Narrow Escape
I spent the evening running from sadness. Which of course involves running towards it. Or walking. Walking to and fro. A beer followed closely by a nap was a bad idea. I arose after 40 minutes, having dreamt about...something, feeling like I had spent an insomniac's night in bed. I walk downstairs and there's just enough crap scattered around, plus enough dirty dishes, to continue exerting that pressing feeling on my chest. I sit on the couch and stare.
A shower. Must take a shower. A full routine shower - wash hair, shave, exfoliate. New beige tanktop with a built-in bra, purchased today. Looks pretty nice on, honestly. Short faded denim skirt. It's hot outside. Ok. Sit down again. Stare. The extent of my planning ability: walk to the corner store to buy a Red Bull. I head out.
There are lots of motorcycles in my neighborhood. I eye them jealously as they sit parked or fly past me, with the bitch on the back. Not too many crotch rockets. Mostly classic bikes that go from a purr to a roar, with lots of chrome. I walk along, my hair hanging wet down my back, feeling cool and comforting and slightly cloaking...
A father and son are rearranging the statues in the front yard. The statues are mostly angels and other saintly looking or graceful figures. There are a few animals. They had been lined up along the front of the house somewhat artlessly, and were likely destined to return to their original positions - the father was busily installing a little metal border fence to protect their designated area.
I walk towards the old pharmacy, but between it and the next building there is a scrubby little area leading to someone's apartment door. It is very narrow. Tonight, a very slight black man with a moustache is sitting in a lawn chair, nearly obscured by a weedy, gangly sapling. We exchange nods.
Walking past the pharmacy, I stop to stare in the windows. Though one half has been empty, now for years, the other half still houses a full wrap-around display of greeting cards. Puns and well-wishes and thank-yous and condolences insulated in this sealed tomb, greeting only the occasional stranger who bothers to look. Though I have stared into these windows before, tonight the effect was profoundly depressing.
I purchase my super-size Red Bull. As I walk past the pharmacy again, again I stop and stare. Snoopy lays oblivious atop his doghouse, as bouquets of roses and smiling children sit perfectly still in the last afternoon light. In the other half of the store, lemon-colored counters curve and stop to meet shallow, empty boxes stacked high along the wall. Don't cry.
A man and his woman roll up on one of those classic bikes and pull into a driveway. As I walk past he revs the engine impressively. A yellow ball in the grass punctuates with more sadness somehow. The father and son have made progress. Trying to be friendly, I say "Doing a little rearranging?" He smiles and mumbles something incoherent but I got the feeling he was indicating nothing much was going to change.
I stop to look at a spray of tiny purple flowers. Bending down, I touch them. They look a bit like thistle but much smaller, and very silky. As I walk onto my porch I crack open the Red Bull. My cats greet me through the window. Leaning on the railing, I stare out across the lawns, taking in every odd shrub and out-building.
As I open the door, the pressure in my chest moves up to my throat. I stand outside just long enough to tell myself this, too, shall pass. I enter, shutting out the world for the night.
A shower. Must take a shower. A full routine shower - wash hair, shave, exfoliate. New beige tanktop with a built-in bra, purchased today. Looks pretty nice on, honestly. Short faded denim skirt. It's hot outside. Ok. Sit down again. Stare. The extent of my planning ability: walk to the corner store to buy a Red Bull. I head out.
There are lots of motorcycles in my neighborhood. I eye them jealously as they sit parked or fly past me, with the bitch on the back. Not too many crotch rockets. Mostly classic bikes that go from a purr to a roar, with lots of chrome. I walk along, my hair hanging wet down my back, feeling cool and comforting and slightly cloaking...
A father and son are rearranging the statues in the front yard. The statues are mostly angels and other saintly looking or graceful figures. There are a few animals. They had been lined up along the front of the house somewhat artlessly, and were likely destined to return to their original positions - the father was busily installing a little metal border fence to protect their designated area.
I walk towards the old pharmacy, but between it and the next building there is a scrubby little area leading to someone's apartment door. It is very narrow. Tonight, a very slight black man with a moustache is sitting in a lawn chair, nearly obscured by a weedy, gangly sapling. We exchange nods.
Walking past the pharmacy, I stop to stare in the windows. Though one half has been empty, now for years, the other half still houses a full wrap-around display of greeting cards. Puns and well-wishes and thank-yous and condolences insulated in this sealed tomb, greeting only the occasional stranger who bothers to look. Though I have stared into these windows before, tonight the effect was profoundly depressing.
I purchase my super-size Red Bull. As I walk past the pharmacy again, again I stop and stare. Snoopy lays oblivious atop his doghouse, as bouquets of roses and smiling children sit perfectly still in the last afternoon light. In the other half of the store, lemon-colored counters curve and stop to meet shallow, empty boxes stacked high along the wall. Don't cry.
A man and his woman roll up on one of those classic bikes and pull into a driveway. As I walk past he revs the engine impressively. A yellow ball in the grass punctuates with more sadness somehow. The father and son have made progress. Trying to be friendly, I say "Doing a little rearranging?" He smiles and mumbles something incoherent but I got the feeling he was indicating nothing much was going to change.
I stop to look at a spray of tiny purple flowers. Bending down, I touch them. They look a bit like thistle but much smaller, and very silky. As I walk onto my porch I crack open the Red Bull. My cats greet me through the window. Leaning on the railing, I stare out across the lawns, taking in every odd shrub and out-building.
As I open the door, the pressure in my chest moves up to my throat. I stand outside just long enough to tell myself this, too, shall pass. I enter, shutting out the world for the night.
posted by Black Egg at 11:42 PM
3 Comments:
I have a fascination with closed-up stores. And I think you got the feeling just right. How I feel when I look at them. There's all this stuff that used to be for sale, that used to hold all this promise. And now it's gathering dust. There's one store down the street from me like this. The cash register is open and emptied, the phone is still hanging on the wall, the signs for Pepsi and the Lottery have half fallen off in the windows. It looks like someone closed up one day and just never came back.
I also had a beer and then a nap today. It always throws me for a loop.
HMMMM... i dunno if i like whats happening... so you are going to have to tell a little more. more melencoly(sp?) then ive ever read from you before... i really do hope things are okay! sounds like a night or fifty that ive had as well... did your weekend get any better?
D: It is amazingly sad to look inside a closed-up store with unsold merchandise - it's like a view of the past and the future that never came, or something like that.
IV: I've certainly been melancholy, mucho on the brain and heart. Beginnings and endings and maybes and nevers all tangled up. Tenderness beneath it all.
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