Even birds couldn't stand these hot summer days. City surrounded everybody with its glowing from the Sun, stones, asphalt and annoying cars. The drivers stuck in the traffic seemed to be half-dead. It seemed like not only the water evaporated but also everything humane with it.
I was exhausted just by the thought that I would have to go to there through such weather. But it was not up to me to make a final decision. Sometimes it's a great experience when you find something valuable on a road you've never chosen for yourself.
Having strolled in a lemur like way through the spikes of the sun right into the car, I have turned the ignition on and felt the sweet airfall of the cold conditioner that fell right onto my face. I love such little but joyful moments. Passing trees waved to me as if they were asking me to help and save them and I smiled back wondering about my imagination.
He called me a week ago and wanted to meet me, but I was out of town with all my errands that new boss throws on my head.
We agreed to meet in a bar, not so far from the high school where we both used to go.
In my memories, he was a rock star, a sex bomb, a football player, a guitar solo. All the girls I knew wanted to have sex with him right in the locker room and most of them did. I never liked him for that.
He could not look straight into my face.
I remembered his eyes full of hell's fire, which you would never want to touch; some mad energy and an insane unstoppable will gleamed through them.
Now I could not see a single trait of a man that he used to be. It all was gone... Ashes and smoke took place of a young man that I used to fear and honor secretly.
He sat at front of me and started to talk. I listened to every word he was saying and without interrupting… learning what he had become.
Mixed feeling s were all over my heart. I have not seen him since graduation and we never talked to each other since then. He went to a med school and I started working as a salesman. He never called… And now I sit here and listen to all the stories he had in past ten years like I always was his best friend.
to be continued...
Showing posts with label city. Show all posts
Showing posts with label city. Show all posts
A way for the truth
Twilight mixed with the odor of frivolous women, hot cars, coffee and cigarettes. What kind of truth can you find on its streets? The one that is warm and will go down your throat like a flame, and will make you passionately love this filthy place, or may be the one that will talk to your money not asking you name. She will get on your chest; will give you love and tenderness, for a certain amount, for definite time. Leaving you satisfied but empty; lying on the bed of a cheap hotel, staring at the dark morning ceiling and one single statement in your head “THAT was my last time…” But the other weekends come, and the same statement reinstates itself.
Everybody here accepts chaos at this time of the day. Movement chaotically is the only way to stumble over the truth in this city. You can’t find what you want, if you know what you want. People are tired to want something determined; they need infinity of choices, abyss of multitude. Disappearing in the holes, doors, windows, with a deep inhale and laughter, with melodies of jazzy evening, or funeral silence, that rests somewhere deeper… Where you can hear only echoes, where you don’t need anything but sincere being, devout love and natural affection. Natural to the bone, to its basis, all and forever and only for you, even when you are sober. The improbability of that makes you angry. It makes you mad. It makes you take a taxi and rush somewhere it probably hides itself. Since you don’t know where you accept chaos as a way to find it. Now you are in this multidimensional sporadic mist of somebody’s desires concentrated within the borders of one lonely, dark and unpredictable city.
Everybody here accepts chaos at this time of the day. Movement chaotically is the only way to stumble over the truth in this city. You can’t find what you want, if you know what you want. People are tired to want something determined; they need infinity of choices, abyss of multitude. Disappearing in the holes, doors, windows, with a deep inhale and laughter, with melodies of jazzy evening, or funeral silence, that rests somewhere deeper… Where you can hear only echoes, where you don’t need anything but sincere being, devout love and natural affection. Natural to the bone, to its basis, all and forever and only for you, even when you are sober. The improbability of that makes you angry. It makes you mad. It makes you take a taxi and rush somewhere it probably hides itself. Since you don’t know where you accept chaos as a way to find it. Now you are in this multidimensional sporadic mist of somebody’s desires concentrated within the borders of one lonely, dark and unpredictable city.
the rain
The city around was on the pause. In the childish play of the coming storm the wind caught up the end of his tie and showed up its presence to the empty sidewalk. The mirror skyscrapers, with all their rudeness and immense cold bravery, were not scared by the weather. The man wasn't afraid of it either. Even the fact that the costume will be spoiled by rain drops didn’t make him run and hide. “Run and hide” he thought “is not for the samurai”. Anyway, he is too tired to be scared of anything.
Under many layers of business ethics, professionalism that he was taught in the graduate school, and million of cups of dark coffee you wouldn’t be able to find any sign of exhaust on his face. Watching people running back and forth along the streets, he couldn’t see them. His head was full of vespine buzz from the running numbers on the bright screen, income voice mails in the cell phone, people’s faces from the meeting all over the world, some of them angry… and much less happy… More, he didn’t know anymore what happiness was… A good substitute for this word was “profit”… That was all he needed for the last couple of years.
Rain. He remembered that he liked the rain, but he never knew why. What can represent the rain? Life? Or probably us? “One rain drop starts in the cold little spring, makes his way to the ocean, reaches the skies and with tremendous velocity falls back on the ground. Some of the rain drops end up in the puddles, among the streets, traffic, but it really doesn’t have any significance where you’ve been, you will return to the skies and then will fall again on the ground.” Such thoughts were vaguely, going in his background mind, it made him open his mouth and stare in the skies. They were dark, fast and bold “Storm. It’s going to be a storm.” He said to himself. “I need to go. … go where? Go home? What is there that will be happy to see me? A new TV set? Or the computer that is going to take me back to my job. Empty kitchen with an empty fridge? Windows looking on the same street? Why should I go home?
“I feel like chaos” he said to himself. That the feeling when you repeatedly think about doing something, for a long time, but never manage to get it done because you start thinking about something else, that seems to be better, and you still think about what you didn’t do, and about new thing, and even things that keep coming up in your mind more eagerly and with stronger desire to be done, and the more and longer you have all these things in your mind the worse this crave for the realization becomes and, eventually, you can’t do any of these things because you’re exhausted just because of thinking about them, however, they are still with you. It all accumulated in a milky way that goes circles around the only alive and shining part of your mind, which always tries to look on the positive side of the life, sort of the sun, which would prefer to be the moon and lose its gravitational energy for this brutal world of the things-desired-to-be-done.
Just in the middle of such reflections a taxi car stopped by. A driver, tanned skin, beard, and a blatant smile with own story, shout out: “Need a ride, sir?”
Just after he sat in the back seat of the taxi, first rain drop has fallen on the windshield, slowly sliding down, leaving a water track after itself. That was the last barrier for the coming flood of tears. He wept like a child and didn’t want to stop.
Taxi driver killed the engine.
Skies tired of holding all of the water, that made them look so dark and vicious, started the dance of crystals, covering the city, soothing every soul in a way that only story-holders know.
Under many layers of business ethics, professionalism that he was taught in the graduate school, and million of cups of dark coffee you wouldn’t be able to find any sign of exhaust on his face. Watching people running back and forth along the streets, he couldn’t see them. His head was full of vespine buzz from the running numbers on the bright screen, income voice mails in the cell phone, people’s faces from the meeting all over the world, some of them angry… and much less happy… More, he didn’t know anymore what happiness was… A good substitute for this word was “profit”… That was all he needed for the last couple of years.
Rain. He remembered that he liked the rain, but he never knew why. What can represent the rain? Life? Or probably us? “One rain drop starts in the cold little spring, makes his way to the ocean, reaches the skies and with tremendous velocity falls back on the ground. Some of the rain drops end up in the puddles, among the streets, traffic, but it really doesn’t have any significance where you’ve been, you will return to the skies and then will fall again on the ground.” Such thoughts were vaguely, going in his background mind, it made him open his mouth and stare in the skies. They were dark, fast and bold “Storm. It’s going to be a storm.” He said to himself. “I need to go. … go where? Go home? What is there that will be happy to see me? A new TV set? Or the computer that is going to take me back to my job. Empty kitchen with an empty fridge? Windows looking on the same street? Why should I go home?
“I feel like chaos” he said to himself. That the feeling when you repeatedly think about doing something, for a long time, but never manage to get it done because you start thinking about something else, that seems to be better, and you still think about what you didn’t do, and about new thing, and even things that keep coming up in your mind more eagerly and with stronger desire to be done, and the more and longer you have all these things in your mind the worse this crave for the realization becomes and, eventually, you can’t do any of these things because you’re exhausted just because of thinking about them, however, they are still with you. It all accumulated in a milky way that goes circles around the only alive and shining part of your mind, which always tries to look on the positive side of the life, sort of the sun, which would prefer to be the moon and lose its gravitational energy for this brutal world of the things-desired-to-be-done.
Just in the middle of such reflections a taxi car stopped by. A driver, tanned skin, beard, and a blatant smile with own story, shout out: “Need a ride, sir?”
Just after he sat in the back seat of the taxi, first rain drop has fallen on the windshield, slowly sliding down, leaving a water track after itself. That was the last barrier for the coming flood of tears. He wept like a child and didn’t want to stop.
Taxi driver killed the engine.
Skies tired of holding all of the water, that made them look so dark and vicious, started the dance of crystals, covering the city, soothing every soul in a way that only story-holders know.
Maria
May be I missed something…
Sitting lonely by the fireplace, in the rocking chair, just like the one he always wanted to have since childhood, and to sit just like that with such a serious face… thinking really widely and broadly about own… like Sherlock or Epicur… and with a glass of Merlot..
In the whole house just crackling of the fire and hissing of the conditioner… May be I missed something.. Said he, but now out loud to himself…
Something started vibrating, flashing with an idle melody through the dark silence of the house…
- Да.. answered he, in hope that it is some of the “close” people that remembered him in the New Years Eve..
- Hola! Puedo hablar a Sr. Miguel. Esta en el casa ahora?
- -Discúlpeme, está equivocado el número, señiorita…
- -Lo siento…
And she hang up the phone… wrong number… She needed somebody called Miguel…
hmm.. I should’ve said that I was Miguel. Then, shoud've reserved the table in a restaurant and asked her out… And when she woudn’t meet Miguel there, just before she starts leaving, accost her and tell:
-Hola, Senioritta. Me llamo Roberto. Esta muy bonita y estoy solo esta noche. Quiere beber algo comigo?
You don’t have to wonder that people treat a woman with such beauty like that. You’re not first, you’re not the last…
And she responded:
-Gracias y Mucho gusto Roberto. Me encantaria…
And then with projectors and street lights through bars and clubs until the dawn… and then it’s not lonely and very hot in your bed… and in the morning, a little bit ill and tired you ask her:
-Como te llamas?
-Maria…
That would be the last word you would hear from her.. and she gets dressed and gone, gone…
You’re lonely again.. inside just the fantasies and at front of you their reflections on the burning down fire…
Sitting lonely by the fireplace, in the rocking chair, just like the one he always wanted to have since childhood, and to sit just like that with such a serious face… thinking really widely and broadly about own… like Sherlock or Epicur… and with a glass of Merlot..
In the whole house just crackling of the fire and hissing of the conditioner… May be I missed something.. Said he, but now out loud to himself…
Something started vibrating, flashing with an idle melody through the dark silence of the house…
- Да.. answered he, in hope that it is some of the “close” people that remembered him in the New Years Eve..
- Hola! Puedo hablar a Sr. Miguel. Esta en el casa ahora?
- -Discúlpeme, está equivocado el número, señiorita…
- -Lo siento…
And she hang up the phone… wrong number… She needed somebody called Miguel…
hmm.. I should’ve said that I was Miguel. Then, shoud've reserved the table in a restaurant and asked her out… And when she woudn’t meet Miguel there, just before she starts leaving, accost her and tell:
-Hola, Senioritta. Me llamo Roberto. Esta muy bonita y estoy solo esta noche. Quiere beber algo comigo?
You don’t have to wonder that people treat a woman with such beauty like that. You’re not first, you’re not the last…
And she responded:
-Gracias y Mucho gusto Roberto. Me encantaria…
And then with projectors and street lights through bars and clubs until the dawn… and then it’s not lonely and very hot in your bed… and in the morning, a little bit ill and tired you ask her:
-Como te llamas?
-Maria…
That would be the last word you would hear from her.. and she gets dressed and gone, gone…
You’re lonely again.. inside just the fantasies and at front of you their reflections on the burning down fire…
He was alone...
He was alone, alone like a moon. Like a path in the park at night, his thoughts were outlining unrecognizable shapes of the bitterest despair and darkest sadness. With all his inner desires, forces, that were left after all the struggle, he didn’t want to believe in that. He didn’t want to admit that because that would’ve have changed the name of his life to “nothingness” or decorate everything he did with a bright yellow word “worthless” in every sentence of his life. No, God, no… all the same, denying the truth didn’t help either. The truth that was so bright and obvious for everybody, except for him for so many years. He started feeling that something very obnoxious, mind-vomiting was crawling in his withering spirit, something that nobody would’ve been able to say out loud, or make fun of at that point.
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