He pulled in front of her apartment, didn't have to honk. She came out. With the scarf on her head, her open coat, swinging purse, dangling keys, she looked like a gypsy. She sat next to him without making eye contact. He didn't say anything. Turned on the radio. Some quiet music with a deep, throbbing rhythm.
The streets were never very long. They dead ended, curved garishly, made tires squeak against the wet brick. All around them were buildings sporting architectural features with grand names: porticos, dormers, gables, rotundas, buttresses, balustrades. In front of these buildings were men in light suits, sipping espresso under patio umbrellas. If there was music, it would have been accordions and mandolins. If there was music, they couldn't hear it. The windows were up. The radio was on.
There was never parking in front of his building. The worst part was having to get out together. Having to walk in the sunlight to the door. The lock was bad, had to jiggle the keys. Up two flights of stairs and to the left.
His apartment was small. It was the window you paid for--the view. His shades were drawn. They were orange and the light coming through them was orange. On the floor was a futon, some books in a stack.
He turned to her. They didn't kiss. Or they kissed through their eyes. They didn't watch what their hands were doing, just watched each other's eyes. Her shirt was silk, his fingers slipped as they forced buttons through small holes.
They made love standing up in the orange light. He wanted to say her name, wanted to tell her things. Maybe the way light kissed her skin and made it fire. Instead they said nothing. Or they spoke with their breathing.
For a time they lay on his futon, smoked his cigarettes. His eyes half closed. Perhaps she spoke. Perhaps she took the cigarette from her mouth, rolled on her side, and said he was handsome. Said only he could give her pleasure. Perhaps she finally read the journal he gave her and wanted to read more, wanted poems composed and left beside her orange juice and croissant every morning. She wanted to hear one now. He smiled. Spoke with intonation: "As the sun sets, and the wind dies down, and the light reflects off the land..."
His eyes opened. Had he spoken? He turned. She was asleep. Her arm off the side of the futon. A cigarette in her fingers. It burned a black and smoking hole in his parquet wooden floor.
Gypsy
4.01.2008
4.01.2008
10 Comments:
THAT was breathtakingly sensual... erotic... beautifully constructed, Bryan. The imagery is brilliant from start to finish -- from the first vivid glimpse of "his gypsy" to the smoldering cigarette burn on the floor.
The true tribute, however, to how much I enjoyed it? --
The delicious, warm, fluttering feeling that your story brought to life in the very center of me...
...sigh. Nice.
whoops! sorry I gave you an ulcer! seriously though, thanks for your encouragement.
LOL. Yes -- your post gave me indigestion.
To rephrase:
The true tribute, however, to how much I enjoyed? --
The burning, gurgling feeling in my stomach as if I just consumed a Taco Bell Spicy Beef Burrito.
Alas, while your imagery was dead-on, mine was obviously woefully lacking. :-)
grrr! don't twist my cute little joke into a guilt inducing jab! i was going for false humility, not a thinly veiled insult.
to make up for having eaten my foot, i've added you to my wroll. you've finally made it. now you can emotionally retire.
Ah (she says, whilst lounging in a beach chair and sipping a mai tai), thank you Mr. Tarplay.
Actually, I'm more likely to spend my retirement living in a tent and sleeping in hiking boots. :-)
A thinly veiled insult, by the way? NOT IN A MILLION YEARS -- your comment was hysterical.
Hey Bryan,
I enjoyed this...good imagery and solid prose. The only part where the flow broke a little for me was
"The streets were never very long. They dead ended, curved garishly, made tires squeak against the wet brick."
It could use something about curves in the first sentence there...maybe "The streets were never very long and rarely very straight"?
Great work as it is, just wanted to provide feedback.
-Cameron
thanks for the feedback, yo!
Nice. I like these parts:
"The worst part was having to get out together. Having to walk in the sunlight to the door."
Ouch. I also like the you pay for the view from his room and he keeps the shades drawn. Great detail!
*I also like THAT you pay for the view...
Blogger needs an edit comment option, bad.
Thanks Chrissy!
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