Old News
October 30th 2008 12:16
It was like a drug. Fast and addictive and I couldn't get enough of it. And just like a drug it was never satisfying, never mine alone.
I knew I was hurting myself and it felt good; an empty bliss in which I could be overwhelmed by pseudo-happiness and average aspirations of love and destiny and desperation. I could continue with the more accurate aspects of desire and impatience.
He had just spent the evening ignoring me and I felt almost liberated that I didn't care. He no longer had any effect and I was no longer infected. No more was I diseased with his putrid authority. In the car on the way home it was all the same. Harry was in the back exercising hurtful humour and a disinterest he seemed to think was cool, as though he was above regular human civility. The two of them fed off each other, bouncing a series of in-jokes and phrases, abusing absurdity.
It had gotten very late and I was exhausted. I had work early he next morning and I wanted to be home. Finally we dropped Harry off and I could relax. I didn't have to feel awkward anymore because I didn't care what Joe thought of me. I could only imagine it was bad. I made an attempt at conversation but the tiredness was growing and I was succumbing to it. The silence only lasted for half a minute, if that, before I felt his hand cupping my face.
"Don't go to sleep!" he said playfully, as though everything was the way it was supposed to be.
"I'm not sleeping," I replied, removing his clumsy hand from its awkward positioning on my face where it was half blocking my vision. His grip only loosened as he transferred his hand from my face to my hands.
There we were, driving home in silence again, hand in hand. I don't know what I was thinking. It seemed empowering for him to be coming back, as though I had some kind of hold. He hadn't been drinking and it was no accident we'd spent the evening together for he had called, right?
Talk began again, naturally and easily. His answers became more distracted and his movements grew rushed. Suddenly the car is being pulled over and he's kissing me. The more times you've kissed someone the more natural it becomes and by now it just works. I remember how awful it was the first few times. Saliva everywhere, absolutely destroying me mouth, but I liked him.
That was the last time. I guess he's not so friendly anymore.
I knew I was hurting myself and it felt good; an empty bliss in which I could be overwhelmed by pseudo-happiness and average aspirations of love and destiny and desperation. I could continue with the more accurate aspects of desire and impatience.
He had just spent the evening ignoring me and I felt almost liberated that I didn't care. He no longer had any effect and I was no longer infected. No more was I diseased with his putrid authority. In the car on the way home it was all the same. Harry was in the back exercising hurtful humour and a disinterest he seemed to think was cool, as though he was above regular human civility. The two of them fed off each other, bouncing a series of in-jokes and phrases, abusing absurdity.
It had gotten very late and I was exhausted. I had work early he next morning and I wanted to be home. Finally we dropped Harry off and I could relax. I didn't have to feel awkward anymore because I didn't care what Joe thought of me. I could only imagine it was bad. I made an attempt at conversation but the tiredness was growing and I was succumbing to it. The silence only lasted for half a minute, if that, before I felt his hand cupping my face.
"Don't go to sleep!" he said playfully, as though everything was the way it was supposed to be.
"I'm not sleeping," I replied, removing his clumsy hand from its awkward positioning on my face where it was half blocking my vision. His grip only loosened as he transferred his hand from my face to my hands.
There we were, driving home in silence again, hand in hand. I don't know what I was thinking. It seemed empowering for him to be coming back, as though I had some kind of hold. He hadn't been drinking and it was no accident we'd spent the evening together for he had called, right?
Talk began again, naturally and easily. His answers became more distracted and his movements grew rushed. Suddenly the car is being pulled over and he's kissing me. The more times you've kissed someone the more natural it becomes and by now it just works. I remember how awful it was the first few times. Saliva everywhere, absolutely destroying me mouth, but I liked him.
That was the last time. I guess he's not so friendly anymore.
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