Monday, October 21, 2013

monday night lights

i'm playing the piano. Satie's first gymnopedie. i've played this three times in the last fortnight. i'm not sure how it's happened, but each time it reminds me more of Seattle. of Mar's couch. of all that. i don't remember listening to it much during those weeks. it must just be the sound of how i've chosen to romanticize that time.

it ends. i close the lid. get up. i have a bottle of whiskey stashed away for nights like this. but in a hospital on the other side of town my friend is giving birth to a baby girl. it would kill me if every time i hold that baby i have to remember i spent the night of her birth on my couch, drunkenly staring at my ceiling. for whatever reason, i decide that it would ruin her life. demean it. i'll have to stick this one out sober.

i walk back to the piano. open the lid.

Sunday morning she was here. she told me she liked the moonlight sonata. i didn't play it for her then, so i start to play it now. my loneliness is a physical object. i sense its contours. my next door neighbours, the hippies from down the hill a-ways - the girl hippie comes into the kitchen. i can see her making tea. i make an effort to play well. i want to comfort her. i want her to like me. i want us to have a moment that will make me feel less lonely. so i try to play very well. i hear her tea-spoon strike the side of her cup gently, and see her put it down softly. she's listening to me, attempting to be quiet. i'm pleased. she lingers a moment in her kitchen. i can't see her face, but she is wearing a large green tshirt. i'm lost i secretly make the notes of Beethoven's moonlight sonata say that for me; and wait to see if she responds. when i next look over she's gone away. back into her own world. i'm alone. with a strange sound emanating from a large wooden music box. i stop playing.


- i think i miss j-bird.
- you think?
- i think.
- you do.
- how do you know?
- i've lived with you long enough.
- [i bite my lip, i'm annoyed at this] maybe i'll call her.
- call her already.
- maybe i will.
- what're you going to say?
- that i was wrong? that i miss her. that i'm an ass. something. i don't know.
- so call her.
- i will. ___later. 
- later?
- yah. later.


i ask to the borrow the car. he gives me a look: are you sure you know what you're doing? what a silly question: never. but i need this. he thinks about it: i thought you're missing j-bird. clearly he doesn't, that's why i need this. he shakes his head and goes to get me the keys, saying that makes no sense. he's right. it doesn't.

i come home four hours later. my skin feels weird from sweat and semen and lube. my abdominals hurt. i'm dizzy and i fall asleep before i have time to think.


my dad is happy to hear my voice. i haven't called him in three weeks, he was worried. what's going on with you? i don't know. so i tell him i don't know. what i want to say is i'm ashamed. i don't know of which part exactly, i just don't think there's much point in speaking to people. i don't tell him that. we talk about my exercise regimen instead.


she likes the moonlight sonata. i'll play it for you later i say. i'm sitting on the oppositest part of the couch. hoping to just wait it out until she leaves. or my roomate comes home. either one. she's a nice girl. she shouldn't be here. i see where this is going. it makes me sad. the conversation continues, i'm not sure what i'm saying. she's reading something from out of a book. she's moved closer to me. i lean over and kiss her cheek. very softly. she keeps reading. i kiss lower down, near her neck. softer. i run my lips up towards her eye, kiss the corner. ...
... ___she lunges at me with her mouth.



- i had the stupidest monday.
- me too.
- it was horrible.
- me too.
- it was so bland, not even bad, just dull.
- me too.
- ehm.
- ...
- ...
- so you called j-bird yet?
- a- _____,_______no


after the gym talk, he asks what's really going on. my priorities are screwed up. my life is aimless. i know i have to fix it. and fix it now. i just don't know how. i keep thinking about it. but all i come up with are circus sideshow distractions. he listens quietly.

several hours later i'll order clothes i don't need off the internet with money i don't have and feel better about the world for 40 seconds. at least i will have gotten through a few more hours.

all these goddamn hours.

just the shells of pistachios - nothing on the inside. just keep cracking them open, one after another.

monday slowly sinks.

my island grows smaller.


when i next look over she's gone away. back into her own world. the light from her kitchen is off. i'm alone. i stopped playing weeks ago.