| Screwdriver I just remember a screwdriver being spit in my face. Then a car trying to run me over. The drive back home has been erased from memory. There were fingers pointing accusingly at one and other, verbal thrashings galore. I might have acted childlike, but I was hurt. Plugging in the trusted ax, headphones on, I started the opening riff… Hey Joe, where you going with that gun in your hand? Nothing spells out frustration better then using your teeth to play a tune at 3 in the am. And there she was. How she got in I do not know, what she was doing there totally blew my mind. Why she decided to sleep with me that night is enigmatic to the believer of choice encounters. I lasted two counts of three seconds. For months I had courted her desires for more then just friendship. The thought of her body against mine made my toes curl to arthritic proportions, saliva drying up causing my voice to crackle. I had acted the jester, poured water on my head to crack a smile on a face that was scoured on my retina. Piercing eyes cast from beneath full eyebrows. A smile revealing crooked teeth that some point in the past could have used an orthodontist care. Dimples in cheeks so cute that they formed an oasis of pleasurable thought. She had that natural beauty that one can but hope for. The kind of look that still appealed to the eye come next morning when hair was tousled like a party had taken place in a wind tunnel. Only twice did I catch her with make-up on, oh my god! Oh my god! Never once did she fall for my advances, she had after all procured herself a nice boyfriend two weeks after our initial introduction, so why bother? But I tried… in vein. Still, there was the odd kissy face. A stolen moment when I dropped her off after an evening of partaking in the company of friends and strangers. A present bought here, a gift given there. If she’d ever ask for to much I would give here tenfold. The other girl didn’t really mean that much to me. She was found at the intersection of lonely lane and sassy street. Sparks did fly, however. Was it pure lust that caused me to cuddle up, or was there more? And why did my paramour become so agitated? Spiteful remarks made constantly interrupting my new past time interest. I was blind though, did not realize that here was jealousy rearing its ugly head. Should I have caught on? Men are from mars, women are from… from a place that men will never understand. And thus time past by, her relationship starting to dwindle, mine just morphing from lust into pornographic debauchery! The game was on and I looked forward to overtime. Heading into the last minutes of regulation play it was a tie! Time spend divided between either, intensity of the seconds weighing like a ton of bricks, each move made could mean a change of pace. The morning after hey joe’s interlude found my bed being occupied by just myself. She had left shortly after I shuddered my post orgasmic twitch, leaving me my pillow as a comfort blanket. No note, just her panty which in haste had been left behind. The phone conversation was morphinesque, a slur of words incoherent and fleeting to the memory. We decided to meet later… And later became the next day, the next week, the next month. In the meantime my other relationship had been cast adrift, my board not needing to surf the waves of excitement it offered. Instead I opted to bask in the rays while feeling the grains of sand between my toes, all the while sucking on a pinacolada and waiting for the storm to near. Cause storm it would eventually. And storm it did. I just remember driving around with “goats head soup” playing in a never ending loop; coming down again, hide your love, winter… The syntax is negative yet the experience was positive. Conversations paralleled Shakespearean prose. Glances cast mirrored Mona Lisa’s smile. Whispers on the wind were lute like. It was spring yet November clouds hung in the air. Is it inevitable that goods things shall come to past? For the duration of 1 month… 4 weeks… 30 days… 718 hours… countless beats of the heart, my heart beat faster. Till we grew apart during a phone conversation. A culmination of irritations, disgust and apathy lead to ordinary survival. We had reached a point where fighting resulted in nothing. No make up sex, no crying sessions, no reaching for the bottle to dilute the painful agony of rejection and loneliness. This is the end, beautiful friend this is the end… Reflecting upon that which transpired, mirroring that experience to new ones, I can but conclude that actions taken always weigh more during the act off instead of right before or left after. And so, with that thought in mind, I head out everyday looking for a lady who will spit a screwdriver in my face… …. |