully expect not to see or hear from him, with a mutual fault, until we happen upon each other years from now.
and the circle will begin again.

old love appearing like just a taste of an addiction forgotten

he is still very beautiful, still melts my heart.
and he is still poison, best avoided...
but i lie through smiling lips--of course i'll call, darling

and more eyes, mouths, hands and memories floating past, coming close

for those beings i saw today, each was an inner smile, tear and bitter taste--
none forgotten. never, no.
then home...
a bit of wine still blurring my thoughts into lovely somethings.
mm-hm, yes--i've been in the wine again.
and her, strange and beautiful...
matching henna on our hands (can i have this in school?)
quietquietquiet & then discovered.
you can come in, she said, but put on sparkles first.
and then when the door opens, darkness--with her swirly light thing on a suitcase, throwing rainbows...
her _{in glitter and blue eyeshadow with flowers pinned in her hair}
her hair _{damp at the back of her neck from her singing and dancing}
her singing_{subconsciously low at first, then with full energy}
and dancing _{arms swaying in the air, except to brush back the hair clinging to her face}
she sat so still for so long today--for matching mendhi. curious poppet, she gives me unspeakable joy. i want to spoonfeed her bits of the world but she wants, already, to devour it whole. so i wait, fully expecting that she can fly, but waiting to catch her in cupped hands when she flutters down.
and now...
a caterpillar on the glass door--such an interesting looking fellow. i'm off to have tea with him and gaze in wonderment and contemplation of the universe presented in my corner, here.

6:00am I am privellaged to be travelling in the comforts of a French train in the early hours of the morning(i'm not talking TGV or 1st class here). This was just your simple train with stuffy carriages and barely no leg room in between the seats. The seats are reclining however the hard head piece stops you from being able to travel in comfort. I've been trying to sleep for the last hour but it's just not happening. This could have somthing to do with my stiff neck or maybe because the guy in the seat infront has his "reading light" on, and well because I'm sat next to a complete stranger as a result of having been forced to sit apart from my friends due to a lack of seats.

6:05am The train suddenly starts shaking and we can hear a loud screaching noise and as the train comes to a sudden hault the odour of burning rubber surrounds us. Everyone is awake now and staring around wide eyed and in bewilderment. Everyone is sharing their theories on what has just happened. The guy infront of me thinks we've hit something, others think we've run over an animal.

"Attention Madames et monsieurs" comes a male voice from the loud speakers. They inform us that we've gone over a piece of broken rail track. Almost instantly everyone picks up their mobiles and start phoning people complaining about how the train has stopped and how they are going to be late. My friends and me where complaining about going to be late as we were travelling to Barcelona and how the delay was disrupting our plans.

6.25am They inform us that the train has derailed. Yet again people are on their phones everyone knows this is going to take a long time and people are starting to get peeved.

6.27am "If there is anyone with any medical experience please come to the front of the train" comes the next message. People are now starting to worry, there must be somebody hurt if they have said this. We put it down to somebody who might have fallen over during the turbulance.

6:30am Outside we can see flashing blue lights coming from an ambulance, slowly more ambulances seem to be arriving and there are even fire trucks. Some paramedics come through into the train to see if anybody was hurt, but in my carriage everyone was fine. We thought they were just being cautious. With every message they delivered they always insisted that the train doors remain closed and that we stay inside the train at all times.

6:32am All the lights in the train are almost off and some have even gone back to sleep whilst others are still talking about what had just happened.

6:45am Fire engines and trucks with all sorts of equipment were arriving. We were guessing they were trying to get the train back on the tracks.

7:00am We are still stopped and there are flashing lights everywhere. A couple of my friends went to a door to peek out and they saw that it was the actual front bit that had derailed and not the back as we had previously thought.

7:05am We are informed that the train did in fact hit something it had crashed against a car at a level crossing. This had forced the front to derail. That explained the screeching sound, it was the car being dragged by the train.

8:30am We are still waiting. They announce that the three people who had been travelling in the car have died. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as a shiver went down my spine. I never thought it would have been that serious.

9:00am The train reverses back to the next station and we continue the journey by coach.

When I started writing this it was meant to be a summary about how annoying travelling by train can be. However due to the change in events that occurred whilst I was writing this I came to realise the extent of my pettiness, worrying about my trip being delayed, especially when I think of what those three young men must have gone through in the few seconds before their lives where ended.

Since the accident I have found out more about what happened. The three men that were killed, were soldiers, they were parachutists to be more exact. They were all in there 20’s and were returning from a night club. Three lives where lost because a traffic light wasn’t working properly. To think that we had been sitting comfortably, safe and in the warmth complaining about how our weekend was being disrupted, when our train had taken the lives of three young men, and their bodies are now lifeless and cold. Whilst we still have our lives and our petty problems.