News from the Battlefield
Oct. 12th, 2004 03:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
benchiladaAs if being sick with whatever demonflu Sara brought home last week weren’t enough, the dermatologist confirmed today that, yes, those odd white spots around my “most private area” and the patches of white hair in my beard, and the spots that are there but you can’t see them without ultraviolet light because my skin is so pale, on the tops of my feet and around my lips...they are, indeed, vitiligo.
Fuckery. Thankfully I am not a vain man, so I’ll be fine. I’m wondering how many disorders it takes for the house of cards that I am to collapse. I’m thinking it would have to be a lot, since I’ve already come to terms with the ones that I know I have.
Here’s the writing that would have come last night, had I not been sick.
---
Carol used to make unexpectedly light clay wings. One day they found her on the roof of her building, having made an enormous pair that fit her body perfectly.
“Those won’t help you fly, you know,” they told her.
“I already fly,” she answered. “These are to speed my descent.”
And then she jumped.
Fifteen years later, I fell in love with her daughter. She was named Magenta, a name that suited her so well, for reasons I’ve never found myself able to explain. She was also an artist, but her father had raised her to be nothing like her mother was, so airy and untouchable. Magenta's severity drove away many a friend and suitor, her brown eyes unreadable, her black hair framing her pale face like a shell.
I snuck into her life. I attended art shows with her work; I sat for hours in the coffee shop waiting to see her; I sat, freezing, at the bus stop – missing my own bus several times over – just to ride somewhere, anywhere, in the presence of her.
One day I decided that I would ride the same bus as her to the coffee shop and then ask her if I could join her. Instead, when I got on the bus, I saw that she was staring at me. Not looking, staring. She was sitting at the back of the empty bus, her knuckles white around something in her hands. Once the bus started moving, and I’d made it halfway back, she began to speak.
“I’m not a fool. I’ve seen you everywhere. Either you’re trying to woo me in an extremely disturbing fashion or you’re trying to kill me. You will find both of them to be equally difficult tasks, and equally likely to end in your own demise.”
I smiled widely and began to cry. She stared at me for a moment as I swayed in the center aisle, tipping violently with every turn the bus made. Her expression unchanged, she set a pair of stainless steel crochet hooks on top of her bag. And with the balance of an acrobat, walked to meet me and held me close, letting my laughter echo in her ears and my tears wet her shoulder.
The bus didn’t stop for hours, days, until we reached the edge of town, where the driver asked us where we were going. We just smiled at him and he winked.
“I’ll be back in ten minutes, then we’ll swing around and head back.”
We grinned as he opened the front door and walked into a nearby convenience store.
We held each other so tightly it hurt, and she looked up at me, her shining eyes dark with serious intent.
“You know this won’t work.”
“I do.”
“But it’s been wonderful, all of it. Seeing you look at my art with such devotion. Listening to you drink cup after cup of coffee, trying to pretend I couldn’t see you watching me. And the bus rides were always my favorite...”
She kissed my lips so gently it took me a few moments to realize that it had happened. And then she pushed me to the front of the bus, and kicked me hard in the ass.
“Now get out of here, beautiful.”
I did as she said, and turned to blow her a final kiss.
She had already closed the door. And I’ll be damned if she wasn’t sitting in the driver’s seat, adjusting the wing mirror out the side window. The engine roared as she tore off into the distance. I kept my eyes open through the dirt she kicked up.
I looked down at my feet and heard the crunch of gravel behind me.
“She took the bus, didn’t she,” the driver asked.
“Yup.”
“I had a feeling. Come inside, I’ll buy you a coffee and we’ll get a cab back.”
I did, he did, and we did.
---
benjamin stone
From work on my break
3:09pm
Urbana, IL
CURRENT MUSIC: “Janine,” Soul Coughing
CURRENT BOOK: CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM EATER, Thomas de Quincey
LAST MOVIE: rewatched half of PATLABOR 2 over the weekend…
Fuckery. Thankfully I am not a vain man, so I’ll be fine. I’m wondering how many disorders it takes for the house of cards that I am to collapse. I’m thinking it would have to be a lot, since I’ve already come to terms with the ones that I know I have.
Here’s the writing that would have come last night, had I not been sick.
---
Carol used to make unexpectedly light clay wings. One day they found her on the roof of her building, having made an enormous pair that fit her body perfectly.
“Those won’t help you fly, you know,” they told her.
“I already fly,” she answered. “These are to speed my descent.”
And then she jumped.
Fifteen years later, I fell in love with her daughter. She was named Magenta, a name that suited her so well, for reasons I’ve never found myself able to explain. She was also an artist, but her father had raised her to be nothing like her mother was, so airy and untouchable. Magenta's severity drove away many a friend and suitor, her brown eyes unreadable, her black hair framing her pale face like a shell.
I snuck into her life. I attended art shows with her work; I sat for hours in the coffee shop waiting to see her; I sat, freezing, at the bus stop – missing my own bus several times over – just to ride somewhere, anywhere, in the presence of her.
One day I decided that I would ride the same bus as her to the coffee shop and then ask her if I could join her. Instead, when I got on the bus, I saw that she was staring at me. Not looking, staring. She was sitting at the back of the empty bus, her knuckles white around something in her hands. Once the bus started moving, and I’d made it halfway back, she began to speak.
“I’m not a fool. I’ve seen you everywhere. Either you’re trying to woo me in an extremely disturbing fashion or you’re trying to kill me. You will find both of them to be equally difficult tasks, and equally likely to end in your own demise.”
I smiled widely and began to cry. She stared at me for a moment as I swayed in the center aisle, tipping violently with every turn the bus made. Her expression unchanged, she set a pair of stainless steel crochet hooks on top of her bag. And with the balance of an acrobat, walked to meet me and held me close, letting my laughter echo in her ears and my tears wet her shoulder.
The bus didn’t stop for hours, days, until we reached the edge of town, where the driver asked us where we were going. We just smiled at him and he winked.
“I’ll be back in ten minutes, then we’ll swing around and head back.”
We grinned as he opened the front door and walked into a nearby convenience store.
We held each other so tightly it hurt, and she looked up at me, her shining eyes dark with serious intent.
“You know this won’t work.”
“I do.”
“But it’s been wonderful, all of it. Seeing you look at my art with such devotion. Listening to you drink cup after cup of coffee, trying to pretend I couldn’t see you watching me. And the bus rides were always my favorite...”
She kissed my lips so gently it took me a few moments to realize that it had happened. And then she pushed me to the front of the bus, and kicked me hard in the ass.
“Now get out of here, beautiful.”
I did as she said, and turned to blow her a final kiss.
She had already closed the door. And I’ll be damned if she wasn’t sitting in the driver’s seat, adjusting the wing mirror out the side window. The engine roared as she tore off into the distance. I kept my eyes open through the dirt she kicked up.
I looked down at my feet and heard the crunch of gravel behind me.
“She took the bus, didn’t she,” the driver asked.
“Yup.”
“I had a feeling. Come inside, I’ll buy you a coffee and we’ll get a cab back.”
I did, he did, and we did.
---
benjamin stone
From work on my break
3:09pm
Urbana, IL
CURRENT MUSIC: “Janine,” Soul Coughing
CURRENT BOOK: CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM EATER, Thomas de Quincey
LAST MOVIE: rewatched half of PATLABOR 2 over the weekend…
