Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Old Prose Again

Well I guess cleaning out your house again and again and again (sifting, shifting, filtering, gloaming) means that inevitably you uncover scraps of paper with words on them from the distant past. Perhaps I'm the only one who finds them wildly entertaining. But nonetheless, I am going to share some of my favourites.
This one is from not too very long ago, February 2010, but still I had no idea what was going on. Things change so fast when you are young. Enjoy...

It wasn't good, she admitted to herself, not good at all. She was at that point where she was beyond reckless, beyond buoyancy, beyond light. The flashing lights and smoke machine seemed to catch at her clothes, her hair, her eyes, and she marched in a straight line to the bar.
"Another shot, please" she said to the bartender.
"Had a bad day, hun?" he asked, sympathy and pity mixed on his face.
"Just long, that's all" she smiled weakly and tossed another one down before going back to the dance floor. She spotted her friends in a group among the sweaty, half-naked bodies but it just made her feel ill. She paused, leaned against the wall, checked her phone: there. A new text.
                         Just walking by the club. Walk with me home and back?
She left then and there, bounding down the stairs to the cold fresh air. He stood waiting against a lamp post, looking at the long line-up to get in. The bouncer stopped her as she half fell out the door.
"You coming back?" he asked.
"No, I'm done thanks" she said and she ran past and hugged him. He smiled hugely at her.
"Nice glasses," he said, motioning to her head.
"Oh!" She had forgotten they were there. She pulled them off, orange plastic frames in the shape of stars.
"Can you carry them for me?" she asked, handing them to him, "I'm a bit tipsy."
He laughed and put them in his jacket pocket.

They walked in the cold air, laughing and talking and him grabbing her arm to stop her from falling off the curb. Once they got to his place she made fun of how messy it was, and made friends with his fish while he dropped off his work clothes and computer. They started back the way they came when her friends started calling and texting her. Where are you?!? Are you by yourself??? Are you drunk?!  We are leaving now!!!
A block before they got back to the club, she stopped him. "I'll say goodnight here," she told him, "or else my friends will know something's wrong."
"What do you mean?" he asked, as they faced each other, closer now.
"They can sense emotion," she said quietly, "like a dog can sense fear..."
He held her now.
"Want to know a secret?" she stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear.
"Maybe," he said. "Ok, tell me."
"I missed you, sort of," she whispered almost inaudibly, lips tickling ear.
His face was turning towards her.
"See?" she murmured, "That was a good secret, non?" And then he was kissing her and they kissed sloppily, hungrily, on the sidewalk, in the dark, not feeling the cold.

They broke apart. "My friends!" she breathed, and gigglingly she dragged him the rest of the block. As they waited on the corner to cross she noticed her friends on the other side glaring at her. She waved, and leaned softly against his chest as he was behind her, and he stopped her as she almost started crossing too soon in front of a car.
"Sorry, I'm ready to go now," she said to the stony faces of them waiting for her. She turned to him and said "Let's hang out this week." He smiled and started walking away.
Then she was enveloped by the oppressiveness once again as he left, and she felt cold, and tired yet wild. She wouldn't give her friends a straight answer. She knew he wasn't right, but she couldn't tell them that, couldn't tell them who he was, and she decided that tomorrow there would be enough time to feel guilty yet elated at what she had managed to pull off, and that for tonight she would revel in the dirt, the glorious dirtiness, humaness she felt, and she knew in that instant that she would never regret her actions, not now or tomorrow, or the next day, because she had hated how she had felt in the club, on the dancefloor, drinking too much alone and people staring, and she had never felt so peaceful, so in tune with herself and the world as when she had been enticing him into having an affair.



  1. You've really pegged the downside there is to the club scene. Heat, sweat, and an oppressing sense of the cheapness of human interaction, the almost bestial attitude of the average club-goer. I tend to stay the heck away from those places. But alas, there's no place around here to get a quiet drink...no, I don't want to hear Justin Bieber or Lady Gaga while I'm trying to knock back my whiskey sour, thank you very much.

    You are quite an evocative writer. You have a knack for describing emotions and feelings, even taboo ones (the dirtiness, the humanness).

  2. Sounds familiar. You were a good writer, even then.