I’m sitting in my condo on a rainy Saturday in Atlanta. Plans of running errands, filing papers and doing laundry forgotten like the quote I heard the other day and really tried to remember. I love that it’s raining. I let the downpour bring a wave of relief now that I have an excuse other than laziness.
Because it goes with my gloomy mood, I turn on depressing music. The acoustic guitar slides down my ears like a shot of whisky – burning at first then numbing. I sit all the way through the song that Chris used to love and said reminded him of me. I imagine it still does. Good songs are unforgiving like that. I don’t cry this time.
I feel the overwhelming need to write. Realizing that I will never write a soul-wrenching piece like my friend Melissa whose words make a friend she hasn’t spoken to in years feel as though only a bottle of wine and small bistro table sit between them. Realizing that my writing will never be as humor-filled as Kassia’s whose astute observations coupled with her keen wit make her words linger in your mind for years after you’ve had the privilege of encountering them.
I write because the sadness has filled every nook and cranny of my soul and has nowhere else to go. It pours onto the page – spilt Merlot on white carpet. I write because the loneliness, so physically painful, makes saliva fill my throat. The words stare back – the non-judgmental expression of a friend that has heard it all before and knows that it is best to sit and listen.
I stare at the clock half relieved, half annoyed that I only have 13 minutes to wallow in the melancholy – the promise of more alcohol and superficial social interaction energizing but defeating. I know that the crisp mandarin vodka is the perfect partner for strange humid breath on my neck and cheek. I can already feel his heavy hand on the small of my back making me realize that my dress is damp. The hope that my smiles and laughter will be genuine is enough to get me into the shower. The knowledge that it will be temporary tells me to drink it all in because I'll want it tomorrow.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Coconut Cake
She sat at the tiny wooden table in the country store and attempted to delicately eat the hot sandwich with its cheesy filling seeping out over the sides. She wondered if her nimble fingers picking at the sandwich made her look neurotic.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed two weathered, blue collar men coming in the small mart for their lunch break - most likely locals that had been coming to the store for years, possibly since they were small boys. She thought she heard the faint jingle of a brass bell in the door frame but didn’t know if one was actually there or if her mind assumed that one would be appropriate.
The men’s dusty clothes and tanned faces were the badges of a life much harder than hers and yet she found herself envying their leisurely saunter into the store. She marveled at how they approached the counter and roamed the quaint store with such ease and content. Their relaxed faces revealed a deep inner satisfaction. The men did not smile at the young girl behind the counter as a gimmick or a façade meant to convince others and themselves that they were happy – their demeanor was genuine. No sign of worry or apprehension clouded the deep furrows in their brows. They were two men on their lunch break using the precious hour to rest and gear up for the grueling afternoon that stretched out before them.
Perhaps the demons of life awaited them at home and their peaceful composure was not permanent. But she didn’t ponder the possibility because she didn’t care. At this time, during that hour, she envied them.
They boy’s voice penetrated her thoughts and she nodded slowly and deliberately as though she understood and agreed. She hadn’t listened to what he had been saying and she barely recalled hearing the words he spoke. She quickly searched her memory bank to string the words together again. Grandmother. Coconut. Cake. They were discussing their favorite desserts. He had asked her about hers and she had said coconut cake.
It wasn’t exactly true. Coconut cake wasn’t her favorite desert – she didn’t have favorites. But lately she had been craving coconut cake and she remembered enjoying it the last time she ate a piece. But the coconut cake was not permanent, it was not steadfast, not a memory from childhood that clung to her. It was merely what she desired right then – a reflection of the person she was at this moment in time. She would obsessively indulge in it for a time until she got bored with it or ate so much of it that she tired of it and it began to repulse her. She didn’t have favorites.
Coconut cake. She smiled at her ability to piece together her broken, distracted memory and he thought she was smiling at him. He smiled back, making the crows feet wrinkle up at the outer corners of his eyes. She found it odd that someone so young had such deep set lines of age and began to wonder what put them there. She saw him pouring over books as a young boy, squinting in the dark as he read them under the covers past his bed time. She pictured a life of constant laughs and smiles – smiles so frequent that they left scars of happiness. She imagined a handsome, much older man with salt and pepper hair – her mind’s decision on what his father must look like. They had the same deep, dark eyes. Honest eyes her mother would have called them. And despite herself she liked him. It was the eyes, the honest, old-man eyes.
She wondered if he knew she was starring, studying him rather than listening to what he was saying. She knew he was talking about his grandmother’s coconut cake and how much he liked it, got cravings for it. She smiled again. She was glad that she had come up with the right answer, happy that they could share coconut cake.
The happiness was almost enough to squelch the familiar fear rising up from somewhere deep inside, creeping up into her mind, reminding her that time was temporary, that this moment would not last, that the happiness was fleeting. The conversation, the warm feeling of giddiness that had momentarily washed over her, the delight in meaningful human interaction was gone before it even began. She knew better than to think the euphoria would last much longer.
After all, coconut cake wasn’t her favorite. She probably wouldn’t even like coconut cake in a few months. She imagined herself choking on the little white shards and dry-heaving at the taste of vanilla blended with coconut flavoring. She knew eventually that she wouldn’t be able to think about coconut cake without her mouth turning inside out.
She had the strong urge to push back from the table and run out the open door letting the spring breeze and dust in. But as the fear took over, she relaxed in the familiarity of the feeling. The fear told her that this wouldn’t last. He wouldn’t last. Present reality was simply the mind’s summary about a particular moment in history. And moments were constantly changing, sometimes changing history right along with them.
She could see him disintegrating from the chair in front of her. Perhaps she should reach out and cup his hand while it lay on the table next to his paper plate – a small attempt to make the moment more memorable, more stagnant. She wondered if such a gesture could make time stretch on forever and cancel out the inevitability of the future – align tomorrow with today, make them the same, blurred together without stark rises and sets of distinction. The fear scoffed at the thought. Both of her hands remained in her lap.
The fear was defeating but empowering. It reminded her that she was in control. She was the one who understood the future. She knew that one could never completely stop time by holding on to another – the other, like she, could not stop the rolling change of reality and perception anymore than one could take words back after they’d been said. They would be different people by tomorrow, perhaps by the end of the day.
The dramatic irony of the situation soothed her. She was an observer to her own life, an audience member who knew things about the characters – today, her acting self and the boy with the honest, old man eyes – didn’t know. She knew that the moment was almost over; the afternoon with the boy with the old man eyes would hang in the country store forever while the present avalanched forward.
The fear signaled it was coming. She knew. The prophetic elixir diffused the desire to run and she locked eyes with the boy and smiled. He smiled back. He didn’t know. He suggested that they should go – there was never any expectation that they would sit there forever. Already, the present changing.
She stood up in agreement. She thanked him for lunch and he put his arm around her and brought her in close. She could have nested her cheek into his body had she wanted to. But she had been comforted enough – not by the hug, but by her resignation to the fear. She knew to resign because the fear was always right. The quicker she accepted the fear’s truth, the quicker the peace came. She knew.
As they excited the store, the boy extended his left arm and let her walk through the door frame as he paused behind her. She looked out into the parking lot and saw another dusty man approaching. He caught her eyes and smiled comfortably. He knew it too.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed two weathered, blue collar men coming in the small mart for their lunch break - most likely locals that had been coming to the store for years, possibly since they were small boys. She thought she heard the faint jingle of a brass bell in the door frame but didn’t know if one was actually there or if her mind assumed that one would be appropriate.
The men’s dusty clothes and tanned faces were the badges of a life much harder than hers and yet she found herself envying their leisurely saunter into the store. She marveled at how they approached the counter and roamed the quaint store with such ease and content. Their relaxed faces revealed a deep inner satisfaction. The men did not smile at the young girl behind the counter as a gimmick or a façade meant to convince others and themselves that they were happy – their demeanor was genuine. No sign of worry or apprehension clouded the deep furrows in their brows. They were two men on their lunch break using the precious hour to rest and gear up for the grueling afternoon that stretched out before them.
Perhaps the demons of life awaited them at home and their peaceful composure was not permanent. But she didn’t ponder the possibility because she didn’t care. At this time, during that hour, she envied them.
They boy’s voice penetrated her thoughts and she nodded slowly and deliberately as though she understood and agreed. She hadn’t listened to what he had been saying and she barely recalled hearing the words he spoke. She quickly searched her memory bank to string the words together again. Grandmother. Coconut. Cake. They were discussing their favorite desserts. He had asked her about hers and she had said coconut cake.
It wasn’t exactly true. Coconut cake wasn’t her favorite desert – she didn’t have favorites. But lately she had been craving coconut cake and she remembered enjoying it the last time she ate a piece. But the coconut cake was not permanent, it was not steadfast, not a memory from childhood that clung to her. It was merely what she desired right then – a reflection of the person she was at this moment in time. She would obsessively indulge in it for a time until she got bored with it or ate so much of it that she tired of it and it began to repulse her. She didn’t have favorites.
Coconut cake. She smiled at her ability to piece together her broken, distracted memory and he thought she was smiling at him. He smiled back, making the crows feet wrinkle up at the outer corners of his eyes. She found it odd that someone so young had such deep set lines of age and began to wonder what put them there. She saw him pouring over books as a young boy, squinting in the dark as he read them under the covers past his bed time. She pictured a life of constant laughs and smiles – smiles so frequent that they left scars of happiness. She imagined a handsome, much older man with salt and pepper hair – her mind’s decision on what his father must look like. They had the same deep, dark eyes. Honest eyes her mother would have called them. And despite herself she liked him. It was the eyes, the honest, old-man eyes.
She wondered if he knew she was starring, studying him rather than listening to what he was saying. She knew he was talking about his grandmother’s coconut cake and how much he liked it, got cravings for it. She smiled again. She was glad that she had come up with the right answer, happy that they could share coconut cake.
The happiness was almost enough to squelch the familiar fear rising up from somewhere deep inside, creeping up into her mind, reminding her that time was temporary, that this moment would not last, that the happiness was fleeting. The conversation, the warm feeling of giddiness that had momentarily washed over her, the delight in meaningful human interaction was gone before it even began. She knew better than to think the euphoria would last much longer.
After all, coconut cake wasn’t her favorite. She probably wouldn’t even like coconut cake in a few months. She imagined herself choking on the little white shards and dry-heaving at the taste of vanilla blended with coconut flavoring. She knew eventually that she wouldn’t be able to think about coconut cake without her mouth turning inside out.
She had the strong urge to push back from the table and run out the open door letting the spring breeze and dust in. But as the fear took over, she relaxed in the familiarity of the feeling. The fear told her that this wouldn’t last. He wouldn’t last. Present reality was simply the mind’s summary about a particular moment in history. And moments were constantly changing, sometimes changing history right along with them.
She could see him disintegrating from the chair in front of her. Perhaps she should reach out and cup his hand while it lay on the table next to his paper plate – a small attempt to make the moment more memorable, more stagnant. She wondered if such a gesture could make time stretch on forever and cancel out the inevitability of the future – align tomorrow with today, make them the same, blurred together without stark rises and sets of distinction. The fear scoffed at the thought. Both of her hands remained in her lap.
The fear was defeating but empowering. It reminded her that she was in control. She was the one who understood the future. She knew that one could never completely stop time by holding on to another – the other, like she, could not stop the rolling change of reality and perception anymore than one could take words back after they’d been said. They would be different people by tomorrow, perhaps by the end of the day.
The dramatic irony of the situation soothed her. She was an observer to her own life, an audience member who knew things about the characters – today, her acting self and the boy with the honest, old man eyes – didn’t know. She knew that the moment was almost over; the afternoon with the boy with the old man eyes would hang in the country store forever while the present avalanched forward.
The fear signaled it was coming. She knew. The prophetic elixir diffused the desire to run and she locked eyes with the boy and smiled. He smiled back. He didn’t know. He suggested that they should go – there was never any expectation that they would sit there forever. Already, the present changing.
She stood up in agreement. She thanked him for lunch and he put his arm around her and brought her in close. She could have nested her cheek into his body had she wanted to. But she had been comforted enough – not by the hug, but by her resignation to the fear. She knew to resign because the fear was always right. The quicker she accepted the fear’s truth, the quicker the peace came. She knew.
As they excited the store, the boy extended his left arm and let her walk through the door frame as he paused behind her. She looked out into the parking lot and saw another dusty man approaching. He caught her eyes and smiled comfortably. He knew it too.
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