tell her i said goodbye - a start to a story never written but lived

a sheet of gold laid itself over the room as the sun made its way through the windows and across the sky.  a copy of foer’s latest lay listless by the foot of the bed.  i couldn’t bring myself to turn the music down enough to have the writing in my eyes drown out the tune in my ear.  so, i sat there in bed, eyes closed and arms folded upon my chest.  a screen can’t keep a breeze out and i found myself shaking it off.  i still hadn’t woken up completely.  i had made a few trips to the bathroom and over to the desk to get the book, play the music, light a candle, but all ventures had ended with me back in bed.  somehow in between one of the trips i did mange to make the bed so i simply laid over the covers.  knowing my roommates would ask what i did with my day it provided the response that i hadn’t slept until the mid-day hours, and with that the possibility i had found some work myself.  of course when prompted i found it hard not to disclose the intimate details of my morning along with whatever latter events the day would bring.  i’m honest to a fault, and if i may add trusting, perhaps at times overly so.

eventually the music came to an end and with it my laying in waste.  remembering my sister was expecting a letter home to see how i was making out in my new residence i moved over to the desk.  after retrieving a pen and notebook I set out to communicate anything that I could recall that was worth the slightest relevancy.

samantha, you inquired upon the reasons for which i haven’t taken the time to write more frequently.  to be frank there isn’t much to be said since we last spoke.  i am trying.  the house is settled and my quest for employment has not yet yielded any promising results.  i can say that within the next week or so i will be visiting the local school requesting any further information regarding a teaching position.  i’ve spoken to the counselour over the phone a few times now but he’s always rather short with me, demanding i speak to him in person.  we shall see.  there’s a small grey cat that nests on our porch most days that tabitha insists on letting inside whenever she finds it there.  i insist on calling her stripes, she hasn’t any, and taking her the two yards over back where she belongs.  she sends her regards.  tabitha i mean.  as for robert and james, they’re far too absorbed in their various careers to have any bearing on what goes on here.  i don’t think i’ve spoken of them before.  no matter.  all’s well.  i told you there isn’t much to say.  if you could somehow convey it to mother to stop sending me money i’d appreciate it.  i’m an adult.  i can take care of myself.  thanks.  there is another thing as well.  i don’t want you to go out of your way or to be any trouble for you, but next time you see eve, tell her i said goodbye.

that’s all i could manage.  depressingly that’s all that was made of the day.  no early inquires to the school.  no more music.  not even melting wax to the end of the wick.  a meal was had hours later.  the sheet of gold turned to brown and eventually from that to black.  tabitha was home later than i wished to be awake.  i didn’t even find stripes walking to the mailbox when i went to send the letter.  I feel asleep dreaming of another indian summer day here in late october.

-

it didn’t last.  i woke up in a state of anticipation.  the weather had fallen through. it didn’t matter.  something great awaited.  rain pelted the window as beaded sweat slid down my side.  i rose, making my way over to wipe the condensation from the glass.  and in that newly streaked view of the world outside i saw what would be made of my day.

oct fourteen ‘05

eyes like knives - stranger or fiction

armed with dark eyes as deep as the sea she leaned into him and whispered something he’d never be able to say himself.  and it was that moment, when those eyes like knives fell backwards from him, he had lost something forever.  the realization of it wouldn’t come for some time.

is it possible to say goodbye to something which isn’t missed?  is it harder knowing that it will be, and the incapability resides in its expression?  these thoughts found themselves on his mind before but were gone from there now.  instead a sense of warmth rose from his chest, went through is head, and left him.  all that remained was a stale taste usually found in a moment of regret.  a taste of something familiar, but lacking the fullness of flavor, leaving it unrecognizable.

what is regret but a memory, an afterthought? a waste of time perhaps, or a chance to take things back?  those eyes that cut so deep, breaking childhood dreams, with their final closing forgiving.

in the moment’s passing he knew the difficulty was within the expression.  as he left the room he made himself believe all those ‘I love yous’ she gave were met with the same meaning as the ‘goodbyes’ he gave in return.  he had to.  afterall, those were dying eyes.

jan fifth ‘05

our hearts poured on - a memory, or a dream, of a night in dc

There was no lightning or thunder but the rain was cold and constant.  I had been drinking since night fell with the moon over the incoming clouds.  The dark came like a glove fitting over the world before me.

She had dark hair that glistened from the fallen rain but it was her eyes that drew my attention.  Unlike the set sun, here now, giving me light.  They were green and telling me to come forward.

I’m Sol.  A walking contradiction for I had none.  Crossing her arms she turned.  Away.  I walked on.  Inside those decadent walls there was more light to be found.  And so the search continued.

With hair so straight hanging over lifeless eyes that seemed to hurt from the moment they knew they weren’t blind I saw her.  Standing on the third story balcony through the screen door I saw her.  Catching drops of rain on her pale blue shirt turning into the color of sky on a day not like today I saw her.

I’m Sol.  She fell into me.  I knew not her name but was learning her taste.  We had been drinking the same thing.  But this flavor was new.  Better.  Wetter.

My fingers pushed the hair from her eyes and strained the water out from it.  Then found their way to her hips.  I lifted her, setting her upon the railing.  Her hands made their way under and up my shirt.  Her nails clawing into my back.  Our chests met as I clung to her saving her from falling.  The rain had stopped.  Our hearts poured on.

oct fourteen ‘05