Nearly a year ago now, I had just picked myself up from a terrible fall when I was invited to a party by one of my semi-close friends Ocelot. I considered everyone semi-close to me back then, because I was too afraid to let them get any much closer and too afraid to let them fly from my orbit completely. It was an ideal system until I started getting screwed over on a pretty regular basis; then it’s hard to always be calling a semi-close friend to talk about yourself for a couple hours or more.
I had never really been invited to a party before. Birthday parties in middle school don’t count, though there weren’t too many of those, either. All types of invitations had either come in the mail or as an obnoxious “Request” on the right-hand side of my Facebook page. Either way, the gesture felt so impersonal and far removed from the actual host of the event that I always assumed I wasn’t actually wanted there, and if I did show up, I would forever be known as the idiot who thought he mattered. I had worked for many years not to become that idiot by ignoring virtually every invite I had gotten up to that point.
So when Ocelot came up behind me as we stood hip-bent coming down the escalator, I was nothing near the word prepared.
“Hey man, I’m having a little get-together at my dad’s apartment this weekend, we’ll watch a movie and stuff and I was really hoping you could come.”
“That sounds like a lot of fun, actually—what night is it?”
“Friday night, just come over whenever.”
“Who’s gonna be there?”
“Well uh, you, me, Aladdin, Jasmine, Miss Safari…”
His voice floated off into the autumn air. I would find out just a couple of nights later whoever else would be there, but I had already heard the anchor that sunk me right down to the wood-paneled floor of Ocelot’s father’s apartment.
When I walked through the only door without an ornamental wreath on it that night, I noticed immediately that there were seven of us. Seven is supposedly a righteous number; deemed to be important by the esteemed gods of the universe.
There isn’t much in my numb resolve
That I fail to think of; who I fail to see
Through the yellow still walls of
Wall Street, Floor Four.
Fortunately there were no unfamiliar faces. In fact, if I had thought any more of myself I would have been suspicious that this secretive gathering was arranged solely for my benefit; that everyone was there for me, the whole of my semi-close friends, gathered around to celebrate my birthday that wouldn’t come for another six months. I silently wondered if it was my half-birthday.
But I knew what we were really there for. Not only was Ocelot’s old man out of town—and in the brightest days of our youth we knew better not to let free reign go to waste—but just three days before Aladdin had written a song for Jasmine, and sang it to her as they sat on the marble of the Rice Park fountain. It was a long and gentle song, and everyone watched while waiting for the bus as Jasmine’s smile grew bigger the longer the song went on. When he finally finished, they kissed. For a long time. I doubt they’ve ever kissed that long again. And so my semi-close friends became lovers, and not much between them has changed since then.
The gathering was for them, really. Even more so for Aladdin, who had never held a beautiful girl in his arms before. Well, except for his mother, but we’re not really allowed to think that way. I know I don’t.
Besides those two pigeons, and Ocelot, who I could already tell was far gone, there was
with her long brown hair, sitting on the couch with her chin up on her knees;
there was Coffee Girl,
who in all fairness should be recognized as Coffee Woman, for her strength that night would come to be nothing short of Olympian; and the lovely, inescapable girl-next-door that I would later come to know as
Miss Safari.
The high-ceiling room reeked of wine, but my lips didn’t touch a drop of the stuff all night. I ended up hauling a 12-pack of Coke up those four floors just so I had a good enough excuse, in case anyone were to question my sobriety, which they didn’t and never have. I wasn’t alone of course: Aladdin never even considered the notion. We always had each other. In the early hours of the night, we played chess while the girls watched with feigned interest.
“I’m always white.”
“It doesn’t really matter so much to me.”
“It will.”
Clack.
The hollow sound of a piece settling up new territory on the gridded battlefield.
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
“You always move those first?”
“Usually. Why?”
“Just seems strange that you’d let me take the middle so easily.”
Clack.
Clack.
“I just like letting my rooks breathe.”
“Your rooks will taste the floor before they breathe.”
Clack.
Clack.
“Damn, this is intense.”
Clack.
“I play with my dad a lot.”
“Well, aren’t you a lucky son of a bitch.”
Clack.
The girls stopped playing with each other’s hands.
“Who’s winning?”
“No one’s winning.”
We answered them at the same time.
Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack.
Ridiculous silence.
“You know, it’s your turn.”
“Oh god, I thought it was yours.”
Clack.
Ocelot,
Clack.
Clack.
After a while he started looking towards Jasmine—you know, that sort of thing that happens in the first week where you can’t keep your eyes off each other. Or your hands. It really was harmless, except that it cost him in the long run; I never took my eyes off the board. And fortunately for me, my good man was able to keep his hands off his girlfriend long enough to accidentally move his queen directly into the path of my lying bishop.
Clack.
I let the silence suspend until he had realized what he had done.
“Oh, fudge. Oh, great.”
“You were really focused there, I could tell.”
“Well, just do it already.”
“Well, c’mon, you can take it back if you want.”
I knew that for his pride’s sake he wouldn’t ever take it back; his father had taught him the rules well.
“It’s fine, just… do it.”
Clack.
“And the Queen is mine.”
Not long after, the rest of the crew came stumbling through the door carrying thirty dollars worth of take-out, of which I ate two dollars worth and washed it down with an ice-cold Coke. I’ve always felt strange eating copious amounts of foreign food, because after a while it feels like it doesn’t belong to me, and that there’s a starving family wherever it came from that would appreciate it more than I ever could.
We were never all of us in the same room again. The girls sat in the bathroom, trading make-up and enjoying acting like they were more tipsy than they actually were. Ocelot must’ve been in his room, maybe making a phone call, or someone might’ve been with him. It was a nervous habit for me to try and keep tabs on where everyone was, in case I needed them rightaway, but I started to feel like a
(hand-motion for square)
so I made myself comfortable with the kitchen. It would have been a cramped little room if it hadn’t shared the whole space with the spacious living room, long dining table and enormous pool table which artificially split the two rooms. There was a sizeable island complete with bar stools, which had grown heavy with the weight of rice and noodles, and the fridge was packed solid with my little red cans. I sat on the counter, which was empty except for the necessary appliances: silver toaster, oak breadbox, and a jet black coffee maker which would be put to excellent use the following morning.
That was where I was for the next couple of hours, listening to Blood On The Tracks and pointing out significant lyrical moments to Aladdin and Jasmine, who I could tell wanted to be left alone but I didn’t care. A huge jar of pretzel sticks sat on the counter, so I started treating them like cigars as I walked back and forth playing chess with myself.
“This line, this one right here.”
We always did feel the same, we just saw it from a different point of view.
Big smiles from both of them.
The chess games quickly became boring, I knew after all what my opponent was thinking, or at least sort of, and I smoked so many pretzels that I eroded the inside of my bottom lip. The longer I stood there listening to Dylan’s pain, the more tangled up I felt inside, the more I began to ask questions I didn’t have any answers to.
“So, you guys,”
Their faces quickly snapped toward me.
“Want to hear a secret?”
It seems so unlikely now that I had only thought about her for a week at that point. It had been two years since I had a crush on anyone, I was in love far too long to remember the fluttery feeling of uncertainty. So when I woke up one day in late October, unable to get Miss Safari out of my mind, I got busy being born. Their responses were only what I had hoped for.
“This is so great, I can’t believe this. Are you going to tell her?”
“Wow, man, just wow.”
Thump-a-thump.
“I think so, yeah, maybe.”
“Eeeeeee!”
Thump-a-thump.
“Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”
Thump-a-thump.
“Well what the hell am I gonna say?”
“How do you feel about her?”
Thump-a-thump-a-thump.
“You know, I think I’m pretty crazy about her.”
“Well, then tell her that.”
“No, he can’t scare her off. Just be straight about it. Tell her that you like her and find out if she feels the same way.”
Thump-a-thump-a-thump.
“I haven’t done this since middle school.”
“And?”
“And it never ended well.”
“Then don’t think about it.”
Thump-a-thump-a-thump.
“Ho-kay.”
“So what are you going to say to her?”
“That… I really like her…”
Thump-a-thump.
“And that if she doesn’t like me…”
Thump-a-thump.
“Then that’s cool, I just thought she should know…”
Thump-a-thump.
“But then again if she does like me,”
Thump-a-thump-a-thump.
“Well then who knows what’ll happen.”
Thump-a-thump-a-thump-a-thump.
“There you go.”
“You guys, I think I’m going to have a fucking heart attack. Feel my heartbeat.”
“Oh god, you better get in there and just do it.”
“Yeah, before you explode.”
“Thanks, guys. Helpful. Here I go.”
Thump-a-thump-a-thump-a-thump.
It was a short walk to the room where I could hear everyone else talking. I fumbled with the door handle but opened it smoother than soy milk. I didn’t waste any time, I walked right up to her and stuck my nose in her flowery hair.
Thump-a-thump.
“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”
“Sure.”
And we walked a few more steps into the next room, which was no doubt Ocelot’s bedroom. There were clothes and knickknacks everywhere, that even if we wanted to sit on the floor it was made impossible. So we opted for his bed, where we sat in silence while I tried to collect my nerve and form these little traps I call sentences.
This is tonight,
Where in silence you shine
Brighter than the world who has
Softened dimmer than
The yellow aging light.
“So here’s the thing,”
Oh, she looked at me, she did.
Thump-a-thump-a-thump.
“For the past week, I think I’ve started to, um.. really like you.”
It sounded so lame.
“And I’m not sure how I feel about it, because, you know, it’s you,
Thump-a-thump-a-thump.
but I thought that maybe for once I would tell the girl before she found out herself. I mean, every time before this I wouldn’t try to keep it a secret but I wouldn’t say anything either, you know? ‘Cause I can’t keep a secret, in fact you probably already kind of knew…”
She smiled a bit and nodded.
Thump-a-thump-a-thump-a-thump.
“So, there you go, now I’ve said it and anything that you say will be completely fine with me, because it’s just a crush and I know it is, but I just thought I’d let you know that for the past week I’ve woken up every morning thinking about you and I can’t get you out of my head for the rest of the day.”
“Okay.”
“You saying more things would help.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right…”
“I’ll just uh, sit here feeling embarrassed.”
“Kaleb.”
Thump-a-thump-a-thump-a-thump-a-thump-a-thump.
“Yeah?”
“I really value our friendship…”
I nodded partially because I agreed and partially because there is nothing you can say in response to that. Everyone knows that friendship trumps romance. No one will ever be able to logically explain why friends ever get together, but it’s happened to me. It’s happened to Jasmine, it’s happened to Aladdin. But tonight it won’t be happening again. I knew that instantly.
“Of course.”
“Thank you, for telling me.”
“Of course…”
“I think it’s usually a lot better this way, instead of things getting awkward we can just be ourselves and I’ll try not to make anything too weird for you…”
Then she laughed that laugh I could never replicate.
“What’s so funny?
“I’m not wearing my contacts. You’re just a big fuzzy blob. I can barely see you.”
“I can see you."
And I did.
“So, do you think—”
Then Ocelot knocked on his own door and entered only a second after.
“Sorry guys, I kinda need my room.”
“Oh, no problem man.”
And we got off his bed and walked out the door and never talked about it again.
I never got a yes or no answer.
It’s 11 months later and I still haven’t gotten a yes or no answer.
The rest of the night was drawing poison from the wound. I went back to the illuminated kitchen to smoke a few dozen more cigars, pacing slowly to keep my cool. The love pigeons were in a much happier room. Aconcagua had fallen asleep on the couch, Miss Safari being soon to follow. I wandered over to my overnight bag and pulled out the one secret I had left at that point—Samuel.
Samuel was a gift from someone who couldn’t make me happy anymore. We were cleaning out her room, finding letters, notes, random pictures that proved that a history existed between us, no matter how deep we buried the hole on the beach. When it was time for me to go, I spotted a little stuffed dog sitting in the corner of her room. He was black with white and orange streaking his face and down his neck, and for reasons unknown, I picked him up and began to play with him. I didn’t leave the room without him. And when nights became hard, he was there when Konstantine wasn’t. Now I didn’t need Konstantine anymore but I was still stuck with the horrible habit of sleeping with a stuffed dog.
But I pulled him out not for myself. I wordlessly handed him to Miss Safari, gentle eyelids closed and cold hands buried beneath a pillow. I remember thinking as she took him in her arms,
“Well, if I can’t be with her tonight, at least Samuel can.”
Then Ocelot came in, half-asleep, and woke up Aconcagua, pulling lightly on her arm. Not anymore dreaming and still not seeing, she rose to meet his offer and followed him back to the room where I am unsure of everything.
So with Miss Safari laying across the couch with her feet thrown up in the air, Coffee Girl and I sat on the kitchen counter, sometimes in complete silence but mostly just whispering. About everything that happened to bug us, that didn’t feel right, about all the places we imagined ourselves to be but never ended up happening that way. I explained why 9/11 is too big of an event to be properly targeted as a conspiracy. I explained why Kurt Cobain never really killed himself. She did her absolute best to understand, which was all that I asked for, anyways.
“You know,”
“Yeah?”
“Nights like these, you just feel really alone.”
“Uh-huh. How then, shall we presume?”
It was
“I just can’t sleep now. Not knowing I’ll be that one sleeping alone.”
“That makes sense.”
“I think I just won’t sleep, ever again.”
“Come on now, kitty. Just rest your head.”
“Not unless you do.”
“I have work in an hour and a half.”
I had never been more impressed.
“You’re a fucking goddess. Well then I’ll stay up with you.”
But even as the words came out of my mouth, I found myself lowering down to the wooden floor, curling up beside one of the sturdy legs of the majestic pool table. I was a pathetic little boy, possibly, but only Coffee Girl was there to see me and really, anyone could be pathetic in her shadow so I made myself comfortable.
But she wouldn’t have any of me lying on the hard ground. She walked right up next to me.
“Way to be completely in my way.”
I grunted.
“Seriously, you… need to move. Just scooch over, kitty.”
She started gently pushing me towards the carpet, so I haphazardly rolled to the very closest edge of the carpet and thought my efforts satisfactory. Coffee Girl, however, had an agenda to make my smile as wide as humanly possible before allowing me to drift into a dreamless sleep.
“Seriously, still in my way. Move the fuck over.”
So without fighting the system, I rolled even farther away from the familiar kitchen and towards the couch where Miss Safari and Samuel were keeping each other warm. I rolled until I was so close to her that she could have rolled off the couch and found herself a luckier woman, but gravity wasn’t on my side that night. I was content anyways, to find myself at last so near to her, because it’s real tough to get close to Miss Safari, you know.
“Thanks for ruining my goddamn night, Molly Margaret.”
“You’re welcome.”
When I woke up she had gone to work at Caribou Coffee, and Aladdin had flown back home on his magic carpet, and Miss Safari must have woken and slipped into bed with Jasmine, so I really was the one who ended up sleeping alone that night.
I at least had Samuel in my arms.
—————————————
Seven months later, I found myself sitting on that bed once again, at the same undying hour, and had no choice but to write a poem for you, Miss Safari, April’s Angel, Princess of May Day: all those things we never knew you would become.
Yet when God finally wakes me,
I’ll stir from where we play all the more—
In the glorious folds of you before.
No comments:
Post a Comment