Hold On To the Ache If It’s All You’ve Got

 

He plays back the message on his voicemail for the fifth time just to hear the sound of her voice. And then deletes it, deletes all of them. This has to stop. He has to tell her, has to put an end to this. It’s tearing him up inside.

“No fool like an old fool,” he mutters. He tosses his phone onto the bed and pours another three fingers of scotch into his glass, drinks it down and winces at the burn. Tears well up in his eyes, but he fights them back, pretends it’s just the sharpness of the alcohol.

She can’t call him anymore. He’ll have to tell her. Naturally, she’ll be hurt, she’ll be angry at him. Because she has no idea how deep his feelings run. He’s kept them in a straightjacket  for months now. But he can’t anymore. Longing has grown like a tumor, threatening to break through his breastbone, spill out through his rib-cage. He’s not sure what kind of monster might be unleashed.

He stares at the phone on his bed and imagines her at home, on her own bed. Young, beautiful. Probably sleeping, since she likes to get up early and run before breakfast. And on the bed beside her, her husband. Also young, handsome, fit. An athlete. He unconsciously rubs a hand across his soft middle, pushes aside a mental image of the two of them making love.

He met the husband once, ran into them together at an ice cream place in town last summer, back when he only admired her loveliness from a distance. If only it had remained so. But she worked at the library, and he spent a lot of time there. When she found that he was a writer, she began talking to him on a regular basis. She had aspirations as a writer, and he agreed to look at her work. It was unpolished, but surprisingly good. It seemed they had plenty to talk about in spite of vast differences.

When was it he became aware that he was in love with her?

There were times when she sat across the table from him at the cafe in town, and she flirted. It was playful, not at all serious, but her eyes melted him.

She took him into her confidence. She would tell him about an argument she had with her husband, or about how her mother favored her older brother. She would sometimes cry and apologize for it after. But it cut him to his core. He wanted to surround her with love and protect her from even the smallest of sufferings. He did not let on how he felt, but took extra care in his appearance. He bought a small bottle of her perfume, kept it in his desk and would sometimes pull it out and breathe in her scent. And he looked forward to her calls.

She called him whenever she needed something. An opinion on her writing. Sympathy when her mother was cruel. A shoulder to cry on when she and her husband were not getting along. And he was glad to be there for her. It made him feel useful, made him happy to be needed by her.

But when things went well for her, she was absent. He’d go a week without hearing from her, and he couldn’t sleep, had no appetite, thought of her obsessively. He would come to a place where he could say to himself, ‘This is not healthy. She will never be yours. You are an old fool and you need to keep your perspective.” And then she would call him.

“I need to talk to you,” she’d say.

“Yes. I’m here.” Always there.

She would talk about the other people in her life, her other friends, her mother, her husband. And he would realize that he was just on the periphery of her life, not really a part of it.

He takes the glass into the kitchen, puts it in the sink, although he feels like hurling it at the wall. “Clean break,” he mutters, feeling the scotch. And he gazes into the refrigerator for the third or fourth time that evening, but still nothing looks worth eating. And eating alone seems unbearable right now anyway.

When he goes to his bathroom to shower, he almost picks up the phone and takes it with him, but turning away from her has to begin somewhere, he decides.  So he leaves it on the bed.

He prefers his showers hot, but this one is barely tepid. He undresses, steps into the spray. His skin tightens on contact with the water. It strikes like a shower of icy needle-pricks, like a penance, and he wants to cry, but the scotch has stolen his tears; wants to masturbate, thinking of her beautiful face, her trim, young body in the sundress he saw her in last week when they met in town, but the alcohol and agony make it impossible. So he washes, turns off the water and gets out, towels off.

In the mirror he sees a middle-aged man, and the sight is a shock. It has been ever since he fell in love with her. Years fall from him with every flirtation, with every loving comment, every time she rests her hand on his from across the table at the cafe. But only from his heart. His heart feels young, virile. But his face in the mirror is creased and worn, his hair graying. “Old fool,” he says to his reflection. “You fucking old fool.” And finally the tears do come, making him feel even more foolish. He turns his back on himself in disgust, pulls on boxers and a clean t-shirt, heads back to the empty glass and half-empty bottle to pour another drink.

The phone rings and his heart thumps against his ribs like that of an adolescent. From where he stands by the bed he can see it’s her. It rings twice…three times. His hand is shaking as he picks it up, thumbs the talk button. “Hey, what’s up?” he asks, hoping his voice sounds steadier than he feels.

She sounds like she’s been crying.

He sits down on the bed. “No…no, I’m not busy. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

 

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You Make Me Want

Not a poem, really…just a rhyme.


I’ve shown you my soul,
Who I really am.
Do you know what I feel?
Do you give a damn?
Do you think that I’m frontin’?
Well maybe I am.
Might not have balls enough
For playing this jam,
Just know that you make me
Feel more like a man.

I just want to feel
Your skin against mine,
Know how it feels for
Our limbs to entwine,
Don’t know what you think,
But I think it’d feel fine.
You want the same thing?
Just give me a sign.
If I’m overstepping,
Tell me, keep me in line.

We got oceans and decades
And people between us,
No need to worry whether
Somebody seen us,
But I want to be Mars,
Want you to be Venus;
Want to talk to you dirty,
You like it obscene, yes?
Want to feel myself in you
And not just to dream this,

I know this is fantasy,
I’m alright with that.
It don’t have to go both ways,
It’s not tit-for-tat;
I’ll run hot or cold;
You’ll be my thermostat,
Since I can’t be your man
I’ll be your doormat.
I’ll take what I can,
And stay where I’m at.

 

 

 

 

The Dog That Bit You

       A theme old as dirt…


        The day had started so right. How could it have gone wrong so quickly?
        Danny’s eyes teared, only in part from the scalding mouthful of burnt coffee, black and bitter as his mood had become.
        Susan put the empty coffee pot in the sink. “You’re angry, and it’s my fault. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let things take the direction they did last night. I don’t want to hurt you.”
        He forced a weak smile. Too late. “No, I’m fine.”
        “You sure? I mean, it would be uncomfortable. With us being neighbors. You know.”
        “Yeah, sure.”
        “Okay, then.” She smiled, gave him a peck on the cheek. “Friends?”
        Danny bit down on his burned tongue. He wanted to shove Susan onto the kitchen floor and make love to her again, wanted to throw a tantrum, like a toddler who’d just been told he couldn’t have that thing he wanted in the checkout line. He felt his face reddening, realized he needed to leave now. “Uh, yeah.” He patted his pockets to locate his keys and smokes, flashed an insincere smile and went for the door. “I’ll see you ’round.” She didn’t even see him out.
        Downstairs in his apartment he popped a couple of Paxil so as not to vomit his breakfast of coffee and crushing humiliation. And he lay on his bed, still in jacket and boots, smoked a cigarette and stared hard at the ceiling. His eyes burned holes through it, into Susan’s bedroom, where last night he’d made love to her as he’d never made love in his life.
        Involuntary tears spilled from his eyes. He sat up and crushed out his smoke. He had to get out, find something to distract him, to loosen this knot in the pit of his stomach. He hauled himself to his feet and made his way to the door to leave the apartment.
        Just outside his door, a girl stood with one hand on her shoulder bag, the other poised to knock. She had chin-length blond hair sticking out from beneath a knit cap, a denim jacket, and the face of a child lost at a mall, a barely-concealed panic.
        “Whaddya want?” he snarled. He pulled the door shut behind him, and she backed up a couple feet to give him space. Smart girl. He had no desire to interact with females. Not today, maybe never.
        “Um…can you tell me if Jacob Sanders lives here?” The words came out shaky.
        Danny sucked in a long breath, let it out slow. “Yeah. He’s my roomie. He’s spending a few weeks in the Hamptons with his fiancée.” It seemed to take a moment for his words to register. “And no, I don’t have his number,” he added. He shrugged, walked past her and started down the stairs.
        “Bastard,” he heard her mutter.
        Danny felt the word like a light blow to the chest. He stopped. “Beg pardon?”
        She stepped up to the railing, looked down at him. “Oh, not you. Him. Jacob. But maybe you’re a bastard, too. Most men are, from what I’ve heard.”
        Any other day, Danny would have laughed, blown it off and gone on his way. But there was a nest of vipers twisting in his rib-cage, just waiting to spit venom. He spun on a heel and stomped back up the stairs glaring daggers. The blonde’s face went white and she retreated a few steps, looking ready to scream for help. He jabbed a finger in her direction. “Listen, you…I don’t know what the deal was between you and Jake, maybe he was a bastard, maybe you got what you had coming to you. Think you need balls to be a dick?  I’ve had high heels ground into my heart more times than I care to remember. I been baited and bludgeoned senseless by beautiful bitches who had nothing in mind for me but a paid dinner and maybe a good fucking. Next day I’m as done as last night’s condom. I’ve bitten into so much fruit that looked sweet and tasted like vinegar, I figure I must have some kinda invisible tattoo that says ‘sucker’ on my forehead that women can see a mile away. So sorry, you won’t find a whole lotta sympathy here.”
        She stared at him, clutching her bag to her chest, eyes brimming.
        Danny rolled his shoulders to let go of the tension in his neck and traps. He felt tight as a hanged man’s noose. “Look, I’m sorry. Just…not a good morning.”
        “No,” she agreed. Water spilled down her cheeks. “It’s not. I’m sorry, too.”
        He snorted. “For what?”
        “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt a lot.”
        Danny’s mind jumped back to his first heartbreak. Cecilia, seven years ago, he was fifteen. Man, that one still stung. He thought at the time that he’d never get over it, that he’d never fall hard for a girl again. But he had. Again and again.
        The girl swiped at the tears and ran the back of her hand under her nose, sniffled.              Geez, she looked pretty young. “How old are you?”
        “Eighteen. Why do you want to know?”
        He felt a sympathetic smile pull at the corners of his mouth despite the pain in his chest. “You know you got a lot more shit like this ahead of you, right?”
        “I hope not.”
        “It always hurts, but you get over it quicker as time goes on.” He said the words before even considering whether they were true. He thought maybe they were.
        “Yeah?”
        “Yeah. I think so.”
        A door closed upstairs. The clack of boot heels on laminate floors, and then down the stairs. Susan. Danny could feel his pulse in his ears. Susan glanced at him, then at the girl and stopped in her tracks for just a second. Danny noted the quick, forced smile, the piercing look she gave this girl. She cleared her throat as she passed between them. “Good morning,” she said, and went down the stairs. Her eyes rose for one more furtive glance.
        Danny took a deep breath and let it out. He assessed his mental state. He felt a little shaky, but not too bad.
        The girl watched Susan for a moment, then turned to Danny. Her eyes fired a question at him. He ignored it.
        “What’s your name?” he asked.
        “Christine. Tina.”
        “Tina. Whatcha gonna do now?”
        “I don’t really know…I’d planned to…” She looked like she might start crying again.
        “I mean, Jacob’s history, right? You’re not gonna waste your time trying to hunt him down, right? Because it wouldn’t be worth the trouble. You got taken in.” Tina threw an angry glance at him. Danny shrugged. “Right? I mean, you’re not alone. I know something about that.”
        Hint of a smile. Tina looked at him from beneath long lashes. “That one? The one who just passed?”
        Danny rubbed his nose, thought a moment about how much he should admit to. What the hell. She’s nobody to me. “Among others. Like I said, I don’t seem to catch on really quick. I’m not a moron, but I’m a little–I dunno, a little–”
        “Gullible?”
        “Nah.”
        “Obtuse?”
        “That mean thick-headed?”
        “Uh-huh.” She smiled.
        It was a nice smile. Danny noticed she had a few freckles on her nose. And she was smart, too. “Yeah, I’m a little obtuse.”
        “And I’m an ingenue.”
        Danny smiled back, decided not to ask what that was. “I was just about to go grab some breakfast. My fridge is empty. Could I…you wanna…” Blue eyes locked onto his, waited for him to finish. “You hungry? You wanna go grab a breakfast or cup of coffee somewhere?”

 

        Shit.
        Danny turned his head on the pillow to look at Tina, napping beside him. He carefully pushed back the bed cover and sat up, put his feet on the floor, reached for his cigarettes on the nightstand. Damn, that had moved quick. Probably because she was feeling shitty and insecure, having just found out about Jacob. Danny himself was feeling a lot better than he had this morning. The saying, “the hair of the dog that bit you,” came to mind.
        He hadn’t had to do much. Buy her breakfast. Listen to her talk. Nod and smile while he wondered whether she wore bikinis or a thong, what her tits looked like. What had gone on between her and Jake. He didn’t ask.
        He lit a cigarette and smiled. Turned out they were pretty nice tits. But not exactly worth the trouble of putting up with her. She was sort of annoying. Talked too much about too many things he had no interest in. Her family. Her art studies. Her ex-boyfriends.
        Danny glanced back over his shoulder at her, then at his watch. Half past five. He thought about heading downtown, grabbing some pizza and then hitting a club or two. It was Saturday evening, after all. But this chick in his bed…damn. How did Susan do it? Oh yeah: “I have a very full agenda today, so if you wouldn’t mind getting your things together…I need to get out of here in a little while.”
        He he’d managed to keep it together in front of Susan, but he bet Tina wouldn’t. He thought about leaving a note and telling her to lock the door behind her when she left, but then worried that she might trash the place. She seemed immature enough for that.
        He sighed. Then he twisted around and grabbed her shoulder, shook it a little. “Yo, Tina…I need to get out of here in a bit. Think you could get dressed now?”
        She looked at him, sleepy, confused.
        Shit. He’d have to lie to get her to leave without a scene. “I’m supposed to hook up with some friends this evening. I…we’re helping one of our buddies move.” Okay, that didn’t sound too bad for being off the cuff.
        She smiled, twirled a lock of hair between her fingers. “I could hang out here…wait for you. Be here when you get back. I could pick up some things…cook dinner. You know, to pay you back for breakfast this morning.”
        Danny felt a panicky rush. No. No, he couldn’t let her into his life just to save her feelings. Jacob was a player, had this shit down. So did Susan. He could do this.
        He shook his head. “No, you can’t.” Look her in the eye, man. You got this. “Look, Tina, today was real nice, and I had a great time, but that’s what it was. We both kinda needed to be with somebody, and found each other for a day, y’know? I shouldn’ta let things go as far as they did. Sorry about that.”
        The tears he expected, but her face reddened. With anger. “You bastard,” she said, and bit her lip, tossed the covers back, got out of bed. “So that’s how it is.” She plucked a pair of pink bikini panties from the floor and pulled them on. “Just one more bastard in a long line of bastards. This is what I’m supposed to get used to? I don’t think so.”
        “I’m sorry,” Danny said. He was. Not for trying to brush her off, not for trying to lie to her. Sorry he couldn’t get her out of his apartment without a scene.
        She yanked her jeans up and finger-combed her hair back from her face. “So Susan fucks you over, and you get back at her by fucking me over? Oh, you’re a real prize, just like Jacob.”
        Danny stood frozen, the ash on his cigarette growing long. He almost didn’t recognize her as the same girl who stood in front of his door this morning, pale and teary-eyed. Her face was livid, her jaw set like a steel trap as she glared at him. Any features he’d found attractive in her had fled. She snatched her bag from the floor, rummaged through it and pulled out a handkerchief.
        Who the hell still uses handkerchiefs?
        It was wrapped around a .22. She pointed it at him. “I was hoping to meet Jacob here this morning, but I don’t think he’ll mind if you take a message.”

Encounters

I was supposed to quit you. Before you kill me, they said. But it’s a cold world and you’re a warm blanket. You’re a beehive in an old, dead tree. If there’s anything buzzing in me, anything sweet, it’s you.

I want you.

Colorless days I spent dreaming of dozing in your velvet embrace. And now my heart pounds against my ribs, a caged bird begging release.

I know you’re dangerous, but I can’t seem to get by without you. And so here we are again, you and I, another secret rendezvous, another encounter. The world’s grown small–just the two of us.

An alley beside a church, the familiar sour reek of garbage and wet-pavement must. I kneel behind a dumpster and, oh sweet Jesus, I draw you from my pocket, little white packet full of promises.

My need is a hunger, a bone-deep pain.

My hands tremble, drawing Love into a shiny new sharp. Bound vein stands proud, waiting. Sweet stabbing sensation, push the plunger and pull off the cord, tied tight around my arm. And waiting, breath held back, for the magic moment, the rush, the nod, the slip into sweet nirvana.

I’ve missed you.

Little wet kisses bless my face. I struggle to open my eyes and oh God everything is beautiful. Raindrops shoot past the streetlight like falling stars and dark oil rainbows swirl on the webbed asphalt. I am wrapped in a warm Universe, and the Universe loves me.

Jesus loves you.

Rain soaks my clothing, and the damp fabric feels like a hug. I drift weightless from alley to sidewalk and look up at the plum-colored city sky. I turn, see a row of angels and saints gazing down at me, and love emanates from their concrete chests, acceptance from their blank eyes. They whisper the gates of Paradise are open, and I have wings to ascend. Warm welcome glows from kaleidoscope windows.

From the vestibule, I peer through glass to the shimmering nave. The priest and pair of matching altar boys–like plump black-and-white pigeons–offer Mass for a handful of faithful, heads bent, gray as ash beneath the gilt of Heaven. Above the towering altar, the Spirit of God spreads its wings and dives straight down to earth to kiss it, penetrate it, make it fertile, fill it with Life.

I can feel it; you are buzzing inside of me and I feel alive.

I go in, take care to be silent, slip into the nearest pew. Across the aisle slumps an old woman in clothing layered like leaves of old newspaper, kerchief knotted beneath her jaw, a jumble of bags around her legs. She looks at me and nods, smiling. In this place we are kin, we are God’s fruitfulness. I smile back.

Sweet scent of incense and candle wax hang in the air. As a child I thought Heaven smelled like this. Here is Heaven’s embassy on earth, here He waits, stealth and silent God, to be consumed, body, blood, soul and divinity.

I watch the motions of the priest, and the soft edges of things sharpen and come into focus. I become aware of my limbs again, aware that my wet clothing is cold and my eyes are burning.

Bells ring alerting angels and men that God is with us, and the priest holds Him aloft.

***

I remember a time in my childhood, before I had ever tasted the dry, crisp, blandness of God, when I knelt in a pew and watched bread become flesh.

“Look,” I said to my mother, wide-eyed, my breath stolen from me. “It’s Jesus.”
“Hush, child,” she whispered back. “This is the holiest part of the Mass.”
I nodded, stared at God-Made-Man suspended between Heaven and earth.
“Hello, Jesus,” I greeted Him. And He smiled back at me.

***

Tears course down my cheeks and my nose runs. The old woman makes noise, rifling through her bags. She pulls out a crocheted afghan, garish colors in cheap acrylic, and limps across the aisle in black galoshes.

The small congregation, dutifully queued, makes it’s way to the priest, who doles out God to open hands and open mouths.

The old woman drapes the afghan around my shoulders and smiles, pats my back. But I don’t know her anymore, and God’s fruit rots on the vine.

Incendiary

Bourbon, beer, rap & self-loathing…

This viper’s nest
Inside my chest
Can’t be contained
By bone and flesh;
The white-hot flame
Can’t be contained;
Can’t hold the pain
Within this frame.
If I let go and
Let my soul
Overload, overflow,
I’m afraid that
All this rage
Might spring its cage
And I’ll explode.
There’s part of me
That wants to blow,
At the end of my rope,
Just want to let go,
Just don’t know
Why I hang on,
When strength is gone;
This life’s too long.

The Filling of Empty Spaces

Sean stood in the scalding spray, wishing the hot water could wash away the crap inside of him as well as the reek of sweat and sex. No, he thought. For that I’ll need vodka. Maybe check the medicine cabinet, see if she’s got anything good. The buzz he’d had going when she’d picked him up at the club was ancient history.

He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. A thick, pink, Turkish towel had been left on the vanity for him. He tossed it over his head to dry his hair, toweled off his body and let it fall to the floor. He leaned into the mirror, finger-combed his dark hair.

There was a tentative knock at the door and it opened. Sean’s skin tightened at the air-conditioned draft, his junk retreating like a turtle into its shell. The old lady, in a silky, flowered dressing gown, held his clothes in a tidy pile. Raccoon smudges of mascara encircled her dewy eyes. She smiled a shy-schoolgirl kind of smile in spite of the fact that she was twice his age and then some. “Your things,” she said, holding out the pile.

“Thanks.” He took it and dropped it on the vanity, grabbed his boxers off the top and climbed into them without looking at her.

She made no move to leave, and it wasn’t his place to ask her to, but he wished she would.

“You really are a very handsome young man.”

Please…please go away. “Thanks.”

“Would you like something to eat? Are you hungry?”

He pulled up his jeans, shook his head. He tried to smile, but couldn’t make it work. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“Oh dear, I’m a mess,” she said. Sean looked up. She was gazing at herself in the bathroom mirror. She reached for a tissue, wet it on the tip of her tongue and wiped beneath her eyes. She saw Sean looking at her and it seemed she might tear up again. She fought it with another forced smile. “I was very pretty once. Not beautiful, but nice enough to catch a wealthy husband. A good husband.”

Sean pulled on his t-shirt and tried to even his breathing. “Um…I gotta go.” He sat on the closed toilet and stuck his feet into the deck shoes, then stood.

“Of course. Let me call a cab for you.”

She sat on the barely rumpled bed and picked up the phone. As she gave the dispatcher her address, phone tucked between ear and shoulder, she replaced her wedding band on her ring finger. When she’d taken it off, before she’d even undressed, Sean had thought it hysterically funny. Husband’s been worm food for five fuckin’ years…Now it made his chest hurt to think about it.

She pulled open the nightstand drawer, took out an envelope. From it, she counted out five hundred-dollar bills. She replaced the envelope, stood and held out the money to him. “Here you are, Sean. Thank you.”

Despite the air-conditioner blowing hard enough to move the heavy drapes, Sean was sweating. “Um, you know, two would be fine.”

“No, you said five hundred, and I agreed. Take it. I’m sure you could use it.”

Sure. More booze. More dope. “I dunno, I–”

She took his hand, pressed the folded bills into his palm. “Hush.”

Minutes later, a cab pulled into the driveway beside her parked Jaguar. She walked Sean to the door. “Forgive me for not seeing you out.” She smoothed her penny-red salon job. “I don’t look fit to go outside.”

He thought it would have been a nice gesture if he bent to kiss her forehead, told her she looked just fine, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

 

“Five hundred dollars!” Raul exclaimed. “Five. Hundred. Fucking. Dollars. Drinks are on my man Sean tonight!”

Gregory laughed. “What did she want you to do for it? She was old, right? You have to eat her? Was she all shriveled up?”

Sean felt his blood rise. “Fuck you both.” Straight sex. That’s all he’d done. Missionary position. And she’d wanted him to hold her. “She was just lonely, man.” The laughter died to a few chuckles. She’d wept when he slipped into her, and he thought maybe he hurt her, but she said no. She cried quietly the whole time, and then clung to him long afterward.

Fuck the money. It wasn’t worth it. He’d rather have two dozen casual meet-ups for a Jackson apiece than have to do this again. “Tell you what,” Sean said. “I ain’t doing it again.”

Jacob, stretched out on the sofa with a spliff, craned his neck to look at Sean and smiled. “Ah…so you do have a soul, Sean. Afraid you might find your humanity and lose your living, huh?”

Sean’s face warmed. “I didn’t get into this to be somebody’s therapist. I just want to make a buck, y’know?

He could still feel her hands holding onto his arms, still hear her sobbing quietly into his shoulder. It was what made him resolve to never love anyone, to never grow old.