Posted on August 26, 2009 - by Rasham

Seventeen

Its dusk and gray in a cold place. Time had stopped and I glided through alley ways passed back doors and entrance halls. My thoughts were pulsing, the word seventeen repeats in my mind until it is dry in meaning: seventeen, seventeen, seventeen…I can still taste his blood on the moist skin of my lips and the fog before me seems as thick as the weight of the air through which I am swimming . I’m dragging, reality is uncertain, and the cobble stone walk appears like a bubbly cloud for silent rest. ‘Seventeen, seventeen…’, I say through sticky beads of burgundy, and I collapse into the tender arms of a great giant as I thought of things in numbers and blue…

I awoke one morning in early May and hurried from my bed to the blue convertible, my escort on the journey which would end a semester at school: just one more paper to turn in and I was free for the summer. As the vehicle growled through the peaks of the college boulevard I inhaled deep sips of toxic smoke, pleased and entirely proud. The celebratory gathering was confirmed; my dress clung to the arms of the hanger in my coat closet, and as I released the seventeen-paged document from the grips of my polished finger nails I sighed; I was sad to be losing a challenge, though elated to have conquered some feat.

Life seemed average, and when it wasn’t average, it seemed unbearable; otherwise it was only slightly above.

I arrived four hours later as scheduled and met my friends with whom I drank a ceremonial shot of pure intoxication. Down and burning, again and again; I was drowning in the pale glow of an exceptional accomplishment for a mess of a girl. The fourth barrel of poison would not so easily slither into the pit of my insides, and I excused myself to recollect my balance and composure, alone but in the company of other disheveled ladies in the boudoir. Cold water splashed once, then twice, lip gloss, hair, and align. “Another night, another drunk”, I said to my reflection. I embarked to return to the group, but someone had me entirely distracted: a man who drank alone was always worth the attention. His name was Jay, and it was because he was isolated, because his hair was entirely disorderly, and his drink was a bourbon over ice. It was because his humbled presence penetrated the traditional chatter of chums at this regular house of spirit and ale, and because his posture was poor and his shirt was a size too big that I was utterly fascinated by him. I had been standing still watching him curiously, and I had to apologize to a woman who had from behind become hesitantly trapped. Powered by a strange confidence and slightly snickered from the sequence of slugs to sobriety, I approached the man of my affection. Breathe in, exhale; “hi”, I said, and as he turned slowly I could feel the heat flood to fill the pockets of my cheeks and I glowed timidly as my heart thudded loudly in my chest. “Hey!” he remarked, and our eyes met and we smiled and lingered in this moment, allowing for a brief exchange of karmic awareness. I completely melted at the sight of those dimples, and I knew it right then, that I would love him from that moment and onwards through time and space. We were instantly bonded, for it was as deep as the ocean blue that we were connected as though we had been for longer than our years on earth. To the entire world we faded, we became as insubstantial as ghosts independent of one another, but together we were powerful, as substantial as a jester on the roof of a kingdom in the atmosphere. However, this union came at a cost; retribution had to be paid, one of us owed the other some debt from lives past, and it was no mistake that that debt was being called upon now by the forces of the universe and fueled by biological attraction: we had collided, and until balance in retribution was achieved, nothing would tear us apart. Like the sun and the moon we began to coalesce from vast clouds of empty space and nothingness. At the bar I sat besides him as the world around fell quiet; he was all I could see. We were side by side in bliss and smiling with ease, our shadows cast were swimming in the surrounding vaporous atmosphere. Our eyes glowed with a certain awareness of the unknown; a realm past anything our senses could validate. We knew we belonged together, resting as the world moved in rapid cycles; this was our place, our day, our moment in time, and together we discovered ourselves in a new facet of reality, like children by the shore for the very first time. We had only just met, and few words were exchanged between us, but we had given each other more in peaceful gestures of acceptance and simplicity than anything before. There was no surface, no depth, just two souls dissolving into the essential nature of pure being. His body leaned against mine as a lucid fantasy was being realized by us believers, and we watched as people danced to the tick tock of time in an intricate warehouse of machinery and artificial incandescence.

On that night, we left the bar arm in arm, traveling from a den of darkness to a bright room of popular appeal, the two of us in a whirlwind of emotional uprising. Drink one, drink two, and we were spinning safely to the melody of our soul’s reunion, approached by a short man with long hair who said, “You want to go for a ride? Free yourselves and feel color and spirit…” We agreed by extending our hands and in our palms fell two round dumplings which we allowed to sizzle on our tongues for a while. Euphoria, and we were running down the Embarcadero, seeking adventure in unlikely chambers of sea salty air and sewage water wells. Pitch black, we boarded a fire engine boat and slipped into a crevice where we made love and laughed and explored a dimension of existence only available to the daringly self destructive sinners of the world. I cried, his touch tingled, I was reawakening, never before had I experienced someone so beautifully, so completely, and so honestly. That night was painted in vivid imagination, the stars in the sky played like a xylophone as the liquid alloy spilled like sheets against our castle in the sea, and we twirled the fabric of our garments in the echoing breeze, watching the traces of energy emanate from our fingertips, dynamically alive in a state of absolute assurance; I was home.

I remember the first time he said “I love you”, three days after our epic nautical adventure. It was by no means an indication of the depth of our commitment: the words were ornamental, utilized to simply decorate our conversations. Our connection was our livelihood, without him I would die. He felt the same way. Everyday was another opportunity to elope, and we traveled the world indulging in each other’s company, inseparable and nostalgic. We spoiled ourselves by simply being together: but what brought us together was a power far greater than either of us could comprehend, though she would show her ugly face in the end, for now, on the day he said “I love you”, he was all I could see, and I was all for which he had to live.

We created a nest within a quiet suburban neighborhood, and adorned our retreat with trinkets from trips and fragments from our journeys. Home was merely our base, walls which protected our humble possessions from the threat of thievery and bad weather. Our home was in our heads, in the secrecy of our private imaginations; in each other. We were the same; our most radical desires suddenly were our reality: between the two of us, we lacked rationality and reasoning, we were characteristically spontaneous and unpredictable individually, and together it was as though these facets of character ruled our lives as we no longer had any fear or inhibitions because we were never to be alone. “Let’s go to the beach”, he would say, and I would wink in compliance. Though the beach was only a short walk away, we would mount his motorcycle and ride, my arms wrapped around him as he became my means for survival on this thrilling expedition. One beach, two beach, three beaches passed and we were still riding, night creeping, the both of us carefree and smiling. Three days later and two states through we found our beach, and neither of us had any thought as to whether we had even bothered to lock our front door. It didn’t matter: nothing mattered: all that was desired, precious, and worth breathing for in this world was by my side, holding my heart in his hands.

“I can’t believe we did that!” was the sort of thing we would usually say to one another. On the islands we had chased sea turtles in the sand, in the caves we licked the ice from ancient carvings of rock. In the desert we sweat the heat in strands of rainbow rose petals melting from our eyes, and against the cool of a brick wall we tempted sensitivity with nakedness and touch. We went everywhere, tried everything, and we did it quickly, as if there was no time to spare. We were braided, infatuated, impossibly isolated from the rest, yet it was still unclear as to whom karmic retribution was owed, and in what nature it was to be obeyed.

On nights where the sky seemed to breathe the light from the twinkling rounds of acquiescent bulbs, we would gaze upwards from the comfort of a bed of green blades. Not once, not twice, but seventeen times I listened to him speak on the subject of his father, and I loved to listen, for never before had I experienced someone so beautifully, so completely, and so honestly. “When I was a boy I held my father in my arms while he forced a smiled despite the pain; he asked for a bourbon over ice. We were to be parted then, I was guided there by her, lady Karma, and for that I wasn’t angry. He was to be with me all my life until that day, to learn to love me, and to learn to trust me, and to believe me each time I told him how much I adored him, so that on that day I would be with him during his departure from earth, for I owed him karmic retribution, and it was clear then, watching as he passed, to whom it was owed, and in what nature it was to be obeyed.” I wept all the while he spoke, and tears were forming in his eyes, and as he saddened his dimples showed themselves slightly at first, then more clearly, and I melted at the sight of him, knowing from this day and onwards through time and space that I would love him as he had his father, to have him love me, trust me, and to believe me each time I said “I adore you”.

Two years and three months and lady Karma allowed us to be together. The nature of our togetherness was changing; my energies were waning yet Jay’s appetite for the wild and untamed remained constant. I loved him still, and my heart doubled with the adoption of a pup. Now there were three: Jay, the pup, and me, but it was becoming two again, this time me and the pup, and Jay was fluttering. That pup altered our course, for no longer did my actions lack consequences outside my personal hygiene and health; the pup was with me, and to be so always, in dreams and in wake. Jay was still my darling, but our togetherness began to fade, the two of us becoming as insubstantial as ghosts, while the pup became as substantial as a jester on the roof of a kingdom in the atmosphere. We were no longer powerful; we were becoming stale, but lady Karma was no fool, and in respect of her wisdom and will we continued to love one another as we understood that our connection was as deep as the ocean blue.

“Where were you last night?” now became the sort of thing we would say to one another. It broke our hearts to be this way, but retribution had yet to be paid, though it was still unclear as to whom it was owed, and in what nature it was to be obeyed. We waited me and the pup, Jay and the pup, but never me and Jay. A love as great as ours was never forever; the faster it lived, the faster it died and we both knew this fact of the world, we understood it, and of all the iconoclastic ideals we painted red across banners of boredom and mediocrity, we never battled this unsettling truth about love. It had been two years, three months, and seventeen days since we met. Seventeen pages, seventeen days, seventeen Parker Street on the day of the accident, where she finally showed her ugly face.

I remember the last time I said “I love you”, your hands were clutching mine in the street where you lay, your hair was entirely disorderly and your shirt was a size too big. You forced a smile despite the pain, and you asked me for a bourbon over ice. I completely melted at the sight of those dimples, and I knew it right then, that I would love you from that moment and onwards through time and space. I wiped the tears from my face, and I kissed the blood from your cheek; once, twice, seventeen times until the sounds of the motorcycle beneath you choked, and you no longer breathed. I looked around and there were three: me, you and the pup, and seventeen painted in white on the sidewalk besides. You left me then; it was dusk and gray in a cold place. Time had stopped and I glided through alley ways passed back doors and entrance halls. My thoughts were pulsing, the word seventeen repeated in my mind until it was dry in meaning: seventeen, seventeen, seventeen…I could still taste your blood on the moist skin of my lips and the fog before me seemed as thick as the weight of the air through which I was swimming . I was dragging, reality was uncertain, and the cobble stone walk appeared like a bubbly cloud for silent rest. ‘Seventeen, seventeen…’, I said through sticky beads of burgundy, and I collapsed into the tender arms of a great giant as I thought of things in numbers and blue.

Without you I sat alone at the bar, one drink, two drinks, seventeen drinks, down and burning, again and again, and I was drowning in the pale glow of an exceptional accomplishment for a mess of a girl. I thought I saw you, your posture was poor, and you said “hey!” as you had on the very first day, and I said “you were to be with me from that moment and on for the rest of your life, to learn to love me, and to learn to trust me, and to believe me each time I told you how much I adored you, so that on that day I would be with you during your departure from earth, for I owed you karmic retribution, and it was clear then, watching as you passed, to whom it was owed, and in what nature it was to be obeyed.”

I wept all the while I spoke, another sip of bourbon over ice, alone at the bar, I was hardly worth any attention, as insubstantial as a ghost.

‘Love and Furlough’