Mulegrinder
04-25-2014, 09:55 PM
Comments welcomed :)
She was looking at me I was looking at her. The windows were open and the blinds were closed. It was raining that day and the blankets were damp. It wasn’t summer yet, there was no warmth in the air and there was no carpet on the floor, so the only place for the early spring rain to go was into the covers that were pulled close around our shoulders. She was looking at me and I was looking at her. This was enough for the moment. She smelled like shrimp and peanut oil. Earlier in the day we ate wontons from a box with a smiling grandmother on the cover. That kind of smell doesn't leave your pores until you bathe. It wasn’t luxurious, but with the empty bottles of wine at our feet… the mood in the room was very plastic lawn chair.
I’m not a shiny man. This isn’t to say I didn’t wake up some mornings and declare to the air that I was a man. Some mornings I felt like a woman, but I used to put this feel for something infinite aside, put on my jeans and unlatch the rod iron door that kept me inside from the myth outside. There was an overbearing ache each day - a desolate routine of activity.
Sometimes there was a now. That only happened when I was with a girl.
And on that particular afternoon - I was with a girl. I had electric blood. I wanted to graze on her shoulder’s skin. I licked her left eye.
“What are you doing?” Jain said. I kept leaning in, tongue wagging back and forth until, for a brief second, I made contact with the lens that captured everything she ever saw in her seventeen years. She tensed-up and the dinosaur pictured on her pillowcase was obscured by a tangle of light brown hair. I leaned in and put my nose to her hair and ear. I breathed.
I laid back down, the moisture on the pillow case touched my neck, “I wanted to lick your eye.” If she had asked me why I wanted to do something so weird, I wouldn’t have had an answer then. I know the answer now.
There was a yellow bag of white bread on the table next to me. I grabbed two pieces and put them in my mouth. The dough melted under the pressure of my lips. I didn’t ask her if she wanted a piece; she never ate when she was around me.
Jain laid up in bed. She held her pillow taught. The cartoon dinosaur on the pillow was between her tight arms. She stretched the pillow out and in making the dinosaur appear like it was walking. “Rawrrrr,” she growled. I didn’t laugh. I kept watching the bare skin on her shoulder contract and loosen. I needed to lick her clean.
“Let me kiss you,” I said reaching out for her arm.
“I have to go home,” she was slurring a baby’s tongue. Her words were longer than usual but they were firm.
“Five more minutes,” I asked or said. It was a coin flip.
She bargained, “But then you have to take me home”. She was too young to drive.
I wasn’t much older - two years older. Sometimes I felt like I was doing something wrong being with her. She was a child. But I felt like a child. The city made me feel like a boy. I was too slow for the city - a rigid militia to its machine gun strut.
That night I laid in bed wondering what it would be like to be a father. Then I wondered what it was like to be pregnant. But I didn’t wonder what it was like to be a son or a child - although I was just that - a son and a child.
I was in bed bleeding. The bubble of skin from my cigarette burn had torn open on the blanket that was supposed to keep me calm like a straight-jacket.
She was looking at me I was looking at her. The windows were open and the blinds were closed. It was raining that day and the blankets were damp. It wasn’t summer yet, there was no warmth in the air and there was no carpet on the floor, so the only place for the early spring rain to go was into the covers that were pulled close around our shoulders. She was looking at me and I was looking at her. This was enough for the moment. She smelled like shrimp and peanut oil. Earlier in the day we ate wontons from a box with a smiling grandmother on the cover. That kind of smell doesn't leave your pores until you bathe. It wasn’t luxurious, but with the empty bottles of wine at our feet… the mood in the room was very plastic lawn chair.
I’m not a shiny man. This isn’t to say I didn’t wake up some mornings and declare to the air that I was a man. Some mornings I felt like a woman, but I used to put this feel for something infinite aside, put on my jeans and unlatch the rod iron door that kept me inside from the myth outside. There was an overbearing ache each day - a desolate routine of activity.
Sometimes there was a now. That only happened when I was with a girl.
And on that particular afternoon - I was with a girl. I had electric blood. I wanted to graze on her shoulder’s skin. I licked her left eye.
“What are you doing?” Jain said. I kept leaning in, tongue wagging back and forth until, for a brief second, I made contact with the lens that captured everything she ever saw in her seventeen years. She tensed-up and the dinosaur pictured on her pillowcase was obscured by a tangle of light brown hair. I leaned in and put my nose to her hair and ear. I breathed.
I laid back down, the moisture on the pillow case touched my neck, “I wanted to lick your eye.” If she had asked me why I wanted to do something so weird, I wouldn’t have had an answer then. I know the answer now.
There was a yellow bag of white bread on the table next to me. I grabbed two pieces and put them in my mouth. The dough melted under the pressure of my lips. I didn’t ask her if she wanted a piece; she never ate when she was around me.
Jain laid up in bed. She held her pillow taught. The cartoon dinosaur on the pillow was between her tight arms. She stretched the pillow out and in making the dinosaur appear like it was walking. “Rawrrrr,” she growled. I didn’t laugh. I kept watching the bare skin on her shoulder contract and loosen. I needed to lick her clean.
“Let me kiss you,” I said reaching out for her arm.
“I have to go home,” she was slurring a baby’s tongue. Her words were longer than usual but they were firm.
“Five more minutes,” I asked or said. It was a coin flip.
She bargained, “But then you have to take me home”. She was too young to drive.
I wasn’t much older - two years older. Sometimes I felt like I was doing something wrong being with her. She was a child. But I felt like a child. The city made me feel like a boy. I was too slow for the city - a rigid militia to its machine gun strut.
That night I laid in bed wondering what it would be like to be a father. Then I wondered what it was like to be pregnant. But I didn’t wonder what it was like to be a son or a child - although I was just that - a son and a child.
I was in bed bleeding. The bubble of skin from my cigarette burn had torn open on the blanket that was supposed to keep me calm like a straight-jacket.