Echo

hey pretty…

Kyrie suggested we go for drive in her new 2-door BMW coupe. In the parking lot, we slipped into her bucket seats; Kyrie took over from there. At nearly 90 miles per hour she zipped us up to that windy edge known to some as Mulholland, a sinuous road running the ridge of the Santa Monica Mountains, where she then proceeded to pump her vehicle in and out of turns. Sometimes dropping down to 50 miles per hour, only to immediately gun it back up to 90 again. Fast. Slow. Fast. Fast. Slow. Sometimes a wide turn, sometimes a quick one. She preferred the tighter ones, the sharp, controlled jerks swinging left to right, before driving back to the right, only so she could do it all over again. Until after enough speed and enough wind, and more distance than I’d been prepared to expect, taking me to parts of the city I rarely think of, and never visit, I heard her say,

Hey pretty, don’t you wanna take a ride with me
Through my world?
Hey pretty, don’t you wanna kick a slide
Through my world?
(Do you get the gist of the song now?)

I can’t remember the innane things I started babbling about then. I know it didn’t really matter, she wasn’t listening. She just yanked up on the emergency brake, dropped her seat back, and told me to lie on top of her. On top of those leather pants of hers, her hands immediately guiding mine over those soft, slightly-oily folds, positioning my fingers on a shiny, metal tab, small and round, like a tear. Then murmuring a murmur so inaudible that even though I could feel her lips tremble against my ear, she seemed far, far away. “Pinch it,” she said, which I did lightly until she also said, “Pull it,” which I also did, gently parting the teeth, one at a time, down under and beneath, the longest unzipping of my life.

We never even kissed or looked into each other’s eyes, our lips just trespassed on those inner labryinths hidden deep within our ears, filled them with the private music of wicked words, hers in many languages, mine in the off-color of my only tongue. Too bad dark languages rarely survive.

What’s this? There was a witness tonight. Claiming in the span of 2 minutes, I disappeared. Interesting…

Monday night, Matt calls me and says I should go to Oregon. We need more visibility and he wants me to connect with them. Tuesday morning they’re scrambling to get me set up in Oregon.

Rain and unfamiliar territories. Shitty rental car. Blend in by standing out. Darkness in the light. Assassin. My favorite movie is Grosse Point Blank because it soothes my loneliness with metaphor. First night in a Comfort Inn, I’m assuming every inch of this carpet and comforter is covered in bodily fluid, and I’m afraid of getting STDs on my feet. Motel sleep is always sheet only.

My mama taught me that.

Dream so real that I didn’t know where I was or what dimension. In it, Jerry and I  spoke of firemen. In it we finally connected.

Today was my first day back. I’ve been out of it, focused on what I’ve been working on. I come back from lunch and the entire company, all 135 of us, are gathered together and being lectured by a retired fireman. Today is a mandatory fire drill and disaster training.

Speaking of fire or disaster, before I left for the trip, did I wonder what would happen if I left them alone together? Sure. She’d become more bold in her flirting with him and I tried not to pay attention to it so as not to get caught up in it. But she seemed particularly aggressive today and I was shocked to find she’d come to our gym to watch him play last night. I was fiercely uncomfortable and I ached. I wondered if he kept secrets from me. Then I reminded myself if he was like that then I would be done with him.

A lot of chatter between the two. I went on Amazon and bought a set of bluetooth headphones. No need to let this piss me off.

Later he asked me if I was going to the gym. I said I might. He asked me if I was almost ready to leave so I said sure. She always insists on walking him out. He barely said goodbye to her, we were talking. And so I told him I would go to the gym. And I did.

I was on the roman chair when he came up and asked me if I was done. He didn’t want me to feel like I had to walk him out. I asked him, are you asking me to walk you out? He said, only if you happen to be leaving.

So we walked out together, I wondered, was this it? Were we finally going to talk? He said it’s weird how dark it is now this time of day and between the shadows and glow of the streetlights, I think of the touch of his hand and how he is black and I am black and how scared I am that he’s going to say he knows about the dream and he’s sorry. It should never have happened.

We are alone and talking. We are two people, talking. We are two people talking, alone. Until my aunt drives by and honks.

We say goodbye. See you tomorrow. I tell him I don’t really want to play tomorrow and he says he wants to take it easy, too, so a slow game will be good for us. I wonder why life has brought us to this point, and where it took the rest of us.

The moon through my windshield reminds me the full moon is rising.

As I drive away, I remember firemen.

My jealousy works in funny ways. The moment I feel it, rather than digging in, my response is to let go of the object. Give up. Not want it anymore. I have a low threshhold for emotional competition. I don’t feel healthy if there’s jealousy present. It makes me feel like I would rather give up all those feelings around a person or object, the desire and the feelings of being threatened, because if something was mine, it would be mine regardless. In this case it’s not mine to begin with and a 3rd party is ramping up aggression. And I don’t like what’s happening in my subconscious. I don’t want to care about any of this.