Spectacle: Stories (8 page)

I imagine the plane as a rain cloud.

I imagine it spinning until it bursts.

Then I imagine flying through clouds.

Then falling through clouds.

And the ground coming closer.

A town growing clearer.

Then the town.

And then.

It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is it was night.

And it was cold.

It was night.

And it was cold.

It was night.

And it was cold.

Just stop.

Outside the window now were stars.

And there were lights below, as well.

The flight attendant was waiting for me.

She was waiting for me to be all right.

But I would never be what she needed.

So I had to perform.

I had to lie.

I had to say, I’m all right.

And I forced myself to look all right.

And I forced it harder.

And forced it harder.

Until she went away.

And I’m sorry, but I lied to you too.

When I asked if I could study abroad, my father said, Go.

He said, Get lost.

But I stood there thinking he’d change his mind.

Because I knew I couldn’t go.

Because I couldn’t leave my father.

I mean I couldn’t leave him lying there.

He was more broken than you could ever be.

More messed up than you will ever be.

But there was a time he was all right.

I was a kid, and he took me on a trip.

He took me to the beach.

It was the only trip we ever took.

Days, I swam in the water.

My father sat on the sand.

And on our last day, we watched a sunset.

And my father looked out at the water.

And he said, What if all the earth’s water were drained.

And at first I laughed.

But then I thought.

And then I thought.

Listen.

The girl’s initials were not G.O.D.

They were just G.D.

I never knew her middle name.

But whatever.

G.D.

G. fucking D.

I am not a mystic.

There are no mystics.

There are people who watch.

And there are people like me.

But that night at the bar, the misfit was on.

He went into his so-called trance.

And he was right about who walked in.

And he was right about every song.

And when he said the girl’s name,

And when he reached for her arm,

And when he said, Don’t go,

And when I looked at her face,

I should have said something.

I should have done something.

But I was not very nice.

I was not a nice girl.

I just left the bar with the guy I liked.

I told him, Drive fast, and he did.

I’m sorry, but I was my father’s daughter.

I did not know how to save you.

Because words are about desire and desire is about the guy who filled my two front tires when one was low. And desire is about the guy who cleaned my windshield as the other, below me, filled.

And there’s the guy who pours foam onto my coffee in the shape of a heart and I, each time he pours, so slow, think, Jesus.

Because the guy who pours the foam in the shape of a heart—and I don’t know how he does it—is twenty-four, and I am not twenty-four, meaning I am not thirty-four and don’t think much of twenty-four except to think I must have been working through something back then, living in that railroad apartment in Baltimore, daydreaming of fame and all that came with fame.

My friends that year said, Why move, but I packed some boxes, crammed the boxes into the car, pushed the couch over the porch. My friends waved from the couch in the rearview mirror and I forgot them once I reached the highway.

Why Boston, they wanted to know.

Because why not.

Or because I imagined Boston as brick-walked and lamp-lit, and I could see myself tromping in boots through the snow.

Or because I imagined a field from a poem I’d read in school as a child.

Or because I had no good answer to, Why Baltimore.

Because I’d gotten held up, a knife point pointing at my face.

All this to say that I remember those friends from then, sitting here now on my new couch, years past, their tattoos I remember of gothic letters and Celtic knot work, their tangled hair. All this to say that I’ve made a connection, forced as it seems, of twenty-four to twenty-four. I’ve made a connection of couch to couch. Connections are easy when one is sitting, staring at a wall. There is no deeper meaning. There is no signified.

There is couch and there is couch.

There is the table my feet are on and the table from then. A table we sat at until the pale hum of morning.

There was no such word then as
afterparty.

There was no such use of the word
random
then, how the kids these days use
random.

What I mean is the guy who filled my tires looked up and said, of the lowness in one tire and not in the other, Random, and I, remembering running into a curb the night before, driving home from a bar where I sat and sat until giving up, thought, Not really.

And the guy who cleaned the windshield whistled and walked back to the garage.

And the guy who pours the foam into the shape of a heart told my friend of me, She’s hot, when my friend went to the café once alone. Your friend, he said, She’s hot, and my friend called later to tell me the news.

What was I doing that night. Same thing as this night. Drinking wine. Sitting on the couch, my feet up on the table. These are the clichéd years, these years. The details have been predetermined. It’s a recipe I follow. Very little this, very little that.

I think I said, That’s cute. Because that’s what one says in this situation. One laughs and says, Cute, and one’s friend says, in this situation, You should go for it. Which always seems to mean to me that I should go against something else.

I said, How old is he.

Then I said, That’s cute.

Then I said, That’s way too young, and my friend, exhaling smoke for emphasis, said, Exactly.

In Baltimore everyone was going for everyone else. Small town. Junkies. We were all the same age, the twenty-somethings, the fifty-s omethings. When the bars closed we went to the place that stayed open until morning. Club Midnight. And we drank orange drinks until things felt unreasonable. What was the point of reason. I had no desire for reason. I had only a weak desire—in the words of my shrink from then—to fill a space, and I filled the space. There’s a list, somewhere, of the drugs I did. There’s a list, somewhere, of who I fucked. I wrote these lists on the backs of napkins, a night at Club Midnight, and everyone thought the lists were too short. Well that was years ago, and things have changed. And there’s a list of the drugs I almost did and a list of the guys I almost fucked. And those lists. Believe me. Another story.

So I sat the other night in a bar on a snowy, lamp-lit street, until I realized he—the one I am supposed to desire—my age, a neat haircut, small hands, a tucked-in shirt, a workhorse, a perfect match—wasn’t going to show. Or I realized that he would show and that I would feel disgust. So I stumbled to the car, ended up half the car on the sidewalk, no one around to see it.

I once knew better than to drive.

I mean I once considered other options.

There were no windows in Club Midnight. We knew it was morning because of sudden blue shadows under our eyes. And that shock of light, no matter how pale, when someone opened the door. And the shock of the cold. Jesus. There’s no good story to tell except once I decided to wait for the bus. My friends had gone, and I was too sick from drink after drink to drive. Birds were chirping, and I wondered where from. There were no trees. There was nowhere to hide. The man with the knife had a scar on his face and I didn’t want a scar on my face. I reached into my pocket, pulled out some ones, and he ran one way, I the other.

And here I am watching the blue turn darker blue behind the trees. And the color of this couch, according to the catalog, is mushroom, which means it’s greenish, grayish, brownish. Which means I paid a lot for it. One must pay up when one is following a recipe, and one ingredient is a costly couch. And one is a car. And one is a man. And one is a child.

And one is not thirty-four, though feeling for that warm space in the dimming room.

The men who carried up the couch were older, no-nonsense, beer bellied and smelling of sweat, though had the room been darker, smokier, the bartender filling and filling, the music up high, well, perhaps there’d be something more to say.

The guy filling my tires, when I tried to hand him a few ones, said, No. He said, Jesus, lady, air is free.

And the guy in the café—dark curly hair, that way of dressing—his pants hanging just under his hip bones—blue eyes and so on, the thing with the foam. Well, each time I drop fifty cents into the tip jar, lift my cup, say thank you into the disintegrating heart, never looking up, though I can feel him looking down, and my friend—who always smells like smoke— did I say this—and it’s comforting somehow—will say, Aw, a heart, Look, a heart.

And my friend and I will sit on the chairs on the sidewalk out front, even in the cold, and a bus will pass, and the bell on the door will jingle, and the guy will come out, wiping his hands on his pants, lighting a cigarette he pulls from a pale blue box, blowing white smoke into the sky.

And I imagine he’s looking at someone else.

And I remember my predestined life. The list of ingredients. And one is a man. And one is a child.

And one is a child.

And I imagine he’s looking only at me.

And I imagine the bell sound comes from a horse stopped in the snow at the edge of the woods.

; to say I watched him through the keyhole; to say I pressed my face to the door and watched; to say I had what one could call a crush; to say the crush was superficial; to say the crush was on the superficial: like his rib cage through his shirt, like the books he read and he was brilliant; to say I was not brilliant, though one day I would be; to say one day I would know my brilliance; to say one day the world would know my brilliance; and I would know that day my brilliance made no difference; and I would know that day no brilliance made a difference; but first I was mistaken; first I fell for his brilliance; first I fell for his rib cage through his shirt; to say first I was who I always was; to say I was always falling incredibly hard; to say I was always falling incredibly hard like women fall; to say I was used to feeling like women feel; to say I was used to being nothing other than a woman: which was a good thing, which was not a good thing; and my shrink would say how in the world was it good to fall incredibly hard; I didn’t always answer her; I was often pulling at threads at the edge of the chair; I was often staring into the plants and imagining a jungle; I was often tying my hair into knots and not untying the knots; to say I had my own things going on; to say I had my messed-up things I always had; to say I was in that chair for reasons I knew and for reasons I did not; so forgive me, he was my boyfriend’s friend; forgive me, he was crashing that night on our couch; forgive me, my boyfriend was out of town; and there’s not much to say about my boyfriend; just he was hands down the kindest person I had ever met; just he was hands down the kindest person anyone had ever met; just I had no desire to cheat on him; to say I had no desire to cheat on him again; which is not to say I had no desire; to say we had sat all night on the couch; to say there were important reasons to sit on the couch; to say he had bought important books that day; to say I didn’t yet know these important books; and so he was reading to me from one of the books; and so at first I wasn’t listening; and so at first I was only looking around the room; and so I will tell you the color of his shirt: black; and I will tell you the color of the couch: red; forgive me for falling for colors; forgive me for falling for someone else’s interpretation of colors; to say I was easily seduced; to say I was what one called messed up; to say I was a total fucking mess; to say I was lying back on the couch; and then my legs were over his; and then my eyes were slowly closing; and when I laughed at something, he stopped reading; and when he said, I love your teeth, I laughed again; this is not exactly what happened; to say perhaps I’m making this part up; to say he did not stop reading and say he loved my teeth; to say he did stop reading, but he did not say he loved my teeth; to say he did stop reading, but he said my teeth were crooked; which is to say, at the very least, he was looking at my mouth; which is to say something about love how back then I understood love; and so I opened my eyes; and so I saw him looking at me too hard; and he was not looking at my mouth; to say it was here that I felt a surge; to say it was here that everything shifted; to say it was here that I kicked him in his rib cage; and I was only joking when I kicked him; and he held up the book like a shield; and he was only joking when he held up the book; and my shrink would ask what I meant by
shifted;
and she would ask what I meant by
surge;
and she would ask why I kicked him in his rib cage; and she would ask what happened way back when; she was always asking what happened way back when; I didn’t care about way back when; I didn’t care about the mystery that was way back; and I would pull at the threads at the edge of the chair; I would tie my hair into knots; I would imagine diving into the jungle at the roots of the plants where I would start a whole new world; I imagined wearing leaves in that world; I imagined tying my hair up in twigs; I imagined I was gigantic; and he was less gigantic; and by
he
I mean every he who ever cast a shadow over me; my shrink did not need to know about the jungle; she did not need to know about the various hes who cast their shadows; my way back when was just clichéd; my way back when was the way back whens of other women in the world; to say there were lines in rooms, and lines were crossed; to say there were rules in rooms, and rules were broken; to say fill in the blanks for yourself; to say fill in the blanks with any words you choose; to say choose the words that happened in your way back; imagine yourself on the couch; imagine he’s reading a story to you; imagine the heat of his legs on yours; I can’t imagine you would behave as well as I did; I can’t imagine you would go to the bedroom, shut the door, lie on the bed, like I did; but the night was over before it should have been over; the night was over, and I thought I would just go to sleep; the night was dead, and I thought I would dream dreams I would forget in the morning; and I whispered something superficial into my pillow; and I whispered something superficial into my arm; and I whispered something desperate into the universe; to say there are no good answers for what one does with desire; to say there is only this constant struggle; to say there is only this constant tugging; to say I wanted to walk back into the room; to say I wanted to go through his suitcase while he slept; to say I wanted to pull something from it; to say I wanted to pull out a shirt and keep it; I would have tried it on over mine; I would have tried it on under mine; this is not about perversion; to say I know what a perversion is; to say it was just a superficial crush; and my boyfriend was hands down fucking perfect; and at some point later that week he came back from out of town; and we were sitting on the couch; and we were looking into each other’s bored-as-shit eyes; and I said, Listen, to my boyfriend, and he listened; and I said something funny to my boyfriend, and he laughed; and I said, I could use a drink, and he got me a drink; and he said, I love you; etc.; and he said, I mean it; etc.; and I said something I’m sure I regretted; to say I’m sure I deserved to be punished; to say I’m sure I deserved to be crushed; and I wanted to be punished in the worst way; I wanted to be crushed beneath a hand; my God; I remember a detail from the story he read; to say I remember just one detail: a hot-air balloon, the people in it going higher and higher, the people in it going way too high; and I should say he gave me the book to keep; or I should say I took it from his suitcase; and I should say I was looking for a shirt; or I was looking for a sock; or I was looking for his underwear; and I would have shoved them into my own; and I would have slept all night like that; and I would have dreamed all night like that; and I would have gotten off like that; and this is not some kind of perversion; this is only love how back then I did love; to say one way or another I have the book; to say I could look for it now on a shelf; to say I could open the book, quote you a line; to say I am very good at seduction; to say I could find a way to keep you awake all night; and I could have kept him awake all night; but on that night I did not: unlike the night I cheated on my boyfriend with my friend, unlike the night I cheated on my boyfriend with his friend, unlike all the nights way back when when everything was just a spark and just a spark; fucking memory; and my shrink would ask why I behaved so well that night; I said I didn’t know why; and she said to think; and I said I would think; but I didn’t have to think; it was something about the hot-air balloon; and she did not need to know I felt I was in one as he read; she did not need to know I felt twisted loose and shot into space; and I laughed as I was floating away; and when I laughed, he said my teeth were crooked; and I opened my eyes and was looking at his; and of course I felt a surge; and of course it was wrong to feel it; and of course the phone rang right then; and the phone just kept on ringing; and so I shifted my focus to the phone; fucking spark; I didn’t mean to crush it; to say I didn’t mean to crush him; to say I didn’t want to answer the phone; but there was my boyfriend on the line; and there I was with nothing to say; and there he was with nothing: It’s late here, It’s late here too, What are you doing, Going to sleep, What are you doing, Going to sleep, etc., etc.; and I hung up the phone, and where were we; he had been reading me a story; and he was still holding the book; and he would open the book again; and he would look back at the page; and I thought he would read to me again; but instead he would define a word he thought I didn’t know; because he wanted to crush me back; because he did not know I was brilliant; because I did not know I was brilliant; but I knew the word; I knew all the words; I said I knew the word, and he wasn’t listening; and when I defined the word, he wasn’t listening; and when he defined the word, I wasn’t listening; and when he said something else, I still wasn’t listening; and it was then I kicked him in his rib cage; and I actually wasn’t joking when I kicked him; and he stood and cast his shadow over me; and I stood in the shadow he cast; and the night still could have gone either way; to say I still could have kept him awake; to say it was then that I started thinking of seduction; no, it was years before that I started thinking of seduction; no, it was at the exact moment of my own conception that I started thinking of seduction; no, it was at the exact moment of my own conception that I was completely seductive; so forgive me for being how I was; forgive me for my performance of female; forgive me for my messed-up desire; I was just a girl and lines were crossed; I was just a girl, and rules were broken; I was just a girl and blank happened once; and blank happened twice; and blank was said; and blank was felt; and blank would be dealt with eventually; and then I would know my brilliance; and the world would know my brilliance; and I would know that brilliance made no difference; because the world was filled with nothing but; because the world was filled with nothing, but; first I was mistaken; first I was lying on my bed; and the phone rang again and I didn’t answer; and I turned off the light and thought of sleep; and it was then I saw the keyhole lit up like some kind of too-bright star; and fucking universe; fucking desire; I was falling, again, incredibly hard; and I thought of what you would think of me; and I thought of what you would say to me; and I thought of what you would say of me; and there was the moon scattered across the bedroom; and it was only me and the scattered moon; and it was, hands down, the biggest cliché; it was the biggest perversion, hands down; so punish me for getting out of bed; punish me for walking to the door; punish me for getting on my knees; punish me for pressing my eye to the keyhole; and punish me for what I saw; and for what I did; and for what I did not; and for all that happened way back when; which was nothing; which was something; like I even fucking know;