Jason C

The Journey of Meow Zedong

Spring is here, spring was there.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g54uW1SpYh0

Watch/try to understand at your own risk. On a more serious note, a piece of writing:

Her hand in mine, we sit in a room invaded by summer, damp and moist and musty. She darts a look into my eyes before looking away, chewing on the fingernails of her other hand. I put my nose to the top of her head and inhale and smell sweat and shampoo. Pulling my head back, I see her eyes dart again, quickly and indecisively and, knowing, wait for her to speak.

"Do you remember when you said you'd always love me?"

I nod because I remember.

"Do you remember what I said?"

And, of course, I remember so I smile a little nervous smile and nod.

"What’d I say?"

"You said," and I swallow because my voice comes out a bit croaky, a bit deep, like I'm choked up and I don't want to seem weak, "you didn't know how you felt."

She pulls her head up, under my chin and works her way in, like a hibernating bear and now I feel her breath hot and relaxed, inhibition-less, against the side of my throat and know that she's asleep. And in this room, invaded by summer, damp and moist and musty, I dart a look downwards, smile in what happiness exists in this world, close my eyes, sleep.

*

Some mornings, I pull the covers up over my head, irritated, frightened, apprehensive. Even on the days when the wind through the window caresses my bones and muscles rather than chills them. She has left. The bed feels empty, even in its minisculity. Wiggling my toes, cold as they are, I pull my knees up against my chest, the blanket over my head, sigh a breath warm and rank, and stare at the red cascade of light behind my eyes, the gleam of the sun against the white wall and through this blanket. I'm irritated, frightened and apprehensive but most of all, I'm lonely.

*

At lunch, on a Tuesday afternoon, I wait for her to sit with me. It's been five minutes, maybe more, maybe less. Finally, out of a meager crowd, she emerges and I hardly see her smile. It could be my imagination for all I know. We talk and eat and question and look down and away and anywhere but forward. And I know, like usual, she's pushing her eyes here and there, forward for just a split second. I'm too lazy to look and wait for it. Now I'm figuring she does it as much because it's a direction as she wants to see my face.

*

Walking on the street, every so often, she'll put her head down on my shoulder, quickly and awkwardly. I'll put mine on top to let her knows of my appreciation. Then her head moves slowly up, back to normal and her hand and mine will play cat's cradle without strings. Streetlight after streetlight we pass and they jiggle and swim in the afternoon heat. I look down at her while she talks. Little strands of her reddish brown hair hang on her forehead and I want to push them up, behind her ear like I usually do. Her earrings swing to and fro. And this boy friend of hers pops up here and there, and other boy friends and girl friends and that same boy friend again. Here and there I take it in stride and take it in stride again. We make it back to the apartment and I kiss her before she goes back in. A breeze picks up and strains, pulls, yearns to move my shirt from its attachment to my back and succeeds when I help it. On the concrete, my shoes scuff and move and I'm alone again.

*

How can we stay somewhere unwanted? Or maybe not unwanted, but unneeded? I give two dollars to a street vendor for a bottle of water and wipe sweat away before opening and partaking of the cold drink. Every time I recollect telling her how I felt, my skin gets cold, even in this infernal heat. A vibration moves my right thigh, wet and surprising. A bit of the cold water spills on my hand and, reaching into my pocket, I fumble around, looking for the phone and see who's calling, my heart, a slow thump, begins skipping beats. Quickening. I hope it's her but it's not. Another girl, Taylor, calls and we exchange a forced conversation, uncomfortable for me, standard for her perhaps.

"What're you doing?" she asks, and I don't want to be honest. Nothing's never worth much.

"Running errands," I say.

"That's exciting." Her sarcasm is not of course, entirely unwarranted. On a Saturday afternoon in the middle of summer, running errands.

"Isn't it though?"

"Totally." And now we're playing a game of predator and indifferent prey. I'm waiting for this to end.

"What about you?" I ask in full pleasantries to pleasantries mode.

"Oh nothing. Swimming."

I nod even though I know she can't see it.

She laughs in the phone and mumbles something and the phone goes dead. "Goodbye" maybe, "Talk to you later" possibly, "Fuck you" even.

The phone snaps closed in my hand and I smile an unsatisfied smile, more for show than anything else. As if anyone on the street notices. Now I reflect on who called who and when and why and what and why not? Jennifer, missing in action again. Jennifer the beautiful. A bell above the supermarket/grocery store door jingles and I could swear I just walked into Antarctica.

If people like it, it can be a three part series. I love you all, goodbye.

Jason C

Posted by iammetalmetal at April 19, 2006 12:24 PM