23 September 2006

when did i love you become hard

Helena found Sam on the side of the house, sitting on a rock and smoking a joint.
-What are you doing? I made macaroni and cheese.
-Shhhh, he said, and motioned across the lawn, to a lit window. In the window was a woman, late 20’s or early 30’s. She was facing away from the two of them, standing in front of a mirror and concentrating hard on lacing herself up into a black corset. She tugged at the laces with red fingernails, then twisted to try to see her back in the mirror. Tug, twist. Tug, twist.
Helena sat down next to Sam and they watched together for a moment in silence.
-That looks difficult, said Helena.
-She’s been at it for 10 minutes, said Sam.
The woman was pretty, as far as they could tell. She seemed nervous.
-Have you spoken to Pierce? Helena asked.
-Pierce. Pierce. Don’t you ever talk about anyone but Pierce? Said Sam.
Helena turned to look at him, his profile lightly lit by the streetlight. He put the joint to his lips and took a long drag, making the tip glow bright like a lightening bug. Then she followed his gaze back to the window. The woman was in the corset now. She put her hand down the inside of the front and pulled up her breasts, adjusting and pulling until she had two perfect half circles spilling out the top.
-I just thought you might want to talk about it, she said.
- Well, I don’t. He’s not interested anymore. Meesha said she saw him dancing for hours with some undergrad, then they disappeared, said Sam, between puffs.
-That doesn’t mean---
-That’s enough, ok? Please? Sam reached down to the grass and pulled out a clump, letting it slip through his fingers back to the soil.
The woman disappeared from the room for a moment, and came back with a big glass of dark red wine. She stood in front of the mirror with the wine glass in her hand, leaned forward and said something to her reflection. Then she leaned back and laughed a little, took a sip of wine, and posed with her hand on her hip.
- I’m going to Nashville next weekend, said Helena. I’ve got work there. I won’t be back for a few days. Can you water the plants?
-Do you love your plants? said Sam.
-Love? My plants? said Helena.
- Yeah. Do you love them? Sam chuckled a little at the corset clad neighbor, who was frantically fluffing her hair.
- You are being ridiculous, said Helena. Why are you watching that poor woman?
-Why are you? Sam asked.
- I asked you first.
- It makes me feel real, he said.
- Don’t give me a film school answer, she said. That’s such shit.
- It does, he said. I think I love her, he said.
-Love her? Said Helena. That’s news. You’re changing sexuality by the day now?
- I didn’t say I want to have sex with her, he said. I said I love her. I don’t want to have sex with everyone I love. Do you want to have sex with your plants?
- Umm, I -
Helena didn’t finish her sentence because a car pulled up in the street and a tall, lanky man emerged. He had a grocery store bouquet in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. He walked to the door, rang the bell, and the woman jumped. She had been alternating between talking to her reflection and putting on mascara. She hastily threw on a short black dress over her corset and stockings, and ran to the door, disappearing from view.
- I think you should know that Pierce called me, said Helena.
- Oh, said Sam, who couldn’t think of anything else to say.
- He misses you, she said.
- Oh, said Sam, who couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Suddenly there were two people in the bedroom. The man had removed his jacket and the woman was pulling him by the hand. She went to her dresser, where she had left the big glass of dark wine. She lifted up her glass to him, other hand still holding his, and said a few words before he leaned in to kiss her. He reached his arm around her waist and put his other hand behind her head. She dipped. She stood back up, secured her wine glass on the dresser, and unzipped the back of her dress. The top slid off to reveal her carefully laced corset and carefully positioned chest.
Helena reached for the joint.
The man looked at the woman, took a sip of her wine, and then turned off the lights. The room went dark and so did the little pool of light that had shown on the grass in front of the glass. Helena sighed.
- Fucking romantics, said Sam. They spoil all the fun.
- I think the macaroni is getting cold, said Helena.

7 comments:

Brian Boutwell said...

Glad to know you are writing. Enjoyed!

Brian Boutwell said...

...these two...

B Blue said...

merci brian.
maybe something new from you soon?
x

Brian Boutwell said...

Vous êtes bienvenue.

De temps en temps ... comme maintenant ... J'ai deux poèmes prose posté ... allez lisez.

Brian Boutwell said...

I think this will read more correct: J'ai posté deux poèmes de prose.

hardyf said...

that's so dope, blue. i love the framing of the woman in the window and loose-ness of the two smoking the joint. i love the subtle point it makes. the voyeurs are mad; the romantics are in the dark. th title, great. fucking great. vivid. subtle. love with the lights on/off? made my night, thanx.

finish-ed. said...

brilliant.