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The pinnacle of... the downward spiral. I woke myself from a most fitful sleep... Miss Jane still cocooned after ten hours. Blurrily drifted through the house to the kitchen, assembling the morning coffee on autopilot. More than caffeine, I needed the stimulation of a blistering hot shower to wash away the stench and heaviness of sweat. Oh, for a hot water heater that works forever. I could have lived there. As promised, I made my way to my mother's, meeting Slick Willie to install a new dryer. This house. Built by my grandfather in 1931. I lived here, for a time, when my grandmother took pity on me after a particularly bad time on my own. So small, but so full of memories. As I was going about setting up the wiring, I took notice of the symmetry of the joists, the dim light filtering in through the windows, the crosscut saw that my grandfather used to clear the forest, displayed on the wall like an artifact. Surprised that it still looked fit enough to do the same, again. I recall when this place had no running water. No basement floor. Minimal electricity. It has evolved. I'm all about de-evolution, right now. A few hours ago, my wife left to spend the weekend with her daughter. Again. Deep in my head, I am glad that they have finally made the connection that they had lost some time ago. Closer to the surface, I wonder if we ever will. Whilst driving home early Thursday morning, the time when a kaleidoscope of thoughts accompany me in the dark, I thought back to the first time we slept together. After my brother took up the gun that would release him from his suffering in the place that they shared, she and Josie would drive to my second-floor flat to visit... a comforting time, when we needed the companionship and reassurance. They would stay overnight, rather than drive the long distance back to C-Ville. I'd take the futon, leaving them the waterbed (yeah, real old school). Then, soon after, she came to me, alone. We talked, laughed, found something to eat as the evening became morning. Again, I offered her the bedroom. To which she replied, "only if you stay with me." Again, a kaleidoscopic twist of emotion and apprehension. I can still see, in my mind's eye, her silhouette in the amber bedside light. Her hair, illuminated. The curves of her body, sidelit. The look in her eyes. Expectant. I could have found a way to say "no" without hurting her. Explained that the loss was too recent, the respect for him too great. Then we were joined. As our bodies twined, she said,"Hurt me. Just a little." Bluntly. Again, my mind said, "wait a minute." But my body didn't hear. And the rest is history. So I sit here, in the process of inducing my mind, my nose, my brain into simultaneous stimulation and depression. Wondering how history would have been if I'd done differently. Or if I'd be in the same state, otherwise. Devolved. |
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