He knew whose clothes I was wearing, having pulled them out of the closet for me himself that morning.
He’d gotten up earlier and told me to “sleep a little longer” while he went for breakfast makings. I had smiled and mumbled “mmmm, breakfast,” but secretly, I suspected he was mostly going out to get cigarettes. For whatever reason, he thinks I mind, and apologizes when his breath tastes of Camel Lights.
I don’t mind.
I pulled on the boxers and the too-big gingham shirt, rolling the sleeves and buttoning just one button. Right in the middle.
He made breakfast. I drank coffee and read Rolling Stone. We spent the rest of the morning breakfasting, catching the end of a movie — his favorite fight scene, puttering around the computer, posting on web logs. He came back from the shower, towel slung low. We kissed like we invented kissing. This is the way it goes from friends to lovers. A kiss. One button.
Afterwards, I napped in the red gingham shirt. No buttons.
“We’re lovers,” he’d said once when a friend asked how we were connected.
“Were.” I corrected him. By then, nearly an entire month had passed without any face time, and I’d been a little surprised, if not annoyed, at his presumption. “We were lovers.”
“Misplaced the apostrophe,” he’d said.
Within ten minutes, we’d found ourselves alone, grasping in the dark, updating our status.
Affairs are typically brief and conveniently uninvolved on any level other than the romantic one. Friendships are the opposite. And we? A juxtaposition of the two. Romantic, passionate, clandestine. Frank, interdependent, practical.
Sweaty. Entangled. Unstable. Complicated.
And not.
If we had business cards for relationships, then, I guess he and I would have to come up with titles. There are witnesses to the fact that he referred to me as his ‘girlfriend’ once. He’d said it in a proprietary sort of way, as though to mark his territory. Had he intended it differently, the term may have made me nervous. Time runs out for girlfriends faster than it does for lovers. Or affairs. Or friends. Or dirty little secrets.
Whichever applies.
This affair of ours requires no mood lighting or dimmer switches to conceal any physical imperfections. Nor for the moment does it require any excess light to clarify the more glaring, metaphysical ones.
Though, curtains might be nice for the neighbors’ sakes on some warm Saturday afternoons.
Dude, Fish! You didn’t tell us you’d been getting action! And all your loyal readers thought you were all alone in the big city! So, who is this fellow???????
just like tracy and hepburn!
…oh, fish!!!! i love it! this is one of the best pieces i’ve read anywhere in a loooooong time. and it means you’ve gotten a ‘piece’ of action! yay for that! you totally rocked my morning just now.
Okay, I’ve been reading for only about 4 months now and I am captivated by the telling of your story. You are beautifully articulate, and that provides me with great pleasure (language and perceptiveness combined and used well is an elevated art, in my opinion).
Anyway, this post and the one before it are so beautiful, mostly because of the subtle and complex and raw part of yourself that you are revealing. There is delicacy and an underwater feeling to them.
And I love that you realize he is an archetype in your life…..that is very powerful, and rare.
I’ll stop gushing because I’m not exactly sure I’m capable of accurately conveying what these posts made me feel……
i love this freakin blog.
Both physicially descriptive and emotionally evocative. When I read this, I can feel the morning-after glow…Must have been some night/morning/afternoon. And to think, I had someone I wanted to set you up with…guess he’s SOOL now.
Glad you had such a great weekend-of-my-birthday. (as we Jews say: God willing, someday, by me…)
I, like Pat Benatar/John Mellencamp, need a lover who won’t drive me crazy.
You are brave to put yourself out there like that. A hell of a lot more than me.
oh my!
Wow….I really like this blog.
Awesome blog!!!
First: ooh-lala!
Then: awwwww …
SOOL? I know SOL, but…
SOOL = shit out of luck.
Sort of like me in falling into situations similar to this that Fish has captivated us with.
Living vicariously? You bet.
you referred to “moving furniture” a few weeks ago. i seriously wonder if anyone actually listens to what your saying.