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Untitled
By Mikey
and this july tastes like september. it tastes like vermouth
in september.
that kind of vermouth you get when you order a really dry martini.
they just
wave the bottle over the top. and i somehow
picked up on the different way you had opened the door. a new
click in the
sequence set off a strange siren in my subconscious. did you pick
up on my
flinch? both being so subtle, that half my emotion was amazement
that i had
noticed anything different about your entrance.
"gina"
and you can't believe a word they say. even when it's your name.
"good trip?"
"well houston was hell. and it is the last time i will ever
take the f------
train"
"that's good"
you know i was never good at bullshit...even though it is my job.
but i
married him i guess to teach me. thank god it was gin that i spilled
on the
floor last night. no stain left...but still the smell. i had hoped
it would
inspire him to drink. to set off sirens for him.
and my mother used to say to my father "no pain" she'd
put up her glass "no
regrets" well, he never had a drop to toast with. but he
was good enough of a
man to pretend. he'd make the clinking noise. she'd down.
mother. were all the doors really locked? please tell me.
i hated her. i simply had to hate her all these years. it seemed
to be such a
necessary part of the human condition. i hated her. so with every
drink i
downed in my head "no pleasure" my husband isn't a good
man and drinks with
me. we both hold up our glasses "no memories" then comes
the real clink. i
can never hear it anymore. but i see it in the gin. the mild disturbance
of
high tones. the little waves my tongue soon swims on.
"and you can't forget to close the damn garage door every
night. yea, we
movied to the boonies. but lets get real hunney, everyone's a f-----
thief now
a-days"
and if i told myself you stole my heart, you lying sack of hypocrisy,
it
wouldn't hurt as much. if i could pin your robbery to be my life
i might feel
better. but the fact of the cold listless matter is, i don't know
what you
took. but i stand here with not a thing to my name. had i missed
everything
you said before that? it was 8:30 now. 2 hours since you walked
in. and just
as i stopped hearing the clink of our glasses when we would toast,
the gin had
stopped making me feel better. it has begun throwing away my time.
and if i said i didn't love you anymore, i fear i would be giving
up on the
only thing that i know myself to be. i am not a woman, i am not
a person, no
good sport, or education to back up my words. i have to love you
so i can
keep being a pretty wife. so it hurts to hear and see the subtle
things that
change in you david. if it were someone else causing you to walk
in our
(woops, your) house so strange.....couldn't i press on.
today is ever the same I as tomorrow. perhaps that is what keeps
me going on.
the redundancy. or does it hold me back. time pulls me like a
river of glue
lately. i can't get out, and only move slow with the thickness
because of it.
so i love you.
so i am sorry.
so, not we don't need to have children
and i will pick you up at the train station next time.
"yes, david"
"yes"
"yes"
"yes"
"ok, hunny"
"ummm....i guess"
"no...no...oh, god...i mean yes. yes davie yes."
if time really was a river of glue, my mothers had dried 20
years ago.
martini, ripped stocking and all. she died with the words, "no
regrets" in her
eyes. she died almost holding her glass up to the wind. at least
you could
see it in the way her arm fell. i loved her in a way that when
i found a note
that said "all the doors are locked hunney. and i must get
out" in my lunch,
i laughed a bit knowing full well her intentions and that she
really would. go
and be free. i loved her too in that way that i would always learn
from her
mistakes. so i regret everyday not running home to do anything
about it.
we moved to the woods, or i did at least, so we didn't have
to keep locked
doors. and though i love david, the garage door will stay open
every night if
i have anything to say about it. cause maybe then, i love myself
more.
