I walked back down the hill from her
house to mine this morning, stepping between the shadows of
autumn leaves burnt into the
ground. Halfway back, I removed my jacket. This is the warmest
November that I can remember. Usually by now, the sky is a constant haze of grey, varying only in intensity to mark each new day as something different. I'm half napping, half writing in the sun right now, with my sleeves rolled up to hopefully catch a tan as I lie down on a rickety old
cargo pallet on a broken flight elevator.
There are men in yellow hazmat suits swarming like ants at the next pier, trying to do whatever it is one does to clean up a huge
oil spill. I don't really know that it's working though, as i can still see that brilliant rainbow film floating on the surface of the water; it's really a tragedy that it is so toxic, because if it wasn't for the fishes and birds and crustaceans, I'd suggest we go around dumping more oil in the ocean so we could have a bit more
color in the world.
I always get scared at this point.
Everything is going too well and i have this urge to just tear it all apart, so that I will have something to try to rebuild. I've felt this sense of sadness, or maybe boredom, or maybe like I'm waiting for something and
I just don't know what lately. Most of my friends feel the same way though, so it isn't just me. Maybe it's the weather, the unseasonably warm 80 degree weather in November. Maybe we are all sad because this is when we get to dress up in scarves and mittens and jackets, and this year we can't. Regardless, I got scared last night and didn't think I should be
alone, so I called her and told her I was coming over. She had a paper to write, but that was okay, I promised to be good and not distract her, I just needed her there. Three days ago, I decided that I needed to call her and tell her that I can’t do this anymore, that I can’t see her anymore because this isn't fair to her, but then I just didn't call, because I realized that I might still need her, and I guess I do. This still isn't fair to her though, as it isn't so much that I need her, just that I need someone.
She opened a little bottle and shook a pill out, I noticed a picture of the moon and stars on it as she placed it back on the shelf above her computer.
"Is that
melatonin?" I asked.
"Yeah," she told me, "You want one?"
I nodded.
"You have trouble sleeping too?"
"When I have things on my mind, yeah."
She doesn’t understand why I wake up and listen to sad songs and saturate myself with cheap
malt liquor.
I met another girl on Thursday. She called me to ask me out, then asked if I could score any coke. A wave of titillation and disgust went through me. I thought she was better than that, but I’ve been getting so bored with this healthy relationship business. Maybe she would be the next fucked up girl to tear my life apart, things have been too tranquil lately. Some people cut their arms and burn their legs, but I use broken women to hurt myself, because they can stab deeper and won't leave any visible marks.
She came over tonight and sat tracing the scars on my arms; I guess I told her while I was drunk. She wants to drown herself in
alcoholism and wants me to show her how. The coke wasn't for her though, no, it was for her brother; he just got out of rehab and only wanted to score a little. I'm not sure which is worse.
Oh,
honey, this will not end well for either of us, and I cannot wait to see you again. Maybe you can’t fill my heart, but isn’t my bed the next best thing?
I wish I could do the right thing and just let them all go, but I just need them, I just need
someone.