twoheadedboy
09-08-2010, 06:53 PM
In a thousand words: Lamp & Vinyl
And there I was. He was sitting across from me, playing with his mustache and nervously biting his lip. There was something he was trying to tell me, something that he was trying to convey, with just the slightest motion. He was trying to be discreet, trying to stay hidden underneath the carpet, but also he was trying free himself. I already knew. It’s all one big mix up when someone has got a boulder on their chest and they are trying to come out from under it with only vagueities and shrugging shoulders. With only his shaking hands and an icepick voice; so small and fragile.
By this time it had been silent for a long time, but I didn’t mind it. Silence takes up the space of hurt sometimes and sometimes it shrinks to allow it. This time it was taking up the space, and I leaned over and shifted my weight to a more comfortable position as if to say I was ready to wait until something needed to be said.
“there’s nothing,” he choked out, not being able to finish the thought.
“ugh, there’s nothing--left.”
This had come after the people from the bank had come and pinned an eviction notice on our door; we had 30 days to get out. I was brushing my teeth when it happened, with my pajamas still on and slippers too; I shouted obscenities at them as they left. afterwards I felt the way a girl feels after she’s given too much of herself up. Like when she ****s a guy on the first date and he’s a lousy lover. She will look into the mirror after just as I did and see someone she wishes she didn’t. She will feel like she just gave up her soul but doesn’t remember signing any papers.
And I didn’t have anything to say to him now. Not now. Not after he had gambled away our rent and savings again. Not after this time.
In our living room we used to have this lamp. It was wild, ya know? It was shaped like a shirt draped over a pole, it had no defined edges and it used these weird light bulbs that were kind of hard to find. He bought it for me at a garage sale and at first I was horrified at the thought of having this rust colored, formless lamp in my living room. I really hated it for a long while and I couldn't bring myself to tell him. But then my view changed radically.
It was a couple weeks after Christmas and we’d been eating leftovers for as long as I can remember, anyways it was too long. I looked in the fridge and after seeing the same Christmas ham, the same mashed potatoes, the same fruit salad, I decided that I’d had enough of this holiday cheer with the red and the green; it’s pretty sickening really, pretty frustrating and defeating. I sat down in the living room with one of my favorite records: Bob Dylan’s ‘John Wesley Harding.’ I got halfway through it when I realized that I had been staring at the lamp for the entire time. It was strangely wonderful that when I took the time to look at it, it started becoming beautiful. It was like the whole word was unfolding before my eyes. It had been hideous before and in an instant, I saw the beauty in it’s non-form. In it’s rustbrown base and melted plastic lampshade. I don’t think I ever felt such a transformation before.
I was thrilled; I ran into the bedroom to tell John, but forgetting that he was on a business trip I fell arms open into an empty bed. I never liked those nights alone, I really hated it.
At first when john stated pawning things in the apartment to pay for the rent, I adamantly held onto the lamp. It was a reminder to me that I should sit still and listen to the things that are going on around me; the silent, invisible things. I should sit and look on in awe as some scene unfolds before my untamed eyes. He sold the TV, the stand it was on, the desk, both of the bookshelves, the wood chairs and the kitchen table. He sold all the dishes and silverware. All the pots and pans, all the baking tins. He would have sold the front door and the wall paper if he could have!
And finally as it came to be, I was sitting on the ground with my lamp and my records. Everything else had been sold; even the record player, so with all these vinyl discs I had I couldn’t even listen to a single one. He walked in and gave a look to me like I should accept the situation and give up these things that I had worked so hard to keep. I got up and slapped him in the face, as hard as I could and with as much of my small body as I could thrust into it. There was a red mark forming as I went to go sit back down.
That brings us to where I was before, with silence filling up around us like a torrent of rushing water, I had nothing to say and all he could utter were those few damning words. We had nothing now. I had stayed with him through it because I thought we would both change together, but he didn’t change. The landlord was on his way to put us out by force if we weren’t out of the building. I just felt used now. I felt ****ed. I felt violated. He turned out to be a lousy lover and I was just a memory; a girl who he had sex with and then never called. If only that had been the case.
And there I was. He was sitting across from me, playing with his mustache and nervously biting his lip. There was something he was trying to tell me, something that he was trying to convey, with just the slightest motion. He was trying to be discreet, trying to stay hidden underneath the carpet, but also he was trying free himself. I already knew. It’s all one big mix up when someone has got a boulder on their chest and they are trying to come out from under it with only vagueities and shrugging shoulders. With only his shaking hands and an icepick voice; so small and fragile.
By this time it had been silent for a long time, but I didn’t mind it. Silence takes up the space of hurt sometimes and sometimes it shrinks to allow it. This time it was taking up the space, and I leaned over and shifted my weight to a more comfortable position as if to say I was ready to wait until something needed to be said.
“there’s nothing,” he choked out, not being able to finish the thought.
“ugh, there’s nothing--left.”
This had come after the people from the bank had come and pinned an eviction notice on our door; we had 30 days to get out. I was brushing my teeth when it happened, with my pajamas still on and slippers too; I shouted obscenities at them as they left. afterwards I felt the way a girl feels after she’s given too much of herself up. Like when she ****s a guy on the first date and he’s a lousy lover. She will look into the mirror after just as I did and see someone she wishes she didn’t. She will feel like she just gave up her soul but doesn’t remember signing any papers.
And I didn’t have anything to say to him now. Not now. Not after he had gambled away our rent and savings again. Not after this time.
In our living room we used to have this lamp. It was wild, ya know? It was shaped like a shirt draped over a pole, it had no defined edges and it used these weird light bulbs that were kind of hard to find. He bought it for me at a garage sale and at first I was horrified at the thought of having this rust colored, formless lamp in my living room. I really hated it for a long while and I couldn't bring myself to tell him. But then my view changed radically.
It was a couple weeks after Christmas and we’d been eating leftovers for as long as I can remember, anyways it was too long. I looked in the fridge and after seeing the same Christmas ham, the same mashed potatoes, the same fruit salad, I decided that I’d had enough of this holiday cheer with the red and the green; it’s pretty sickening really, pretty frustrating and defeating. I sat down in the living room with one of my favorite records: Bob Dylan’s ‘John Wesley Harding.’ I got halfway through it when I realized that I had been staring at the lamp for the entire time. It was strangely wonderful that when I took the time to look at it, it started becoming beautiful. It was like the whole word was unfolding before my eyes. It had been hideous before and in an instant, I saw the beauty in it’s non-form. In it’s rustbrown base and melted plastic lampshade. I don’t think I ever felt such a transformation before.
I was thrilled; I ran into the bedroom to tell John, but forgetting that he was on a business trip I fell arms open into an empty bed. I never liked those nights alone, I really hated it.
At first when john stated pawning things in the apartment to pay for the rent, I adamantly held onto the lamp. It was a reminder to me that I should sit still and listen to the things that are going on around me; the silent, invisible things. I should sit and look on in awe as some scene unfolds before my untamed eyes. He sold the TV, the stand it was on, the desk, both of the bookshelves, the wood chairs and the kitchen table. He sold all the dishes and silverware. All the pots and pans, all the baking tins. He would have sold the front door and the wall paper if he could have!
And finally as it came to be, I was sitting on the ground with my lamp and my records. Everything else had been sold; even the record player, so with all these vinyl discs I had I couldn’t even listen to a single one. He walked in and gave a look to me like I should accept the situation and give up these things that I had worked so hard to keep. I got up and slapped him in the face, as hard as I could and with as much of my small body as I could thrust into it. There was a red mark forming as I went to go sit back down.
That brings us to where I was before, with silence filling up around us like a torrent of rushing water, I had nothing to say and all he could utter were those few damning words. We had nothing now. I had stayed with him through it because I thought we would both change together, but he didn’t change. The landlord was on his way to put us out by force if we weren’t out of the building. I just felt used now. I felt ****ed. I felt violated. He turned out to be a lousy lover and I was just a memory; a girl who he had sex with and then never called. If only that had been the case.