I'm a creature of habits, somewhat to my own chagrin. What I mean to say by this is that I do the exact same things every day, because I've structured my life around them. I always eat in the same restaurant near where I live, I buy my records from the same store, my books from the same store - you get the picture. Some of it is habits that have been inherited, the bookstore I go to go is the same my mother went to when she was younger, so that stuck. When they don't have what I want, they can just order, which works fine by me. The record store too, I've been going there since I was fairly young with a friend of mine, every Friday we'd ride down to the store to see what was new. Some others I grew into, such as eventually settling on which park I'd go to when I needed to take a break from whatever - life, work, people. And about twenty minutes away from where I live, maybe a bit more, there's this park I only went to the once when I was a kid, and for some reason I didn't have any pleasant memories of it. Then one day, and because I was walking past it on my way from something, I decided to visit it. It was still early spring, so even though it was a bit chilly and it rained a bit here and there, I felt moved to enter it. It's a vast, verdant space, thankfully void of people. I allowed my feet to wander, to feel the wet, sodden earth beneath me, as I took in that earthy musk that exhaled from the ground. From afar, I viewed a long, large tree in the distance, and decided to make my way there. It's a very old yew tree, and I at felt home under its canopy at once. This, I felt, was a place I would be returning to, and often.
Being a creature of habits makes me notice things more attentively. Because the routine is always fairly similar, I do tend no notice the patterns repeating. And the people, too. There are faces that I've grown accustomed to seeing frequently, especially when I go to the park. And of course I'd noticed her before, of course I did. It's impossible not to. She always sits on a bench not far from where I can usually be found sitting at the foot of the yew tree, either deeply concentrated in her reading, or sometimes - though not often - arguing loud with someone over the phone. We are always within eyesight of each other, and although here and there it's very possible that she caught me looking at her, I always managed to bury my head back in my book before she said anything. And then one day, one beautiful summer day, as I sat down lost in thought, I notice her waving at me. Not at me, surely, I thought. Likely at someone she's been waiting for and who's near me? Maybe. But she's still waving, so I look behind me and see no one. I look back at her, feeling a red flush fill my cheeks, and with my index finger I point at my chest in an unmistakable 'who, me?' kind of way. She gets up then, and starts walking towards me. I am nailed to the ground, my body weighs unspeakable tons, I cannot move. She strides purposefully in my direction, her dress billowing slightly. She is upon me, and I do not know what to say. I have forgotten all words.
'Hey, I was right!', you said. Flustered, I sat staring up at you, my mouth agape. The words started escaping my mouth. 'Huh... right about what?', I asked. And you replied, 'Are you going to talk to me sitting down, or are you getting up?'. I got up and stood facing you. Then you said, 'That's better! Now why don't we sit down?', and so we did. We sat down, and remained silent for a little while. I sat cross-legged, drumming my fingers on the book I was reading. 'Here', you said, 'let me see that book.'. I passed it along to you, and you looked at it, turning the cover this way and that to look at the illustration. Then you handed it back to me. 'Did you like the book?', you asked. There was a breeze softly blowing through your hair, and the your fragrance was doing very complicated things to me. I took the book in hand, looked at it, and said 'It's not bad. Not great, either. I hope the writer has something better in him, though.' I shrugged. 'Have you read it?', I asked. 'Oh yes, I had to.', you replied. 'You had to?', I asked dubiously. 'Yeah, look, give me that book so I can show you something.' Again it was in your hands, and you showed in the inside where all the indicia was. 'See?', you said, tapping down on the book. 'That's me. I did the illustrations for the book!', you said, beaming. 'Oh', I replied, perhaps a tad demurely. But I perked up when I saw the light flowing past your locks. 'Did you like it?', I asked nervously. You thought for a bit, then said, 'I mean, I liked it all right. It's... perhaps a bit too on the emotional side?'. I didn't disagree, nodded, and said 'Don't get sentimental, it always ends up drivel.' You turned your head sideways, and said 'What?', and I quickly replied, 'Oh, nothing, it's just a line from a song.' Your laughter then filled the air, light, airy, full of song and life. 'Yeah, I know', you said, 'I just don't expect people to say lines from songs in real life, right?', and I nod my head, saying 'Right, right.'
I look at my watch, just to see what time it is. You ask me if I have somewhere to be. No, I said, not now. 'I'm glad you didn't hate the book', I said. You got up, folder your arms across your chest, and looked at me, your eyes half squinting. I guess you saw me smile for the first time then. 'No reason', I said, shaking my head. 'I wrote that book', I added. I got up and we were eye level again. Now it was you who had your mouth hanging wide open.'And you were reading it?', you asked. I laughed at that, and replied in the only way possible, 'Oh yes, I had to.', to which you paid my dare in kind, 'You had to?', you said playingly. I never stopped smiling. 'Would you believe me', I said, 'that it's part of my writing process?'. You stood there, scratching the side of your slightly crooked nose. Then you said, 'Do you want to tell me more about that writing process of yours? Maybe over a cup of coffee?'
And... I said I couldn't. I had a girlfriend, after all. But you insisted that was ok, you had a boyfriend too. I don't know, I said. I don't think it's right. Neither do you, but what's a cup of coffee, you ask? 'Eleanor', I said, uttering your name for the first time, 'it's just a cup of coffee. Yes?', and your reply was a wicked smile, followed by you putting out your hand, saying 'You got yourself a deal, mister.'. I held out mine, took your hand, and shook it. It sent shivers down my spine, feeling how soft your skin was. 'A deal.', I repeated. You nodded, I nodded, and we had a cup of coffee or two. And how we got here, I don't really know. You're lying naked in my bed, and I'm looking at you, and you're looking at me, and I reach out with my hand, and brush some loose strands of hair from your face. 'What the fuck are we doing?', I ask.
No comments:
Post a Comment