Old Nonsense Pt. 2

2003-11-21
I thought of it swimmingly. She just swallowed and drowned. No paddle, no float. "Why even bother with such questions?" she answered.

"Are we not of an age that no longer needs to answer such questions? Must I be burdened with such frivolous ponderings as if we were 15 years old and taking a hit from our first joint?" She paused just long enough for him to sit forward and look away from her. "Honey, I do love you but can you not see that I am busy?"

The last line was rattling in his mind. Trying to find space among similar lines stated to him by her over the years all plastered on this inside of his skull. It would have been impossible for her not to notice but then again, she didn�t really need to either. He always had that look on his face. The way his jaw clinched setting his teeth off centered.

By this time things are mere routines and glaring examples of repetition. Push and pull. Tug and tassel. The predictability is always in full bloom with the bud blossoms its rage. The fury built up in him but releasing it was almost futile. He would shout. She would yell. One would head immediately for another room. It was all a matter of whether or not he wanted to waste the effort.

�It was a fucking question!� His decision was clear. �I looked over at you and your eyes were a bit too foggy this evening. So, I thought I would wipe them off with a little conversation to see if there was anything inside. Clearly I was mistaken. As I apparently am every time that I try to speak to you.�

�Are you through trying to feel better about yourself?� she immediately responded.

He left the room.

Upon crashing to the bed, he immediately bounced with more anger. The air was tense. The walls seemed to sweat with rage and the ceiling dripped frustration that felt like candlewax falling on his skin. His sighs increased but his mind was starting to interrupt. Why bother with it, he asked. Why bother with any of it.

Within his torrid mood he found a moment to calm himself. To take his thoughts away from his problem, his reasons and his predicament. He now focused on the hours before now. Recalling the day he spent alone driving through the city, stopping at bookstores and bakeries, coffee shops and department stores. It was all like it had been when he was younger. Younger, and alone.

It was then that he used to spend his days off going to record stores and bookstores, amassing collections of things that will probably never be read or heard, but at least to him, they were owned. Much like his time that was so important to him. Neither to be shared, nor sacrificed. For hours he could be himself away from all that disturbed his peace and solitude. He could come home with a few bags of treasures found along his journey and dump them upon the mahogany table barely standing in front of his couch. There he could rest and sort though the new additions. Reading a line here and there while listening to a new record. All in part of the progress he will start in the evening as he finds new spaces on the shelves and cabinets to file them. There was no interruption of the flow. No discussion of placement. It was his court. He was the jury.

More than all of that, his thoughts turned to another woman. The brown eyes of a stranger that were as rich as soil. Dark and moist, he wanted nothing but to be buried in them. Somewhere in his mind he already was.