Ex Reflections…..Posted: June 28, 2011
i don’t have much to say at the moment as far as posting, so here’s my first short story. i wrote it back in Japan while i was still neck deep in heart-ache over Beth. contained within is all referring to actual women and scenarios (mostly about Beth). what is written here actually took place back in Novemeber 2005. i’ll only keep it up for a day or so. then it’ll be removed. so enjoy now, or don’t. i’d actually laugh at hearing it trashed. lol. note: it hasn’t been edited in 3-4 years. i’d prefer to leave it raw as to compare to if/how my writing has developed.
Morning. It had to be morning. Still asleep, but the haze of returning consciousness and dull orange canvas against his closed eyes told him it was morning. He thought to himself, “Do I get up?”. Thank God there wasn’t the blaring alarm pounding out to disrupt the sating cocoon of sleep. Arms flailing blindly for the pulsating contraption that works too well. “Do I even bother to look at the clock?” “Jesus, what time is it?” He pondered the first of many decisions to be made that morning, that day, that evening. He was warm. He was comfortable, and for a few minutes he dismissed the idea of leaving the elegant sanctuary he was bound to at 9:42 a.m.
The blanket was thrown open quickly and his feet hit the floor in a series of actions that were well rehearsed, automatic, pure instinct. It was slightly cooler without the Ralph Lauren comforter covering him. The synthetic down pillow catching saliva and his dreams. No turning back, he had committed himself to begin a new day. Very rare for him to dismiss sleep when it was still his for the taking. When he had a woman, he’d leave her to wake by her own devices. But most women wake when the man wakes. They sense when you are moving and nestle to you. Arm draped lazily over you like a spindly tripwire. One move and she knows you’ve gone. He’d move slowly out of bed and watch her lunge forward, bear-hugging his pillow and inhaling deeply. Even on the rare occasion a female friend would sleepover, and he didn’t have the heart to let her sleep on the sofa and they’d sleep beside him, they’d do this. But he was alone and none of this was an issue. So he jumped from bed quickly to get the day going.
He stood up, looked at the empty bed, “Oh mother, I can feel, the soil falling over my head….”.
He wasn’t sure why this song popped into his head, but it did. He walked into the living room and opened the door to the kitchen. It was noticeably cooler and his skin broke into goose-flesh. He thought for a second about his ex-girlfriend and how she’d know he was about to shower, and how she’d lazily join him. She’d walk into the bathroom with her head hanging, taking tiny steady steps to him. Her sleepy hair draping over her petit breasts. She’d step into the shower in front of him, taking in the fresh water. She’d slowly wake up and press into him, her naked body being covered by the hot water. Her hair would get matted down and her body looked stunning when drenched. He’d bathe her, pressing his thumbs into her shoulder-blades (which she loved), kissing her back softly, and massage the conditioner into her scalp. She’d go down on him. Not all the time, but often if she’d had enough sleep. And if he were up to it, he’d take her: then bathe her again.
Once in the bathroom he ran the hot and cold water to his liking. The silence in the house was deafening. He trudged over to the television, and turned it on to kill the quiet of the house. Then he walked to the refrigerator and when it opened the cold air sent a chill into him. His teeth chattered for a second as he grabbed the pitcher from the refrigerator. He took a long and deep draw of the water, trying to wash the disturbing taste of sleep and beer and nicotine from his mouth. As he returned to bathroom, the air was thick with warm steam; he undressed and stepped into the shower. He cracked the window to let a tiny bit of the cold autumn air into the shower and drain the steamy mist. The cold was a beautiful contrast to the hot water. He was comfortable and for a brief moment no other thoughts plagued him. He bathed slower than usual, sat down, and enjoyed the warm water. He wanted to savor the moment because few things brought him moments of calm like a long shower. There was nothing running through his sorted thoughts while showering. Life was on pause, autopilot, limbo. His friends and girlfriends always bugged him about the length of his showers. Once you find that thing that sates you; be it drugs, sex, God, you cling to it with your last breath. A long hot shower was his heroin. Said shower with a woman was next to heaven. He sat, and reveled in the nothing and the sound of the water falling to the linoleum.
There wasn’t much for him to do that day and it bothered him. He imagined She was there and she’d want to get lunch somewhere ridiculously out of the way at some place she’d read about in Whereyatnola.com. He’d just succumb to her choice from hunger and an odd sense of adventure from eating at a spot he’d never been. She knew he was territorial and she longed to break him of his predictability. She’d have a sense of victory knowing she’d introduced him to a new eatery. This never bothered him as much as she thought. Eating out was a religion to him, and a new restaurant was always a welcome distraction; reading the write up, the search, and finally the dining experience. But today: Vietnamese, Thai, and Chinese. There are few choices outside of the magic trinity. Japan wasn’t known for dining past the realm of Asian cuisine (at least not to him). McDonalds, and a few places in Tokyo offered American foods that he’d kill for. But it was too over-priced and not worth the train ride. $30-$50 round trip and $30-$40 per meal wasn’t his idea of casual dining unless, of course, he was going get laid. And that wasn’t happening in the near future. Not here.
Today, today, what to do with today? He hadn’t thought past lunch. Crawl before you walk. He was done showering and looked lazily with dread over the unkempt house. There were numerous messes that needed attention. But just as many times before, he simply looked at the mess. Knew if there were a girl she’d attempt to clean a bit. His girlfriends always cursed his messy home. They’d make gestures at straightening it up, but he’d always stop them. Stop them meaning only to talk them out of it. He knew where all his things were. If he needed matches, they were under the Dali book on the coffee table, keeping company with some faint traces of dust and other books. If he needed nail clippers, they were on the kitchen table, where it was impossible to have a meal without a major undertaking of moving items. So he’d redirect their attention, there were more pressing matters to get into. They would shrug it off. Call him impossible and let themselves be carted away to something more worthwhile.
The train station was a good fifteen minute walk. He wasn’t trying to stay cooped up in his house today. But what else was there to really do without spending money he didn’t want to spend. He checked his phone. No messages. Checked his e-mail; spams and 2 letters from far away friends sending correspondences of courtesy. Simone said nothing more than hello and that she and her husband were getting through money issues, but they’d be fine. Andras gave him the details of his case with the Louisiana State Board of Nursing concerning his DUI. He’d make it through. Wife split and he was free. Nothing else was of real concern after that. He knew Andras would weather well, he was too aware of the feeling of not being tied down and smiled at his friends newly found freedom. Andras was industrious, clever, and had too much charm to be held back. He knew his friend would recover without a scratch. So he responded to his letter with supportive words and prayers of fortune. Then it was time to get dressed.
Comfortable, worn, light blue jeans. A shirt purchased from a web-site he was a fan of. He sat back at the computer, flipping through channels on the television and scrolling porn sites. Delaying the inevitable leaving the house. He was going to jerk-off when the phone rang. He stood up and walked to the phones charger. It was Alex. Her partner in crime was out of country. Her best man friend and her weren’t talking. He was her next best option.
“What’s up girl?”. He spoke like he knew what she was going to say because he did know exactly what she was going to say.
“Nothing babe, Whatcha doing?” she replied in her girlish voice.
“Trying to whack me bag, thanks for keeping me from it.”
She giggled knowing his sense of base humor, “Sorry hon, you doing anything else?”
“Nope.” he said. “Was about to head out.” He said. “Hungry.”
“Perfect,” she said. “Where we eating?”
He thought for a moment. Do we meet up? Do I play the “I want to be alone shtick?” Shit, why not.
“What you feel like sweetie?” he asked.
She made the humming sound that meant she was thinking. “I want Yakiniku, or sushi.” There was a drawn out accent on the “I want”.
“I’m open for anything sweetie, where’s your hubby?”
“ASSHOLE!!!” , she said this quickly, like she was waiting for that type of comment.
He just laughed and said, “Where we off to?” He knew her mentality; he’d play into her game more so because she was so capable giving the type of feminine attention that warmed him. But after a certain amount of time being around her, he’d have to distance himself away from her for a few days. She was usually too caught up in her own world to be as good a friend as she claimed to be.
“Ok, meet me at the main gate.”
“Nope,” he said, “tell me where we’re eating and I’ll meet you there”. He had no intention of walking out of his way to find her; too time consuming. Besides, he wanted time alone to walk, think, and listen to some music.
They agreed to meet at the designated location. He’d be there first of course, knowing she’d bump into a few guys trying to buy some of her time. Inquiring about the new girl that worked with them and whether or not this new vixen would be willing to be lulled into their company. This wouldn’t happen of course and he snickered at the thought of it. More likely, her boyfriend would e-mail her every few minutes, since he was at work. Obsessively keeping track of her where-about’s and company. Quite an annoying thing to be eating with someone who has to check their phone every three minutes. Most of the conversation would end up being directed back at her relationship and by the end of the meal he would be ready to head out alone.
He knew it was cool out and he was looking for a jacket. He didn’t want to rush because he knew how slow she was at getting ready. He looked forward to seeing her since she was so receptive to his touchiness. She was touchy, and she seemed to gel with his mannerisms. It’s amazing how far touch can get you sometimes.
He walked about the house in anticipation. He knew he had somewhere to be. He didn’t really know what he wanted to do, but he was committed. His mind wandered to a girl he was crushing on and what she was doing. She had an amazing smile and eyes that held his attention for the moment. She had amazing lips that she glossed often. He ordinarily disliked shiny lips on women. Matted color, not shiny. The thought of the lipstick residue on his mouth made him not want to kiss, and he loved kissing. But for some reason he didn’t mind her overly glossed lips. When you ache for someone little details like that are often overlooked. But there was an issue, there was always an issue with the women he adored. She seemed to like him, but she was seeing someone. She gave all the signs of attraction to him. But she was “with” someone. He was confused by the fact that she’d played into his world; knowing he was interested, but seeing a possessive man not attune to her persona. He remembered the time they talked for close to an hour, sitting close. They were telling stories about growing up and family idiosyncrasies, and difference between the New York and New Orleans. He made her laugh and she’d touch his arm lightly, and beam an amazing smile. She’d agreed to see him, gave her number……………said yes. Possibly, he as just a safety net in the wings in case her current beau didn’t pan out. He thought about that knowing he had to meet his pseudo-date. All the while wondering what Miss not-to-be was doing. He replaced the thought of showering with his ex with her. Waking up lazily next to her, kissing her on his sofa as they watched movies. All this made him pause in the living room thinking of scenarios with her. Best not to dwell on it. It was time to move on and get something to eat.
He climbed downstairs into the room he never used. Grabbed his coat and opened the door to start his day.
He was greeted by soft rain falling into the Japanese alley. He was stunned, frozen, perplexed.
Japanese rain is like morphine chased with Nyquil. He stared blankly at the outside world.
“Oh mother, I can feel, the soil falling over my head……..”
He turned around and threw his coat on the downstairs couch, adding to the rooms clutter.
He walked upstairs and turned on the television that buzzed with static electricity making the hair on his arms stand up. Thought of his crush. Thought of his lunch date. He sat down on the worn leather of the Japanese floor couch. He was going to call his date, but figured, “why bother?” He flipped through the channels and thought about what to cook. No point calling her. She’d figure it out. Besides, it wasn’t as if they were fucking or anything.
for the record…….this was what chased me out of new orleans and forced me to take to sea for 3 years in Japan.