[i]☼ ○ ▬
In my bed. In and out of sleep. Feeling anxiety. My mother
is sleeping next to me. We both have a generous amount of face paint
on...resembling clowns. There’s a somber mood taking over. She turns to look at
me as if about to say something sincere, then smiles and says, “I just can’t
take you seriously with all that paint on.”
Together we laugh at how ridiculous the situation is.
▬ ○ ☼ ○ ▬
I’ve time traveled back to elementary school. Here I am
roaming the familiar courtyards. I see Misty, an old friend of mine whom
currently in waking life is married and has a baby. I consider walking up to
her and informing her of the bright future ahead of her but I change my mind
because I’m afraid of the butterfly effect. I might wake up and find everything
is completely different. I locate the basketball courts and attempt to join in
on a game but I’m out of luck and can’t seem to grab hold of a ball to play.
▬ ○ ☼
It’s about 10 a.m.; it’s been a restless morning. Aysena
keeps repositioning herself, which in return causes me to reposition myself. On
top of that I don’t feel resolved from last night. She arises from the bed and
quietly writes in her journal. I listen to the soft scribble of her pen in
hopes I can grab a clue as to what she’s thinking. Her quiet presence is loud
to me; I can’t get back to sleep. I watch her grab her pack and shoes and walk
out the door. Is she really just going to walk home? That’s six miles. I
wait a little bit and decide it’s useless lying around feeling empty. I spring
up out of bed, grab the scooter, and catch up to her on Laskin. She looks
surprised.
Me: “Hey.”
I stand there leaning up against my scooter while the cars
zoom by causing a distraction to the scene.
Me: “I don’t want to sleep anymore.”
With a confused look on my face I add, “I don’t understand.
Does this have to do with your period?”
She kind of laughs, “Maybe.”
I convince her to let me drive her home.
...
On the drive to her house I put on Beggar In The Morning by
The Barr Brothers, hoping for some kind of buttered up sonic consolation.
The ride there is silent, just the music ringing in our
ears. I park in her driveway on the corner of Hatton Street and Shore Drive.
She’s about to pull the lever to the door...
Me: “Ays, I’m sad.”
In her thick Russian accent all she can say is, “I’m sorry,”
except it sounds more like sawy.
She prepares to go.
Me: “Wait. Don’t go. I don’t understand what’s happening. I
like you. I want to know you.”
Again she says, “I’m sorry,” and steps out of the car. And
I’m left there alone...sitting in the driver’s seat holding a crumpled up
tissue from where I’ve released a few tears and snots. I don’t know what I’m
waiting for. At least five minutes pass, and then all of a sudden she’s
standing there next to my window. She came back for me. She’s concerned!
Sullenly I say, “Hey.”
She looks at me with haunting eyes...twiddling with her hair
strands, like she always does when she’s nervous or uncomfortable. Like an
ostrich’s head in the sand she hides her face behind her hands. She puts her
thumb inside her mouth halfway. I take notice.
I smile and comment, “You look like a baby.”
...
Me: “I’m just a human being. I’m just a person...that’s
interested in you...that likes you.”
...
Me: “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Her: “Yes. You didn’t.”
...
She explains further and it’s possible we may be getting
past the surface of the problem...
Her: “I can’t be in social situations...”
Me: “Social situations? With me?”
Her: “No. With anyone.”
It turns out she’s not ready to be with my friends. She says
it’s too fast...too soon...or that she’s not ready...to hang out with my
friends that is, not the pace of us. Social anxiety is the culprit here. The
mood lightens up with a little bit of humor and curling of the lips.
Me: “Do you still like me?”
Embarrassed by the question she hides behind her hands
again. We both giggle.
Me: “Do you?”
Her: “Yes.”
...
“Just forget about last night,” she encourages. Forget about
it like it never happened. She seems willing to move on from it. It was just an
error...a mere glitch in our love machine. All of that confusion for
nothing...nothing except a learning experience...to learn more about each
other’s human behavior. Everything is fine.
...
Me: “It feels like a long time ago since we first hung out.”
Her: “No. It’s a month ago.”
Me: “It’s crazy. Things are different. I’m glad you came
back to the car. I feel better.”
...
This has to be the most interesting and mysterious romantic
relationship I’ve ever had. We’re forced to hide behind communication barriers.
But I really think a lot of this conflict can be associated with her period. I
mean let’s face it. Periods are a global epidemic. Every woman experiences them
and has caused countless misunderstandings and emotional misguidance through
them. I feel relieved. We make beach plans later in the after noon. So I go
back to my house and recuperate.
Peanut Butter Bagel. Peach. Orange Juice.
...
Cleaning up around the house. Preparing a packed lunch for
Ays and I. Then, napping for 20 minutes.
I drive back to Shore Drive and meet up with her. Walking
across on Hatton Street. And so begins our wonderful day at the beach. It’s
unlike me to be up for this kind of thing as I’m usually one to avoid long
exposure to the sun. But put on a little sun block and I’m good to go. And my
skin is so pale I’m compared to a ghost sometimes so I think this will be
beneficial.
We spread out the blanket and jump right into the ocean.
This side of the water isn’t very rough, just mild wave action. It’s shallow
and we’re able to venture into the distance. We’re both very happy. It shines
on both of our faces.
Me: “Here we are, Ays. Just you and me...and the ocean. This
is nice.”
Ays: “Yes.”
We clamor around each other. Laughter. Play.
She clings onto my body like a koala would a tree and says,
“I am koala and you are the only tree in the ocean.”
Me: “Ha-ha.”
Having Egg Salad Sandwiches with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar
Chips. Peaches and Mangoes. Honey Oolong Tea.
Back out in the water. More laughter. More play. More
innocence.
Ays: “You are strange white man.”
Me: “You are strange brown woman.”
With my glasses off and wet hair she keeps telling me I look
like Gulliver from Gulliver’s Travels, a character who gets captured by
tiny people on an island.
The moments are so crisp and clear, almost surreal. Things
start to get frisky when I suggest we get naked out here. Nobody would be able
to tell what we’re doing unless the nearby neighbors happened to be using
binoculars. Sex in the ocean – humping underwater. The lack of gravity makes
our movement easy. Kissing – salty lips. Not in the least bit worried about the
passerbys or people lounging on the sand. It’s all a part of the thrill. The
climax – releasing everything into the ocean. Jokingly, I mention my fear of
the semen attracting fish or sharks. At one point I realize I forgot about the
shorts I was holding and in the process let them go.
Me: “Ays, I don’t have my shorts!”
Ays: “Heh-heh!”
Me: “I can’t believe this. That’s too funny.”
We head for the shore and she brings me a towel to cover up
with. A couple sitting in chairs along the shoreline noticed the incident. As I
walk by holding the wet towel around my waist the man comments, “You got a big
smile on your face.”
I smile embarrassed, “Yeah I lost my swimming trunks.”
Man: “I think your girl’s over there looking for them.”
I think they knew what was really happening out there in the
water.
We retreat back to her house. Hanging out in her bedroom
recollecting ourselves. Looking through photo albums on her iPad – portraits of
her family and her younger years.
...
She reads out loud her latest journal entry...in Russian
first, then translating some of the excerpts and main points. It’s interesting
to get a glimpse into her perspective on the events of last night and today. I
also appreciate the fact she values reflection time like I do.
Her: “I said here I am hysteric. Don’t do that anymore.”
...
While the sun is still setting we make love on the bottom
bunk – the outside light is slowly dimming into a moody noir grey. The bedroom
door is unlocked and we know her roommate is home. At any moment...well, you
know how we are...we like to be on the verge of being discovered. It turns us
on. This is the second time for sex today.
...
We take a break. She turns around lying on her stomach
fiddling with her device. I plant myself on top of her...still feeling horny
and excited. She doesn’t mind and wants more. As a joke she hits the red button
on her iPad to record a video of the steamy scene that’s about to happen. We
finish.
...
Me: “We’re professional exhibitionists.”
As an ongoing game we constantly recap the places we’ve had
sex.
Me: “We’ve got the forest, the backseat of my car, the
ocean, and now the bunk bed. We can cross off that on the list.”
...
Ays: “Is it true when a boy touches his hair he’s shy?”
Me: “Yeah I guess I do that.”
...
She touches the bulge in my shorts.
Referring to my penis I exclaim, “He’s tired.”
But he starts to grow...
Ays: “He made a lot of things today. He was working in the
water and on the bed. But he’s still good. He’s ready for work.”
Me: “Ha-ha.”
...
Enjoying Chanello’s Pizza with Soda and watching Heaven
(2002) on my smartphone. We make it through more than half the film before she
gets tired.
Me: “Bye-bye. Sleep well.”
I wasted the whole day away with her and I don’t feel guilty
about it at all. It was truly a magical and dreamy day. “Unforgettable
moments.” The business of the self is usually high priority but not this
time...not when around her...she envelops my attention. I think it’s a spell
she’s placed on me using her sweet Russian-Yakutian-Siberian charm. I am no
fair opponent to such beauty.
Back home. It’s about 11 p.m. Anthony’s playing guitar in
the dining room. I summarize to him the recent romantic happenings and try to
examine my newfound fascination with the idea of Ays and I. He pumps me up with
encouragement and a powwow ensues.
Settling down and watching The Snowtown Murders
(2011) with a Shock Top Raspberry Wheat Beer.
Sleep 2:30 a.m.
[i] All photos
by Aysena and me.
No comments:
Post a Comment