Friday, October 7, 2016

Drowning in the Light(s)

Just focus on one thing, she thought. A space on the wall. Other wall, they might be watching you. She couldn't help but glance their way as non-chalantly as possible. Yeah. He definitely is not looking over here.

Jesus.

Why did he invite me? Did he know she was going to be here? Stop being such a fucking idiot, Elisa. He invited her. You know that. Why did he invite you? Who the fuck knows anymore. STOP looking. You look like a broken-hearted 16 year-old at the Prom. You gonna make sure you have mascara running down your perfectly blushed cheeks? Smeared lipstick? Because that would be an absolute fucking travesty. This color of fuschia is on point. She looked away and closed her eyes, which in her state was maybe a bad idea. Her heart was racing...she wanted to know why. Why am I here? He'll never tell me why. That's why you sort of love him. Adore him. Fuck. Whatever. Heart racing, mind spinning. So upset her heart was pounding. Or maybe that was the coke. Who could tell anymore.

She would have paid every small dollar in her bank account for a friend. Why are they all so far away? She let that question linger and allow herself the space to be sentimental for a few moments...or was it hours? Didn't matter. He wouldn't come over anyway. They're all too high to notice. But seriously, how long had that been? Like...12 minutes? Or more like two.

She put her hands behind her on the large circular couch and let her head hang back.

As she stared at the ceiling, all the colors a wanna-be Miami club in what certainly, like, for sure, used to be a kid's roller rink, can afford danced around combining to make certain colors together. Green and Blue make Cyan. Blue and Red make...there it is, Magenta. Bet she doesn't fucking know color mixing. Wait, if you combine them all does it make black? Or white?

If he would stop attempting to hit on a 9 while he is absolutely a 5, and that's on a good night when he's being nice...Just two nights ago. Cum all over the bed, both exhausted, he practically crushed her to kiss her and ask...where'd you even come from? As she smiled. He inspected every cell of her face, not looking away once. He leaned down and held his kiss on her lips for a beautiful eternity. He slid his hand under the small of her back, his surprisingly muscular forearm tight by her side, and in one fell swoop, all one movement, rolled over to pull her on top of him as he looked into her eyes, ran all five fingers on each side into her hair to gently bring it back so he could look at her face and kiss her again god DAMMIT. Why.

Do all the colors make black on the lights? Fuck, I need another drink. Thank god I'm not driving.

OK. Here we go. Get it together. Don't look. Don't look. It's a straight shot to the bar. She stood in her skywalker leopard print stilettos pulling her skirt as she stood rather than pull all around after you stand see, little girl. You don't even know to do that yet. She rubbed her lips together and one foot in front of the other. Hold your head high, but not too high. Make him look. Look good -- Is...Michael giving me the eye? The sex eye? Oh my God he IS!!! His best friend? Oooooooooohhhhh. Toooooo tempting. Best get another whiskey just to be sure your judgement is spotless. Or correct. Or honest. Or fuck it.

She turned around, putting her elbows on the bar. Michael kept turning and giving The Look. That look. That 'I'm not looking away. I'm looking at you. I have to look at you.' That look. She reached for her Maker's Mark on ice in a plastic cup. Translucent. Bet she doesn't know that word.

No! It makes white. All the colored lights mixed. White. Yeah. It's paint that makes black. Right.

And then it happened. He stepped into her, one hand on her neck (oh god I loved that - that's our thing...oh god please not in front of me you fucking bastard), one hand slowly around her waist and to the small of her back as he kissed her. When he finally pulled away just to look at this new love as they both smiled. She blushed and turned away, her hair obscuring her face. He stepped away and looked around. She waited with her elbows on the bar and her Maker's cocked and loaded for her system. They locked eyes from across the room. She slowly raised the Maker's to her lips as he locked eyes with her across the entire crowd, people dancing and passing between their fields of vision. She took a sip, giving him a look that says: I know, and I see you, and I'm not moving. Because I know you know, fucker. I know you know how shitty you are right now. How do you like yourself? She waited until he was uncomfortable enough to look away and readjust his Yankees cap. She waited until he looked away to turn back to the bar, slam the rest and order another. When Michael slid up next to her. "Make it two." He looked at her with a slow crawling smile as he checked out her tight little ruby red skirt. She smiled as he laid down his cash for both and turned to the dancefloor.

"He doesn't know what he wants."
"Who."
He smiled a wry smile and said, "Who do you think."
She inhaled and said, "Clearly not," and swallowed a big gulp of whiskey.
He looked at her, and she felt his stare but wouldn't turn. His best friend, Elisa. You're better than that.
"But I do."
Her heart took a high speed train up to her throat as she quickly turned her head to catch the moment where you could either tell if he was lying or vulnerable. Shit. He is 1,000% sincere. Fuck.

Well, she thought, never won any medals for doing the right thing anyway, and slowly smiled at him.

All the colors together make black.

Sunday, June 12, 2016

my heart is a canary

and my heart is a canary
that I send in to the mines
and over and over again
she doesn’t come back out
and I go in anyway.
To find her.


written 2005

Ali: The Greatest

You can't get here...



Unless you go here. Every. Day.



And you keep getting up. And you keep getting hit. And you keep believing. You believe that you own what is yours. And that nobody. Nobody. Can fucking beat you down. You can get hit. You can be down. But you better fucking believe that you're gonna get back up again. Because you have something that nobody, not that guy in the other corner, not any of those faces out there, can take away. So get back in there. And keep fighting.

A good day consists of Sam Cooke, Marvin Gaye, Etta James, Ray Charles, Stevie Wonder, and the Temptations on Pandora. Ahhh, sing me back home my dear friends. Sing me back.


"My dear ladies, we have one goal. To persist." -Lauren Bacall

Rest in eternal peace, Ali. You fought so much more than your opponent only in the ring. You're a true hero and inspiration. And I love you.

written 2010