He had gotten up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, which for him was dawn. Out of habit, he pulled the dingy plastic curtains aside to make sure the rental car was still there.
There was a lonely figure on the picnic table in the distant green area across the parking lot. It might have been Her. Heck, it might have been a man from that distance. He stumbled back into bed, proud of himself for accomplishing his mission while still keeping one eye squeezed shut.
A few hours later, he tried calling her. After the second time, he knocked on her door. It pushed open. At first he thought the room was empty, but then he saw the top of her head, peeking out between the nightstand and the bed. She was on the floor, fully dressed in jeans and stuff from the night before.
"He's gone. He's just gone, " she said.
She looked drunk, or stunned, or like a child.
"That Guy?"
"They couldn't identify him. He was so messed up, blood and stuff everytwhere. He had left his backpack by the side, that book that I got him in New Haven, remember the poetry? It was in there. They called me,"
"I'm so sorry. "
"Y'know, ages ago, I think I used to think I saw you in him. Or him in you. Something about the way he wore his hair, and this innocent look, y'know. You somehow became so much yourself, and when he was left behind, which was good-I don't regret that- he just turned into this vague memory of himself. All these things I never knew about him. I'm amazed by how little I don't remember."
He sat on the bed, commiserating. He wanted to hug her, to rub her back. But she didn't make a move to get up. He let her talk. He lay on the bed, with his hands behind his head. He thought about all the morning-after-suicides that he had lived through in his life. The childhood picture of him and his best friend, eating cheese sandwiches, his friend smiling like the way he remembered.
The door was left open on the Northern California morning, they stared out, watching the occasional car pass.
"Sometimes I think about how scary it is, how everyone is going to die. I wonder what would happen, I mean how we'd react to everything differently, if instead of measuring our lives by our age, by how long we'd been here. If we could turn to each other and ask, "How much time you got left?" And some people would say, "40 years-I can totally drive you to the airport and get stuck in traffic!" and others would say, "2 years, 5 months and 4 days, I've stopped eating and sleeping"
He laughed. She was still trying to entertain him. She was conscious of holding back, of not taking up too much of his listening time. He'd listen to everything she had to say. For as long as it took.
"Dammit! I knew there was something fishy about him coming to visit me in Idaho. Who goes to Idaho? He had driven from . . . SHIT!! Michigan, he was telling everyone goodbye! Dammit! Dammit Dammit!!!!!"
"Regrets are useless. He did what he wanted to. You couldn't have stopped him"
"I know. I've been mourning him ever since I met him. He was never THERE. Never THERE there. Always on emails, just out of reach. That whole night, I kept expecting something. I kept wanting to reach out and touch him. He wouldn't even let me hug him. Do you think maybe he was already a ghost?"
"He's been a ghost this whole time"
"It's not the man, it's the ghost."
"That sounds like a song,"
"Shit, we don't have a show tonight, do we? I don't want to hear music. I can't imagine ever singing again."
She rubbed her eyes. He looked at the tips of his loafers, the ones that needed a trim to make them not look so cheap.
"No worries, kid. The only thing you have to do is load yourself into the car, I'll do the rest."
"Ok. Thanks. Can we just stay here a little longer? Everything has turned to rubber."
He looked at her, knowing she was well past 40, knowing there was nothing worse than this. He nodded. She nodded. He turned away so she wouldn't see the tears in his eyes.
*The Book of Love by the Magnetic Fields (1990)
There was a lonely figure on the picnic table in the distant green area across the parking lot. It might have been Her. Heck, it might have been a man from that distance. He stumbled back into bed, proud of himself for accomplishing his mission while still keeping one eye squeezed shut.
A few hours later, he tried calling her. After the second time, he knocked on her door. It pushed open. At first he thought the room was empty, but then he saw the top of her head, peeking out between the nightstand and the bed. She was on the floor, fully dressed in jeans and stuff from the night before.
"He's gone. He's just gone, " she said.
She looked drunk, or stunned, or like a child.
"That Guy?"
"They couldn't identify him. He was so messed up, blood and stuff everytwhere. He had left his backpack by the side, that book that I got him in New Haven, remember the poetry? It was in there. They called me,"
"I'm so sorry. "
"Y'know, ages ago, I think I used to think I saw you in him. Or him in you. Something about the way he wore his hair, and this innocent look, y'know. You somehow became so much yourself, and when he was left behind, which was good-I don't regret that- he just turned into this vague memory of himself. All these things I never knew about him. I'm amazed by how little I don't remember."
He sat on the bed, commiserating. He wanted to hug her, to rub her back. But she didn't make a move to get up. He let her talk. He lay on the bed, with his hands behind his head. He thought about all the morning-after-suicides that he had lived through in his life. The childhood picture of him and his best friend, eating cheese sandwiches, his friend smiling like the way he remembered.
The door was left open on the Northern California morning, they stared out, watching the occasional car pass.
"Sometimes I think about how scary it is, how everyone is going to die. I wonder what would happen, I mean how we'd react to everything differently, if instead of measuring our lives by our age, by how long we'd been here. If we could turn to each other and ask, "How much time you got left?" And some people would say, "40 years-I can totally drive you to the airport and get stuck in traffic!" and others would say, "2 years, 5 months and 4 days, I've stopped eating and sleeping"
He laughed. She was still trying to entertain him. She was conscious of holding back, of not taking up too much of his listening time. He'd listen to everything she had to say. For as long as it took.
"Dammit! I knew there was something fishy about him coming to visit me in Idaho. Who goes to Idaho? He had driven from . . . SHIT!! Michigan, he was telling everyone goodbye! Dammit! Dammit Dammit!!!!!"
"Regrets are useless. He did what he wanted to. You couldn't have stopped him"
"I know. I've been mourning him ever since I met him. He was never THERE. Never THERE there. Always on emails, just out of reach. That whole night, I kept expecting something. I kept wanting to reach out and touch him. He wouldn't even let me hug him. Do you think maybe he was already a ghost?"
"He's been a ghost this whole time"
"It's not the man, it's the ghost."
"That sounds like a song,"
"Shit, we don't have a show tonight, do we? I don't want to hear music. I can't imagine ever singing again."
She rubbed her eyes. He looked at the tips of his loafers, the ones that needed a trim to make them not look so cheap.
"No worries, kid. The only thing you have to do is load yourself into the car, I'll do the rest."
"Ok. Thanks. Can we just stay here a little longer? Everything has turned to rubber."
He looked at her, knowing she was well past 40, knowing there was nothing worse than this. He nodded. She nodded. He turned away so she wouldn't see the tears in his eyes.
*The Book of Love by the Magnetic Fields (1990)
No comments:
Post a Comment