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Old 04-30-2003, 11:11 PM   #1
fodder
 
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paint me red

write or don't write, short or long
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hh delete me please

Last edited by fodder : 09-30-2005 at 06:41 PM.
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Old 05-01-2003, 12:13 AM   #2
trisherina
meretricious dilettante
 
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Join Date: Jan 2003
Posts: 11,068
Having nowhere much to go in the melting slush, I decide to go back. Oddly, I feel calm. I know they can hear the scrick of the screen door as I fumble for my key, but the calm envelops me in its ether-scented straitjacket arms. Screw them. This is my place too.

I descend in the dark, open the door to the suite, and smell him. It makes me hungry. The kitchen is a jumble of ashtrays, crusty pots, and dirty bread plates. I see my savior perched atop one rounded corner of the fridge, jammed partway into a cupboard door: a box of Captain Crunch. Ignoring the palpable silence from the bedroom down the hall, I snatch it down and settle crosswise into the wine-coloured crispy-napped wing chair that he brought with him when he moved in. There's a Reader's Digest condensed compilation on the endtable. Full of sailing stories. My eyes pass over the lines, absorbing nothing. After a while I light a cigarette and taste blood and peanut butter in the inhalation.

A soft rush of air: she stands over me. Have I heard her approach? I look up with a polite face full of inquiry, and exult at the dismay shining in her eyes.

"Kerry wants you to come in," she says. I make a show of getting up slowly. My tongue busily pokes cereal out of my molars.

"Sure." He wants to apologize, he wants us all to go out for pizza and beer, he wants to lay down the boundaries once and for all. I knew he would. Her makeup is smeared and I have never seen her look so ugly. I sweep past her, and she eddies uncertainly in my full-masted wake.

"Are you sure?"

I don't even look back. "Of course." Thank God this is all over, and we can go back to the way things were.

The door closes behind me, and she reclaims her place on the bed beside him, looking less happy than I could have imagined in my wildest dreams. It is not until he opens his barechested arms to me and says, "C'mere," that I get it, not until then though I know you won't believe me, and my pride my pride my pride my face-saving pride I will never let her know I didn't know.
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Old 05-12-2003, 06:34 PM   #3
sybil
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Location: boston
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I am angry walking down the hallway. The white walls look darker, my steps thud heavily against the floor, and I can feel the air sting my face as I approach her closed bedroom door. I pause before knocking.
Theyíre laughing inside. Or rolling around on the bed. Music seeps out from underneath the door, it permeates the hallway and sounds vulgar, out of tune. Her laughs are like knives in my back. Maybe heís tickling her. Theyíre making faces or having an absolutely hilarious conversation. The low, deep murmur of his voice vibrates my ribcage, shaking the spot where my heart used to beat before he finally ripped it out and gave it to her. Sheís still laughing.
Iím being jealous, Iím feeling aggressive. I shake my head, pivot and walk into my room. I shut the door so the slam is audible: evocative, pressing. Iím warning her, I feel like. Iím warning her with my patient tolerance of their kissing all over the place and their laughing. My mouth is sealed shut as I feel them together, their presence emitting warm fumes of fire into the cold freezer weíre supposed to store in.
My breath tastes acrid from the pineapple juice I had with dinner. I flop on my bed; lay here without turning the lights on. I close my eyes to squeeze out any light sneaking through the walls from her room. I suck my teeth of leftover juice and wallow in their cries, their happiness, and their life.


_________________________________________________





I watch him while he sleeps. Itís dark now, and I can barely make out his features, but I see his eyes are closed and his nose is so cute and crooked. His cheekbones reflect the light creeping in through bents in the blinds and his surly lips are slightly pursed at all awake.

I chew my lower lip. I want to kiss all over his face and feel strands of his soft, greasy brown hair tickle my cheeks. I want to scream until he wakes up and then smother every crescent of his being with the trepidation bursting from my stomach.
Sentences he said stick out in my mind. Paint me red, he muttered as I painted his arms with a watercolor brush. Blues and reds washed up his arms like bruises and he looked vulnerable as I glided towards the inside of his arms. I watched the paintbrush and licked the inside of my closed lips, wondering how the cool, smooth, wet brush felt against his skin.
I bet she thinks weíre in here doing it, he had announced the first night we spent the room together like this. Our lips were chapped and we lay tingling. I felt my insides jolting, swirling around inside me. The front door slammed. She was leaving, stung, empty. She had come home to us laughing, writhing in intoxicating bliss. He had forced her into her room and explained that we had to be together and she took it in. Maybe she felt some release with the relief of foreboding inevitability. She would be okay, she just wanted to leave for awhile, drive off her disgust; itíd sputter out. I comforted myself with those thoughts when the front door slammed. I watched his mouth as he spoke to radiate warmth.

God, he kept whispering when he rubbed his closed eyes on my neck. Fully clothed, we struggled against lust to preserve sanctity. His eyes peer up at me through dark lashes, all of their usual aloof vacancy filled with fervor and release.
I turn on my back and steady my breath to match his. I try to invoke deep guilt as I think of her outside of the room. I summon conflicting emotions as I think of her outside of the room. Sheís miserable in her bedroom, thinking of us in here. Maybe sheís looking at our dirty dishes in the sink, spiteful and scheming against us. I donít know where she is, but I know how she feels. I want to feel more guilt, but I canít; all I have is a bearable uneasiness stammering between thoughts.
I want to feel bad, because itís not safe to feel this good. Somethingís got to give; His face is too perfect for mine, and his body provokes too much physical uncontrollability unto me. I canít control my feelings for him. He holds my will and heart in his palm, and I feel anxious, apprehensive and hotly affixed to his cool, collected demeanor.

He lay on his side, I on my back. Iím not used to sleeping with the stereo on, and itís molding my thoughts into pictures as I fall asleep in my blue room.

Having nowhere much to go in the melting slush, I decide to go back. Oddly, I feel calm. I know they can hear the scrick of the screen door as I fumble for my key, but the calm envelops me in its ether-scented straitjacket arms. Screw them. This is my place too.

I descend in the dark, open the door to the suite, and smell him. It makes me hungry. The kitchen is a jumble of ashtrays, crusty pots, and dirty bread plates. I see my savior perched atop one rounded corner of the fridge, jammed partway into a cupboard door: a box of Captain Crunch. Ignoring the palpable silence from the bedroom down the hall, I snatch it down and settle crosswise into the wine-coloured crispy-napped wing chair that he brought with him when he moved in. There's a Reader's Digest condensed compilation on the endtable. Full of sailing stories. My eyes pass over the lines, absorbing nothing. After a while I light a cigarette and taste blood and peanut butter in the inhalation.

A soft rush of air: she stands over me. Have I heard her approach? I look up with a polite face full of inquiry, and exult at the dismay shining in her eyes.

"Kerry wants you to come in," she says. I make a show of getting up slowly. My tongue busily pokes cereal out of my molars.

"Sure." He wants to apologize, he wants us all to go out for pizza and beer, he wants to lay down the boundaries once and for all. I knew he would. Her makeup is smeared and I have never seen her look so ugly. I sweep past her, and she eddies uncertainly in my full-masted wake.

"Are you sure?"

I don't even look back. "Of course." Thank God this is all over, and we can go back to the way things were.

The door closes behind me, and she reclaims her place on the bed beside him, looking less happy than I could have imagined in my wildest dreams. It is not until he opens his barechested arms to me and says, "C'mere," that I get it, not until then though I know you won't believe me, and my pride my pride my pride my face-saving pride I will never let her know I didn't know.

__________________________________

"You should wear your hair like that all the time." he says.

"I can't."

"Why not? It looks nice like that."

"It won't always do this. It depends how dirty it is."

"How dirty what is?"

I can hear the smirk in his voice. I know that he's so proud of himself. So sure of the power he has over me, over her. I can't look at him. I wish he would leave and go back to her bed.

"My hair, a$$hole. I didn't have time to wash it. You should go back to Sherri's room, I've got to go. I'm late already."

"Don't you ever relax? C'mere."

"No, I don't. I can't. I need to go." I said, leaving.

The dank air makes the wool of my coat feel instantly soaked, my feet instantly freezing. I light a cigarette and breathe for the first time in days.

"Em!", she yells from the porch. "Em." I turn back to look at her. "Emily, I'm sorry." She'd been crying. Her face was pastey, smeared and puffy from all the fvcking and crying. I tried not to smile. I tried not to be glad.
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Old 05-13-2003, 12:15 PM   #4
fodder
 
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bad

Last edited by fodder : 09-30-2005 at 06:44 PM.
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