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Rafters
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3
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*****
I went back two days later, contemplating upon my revelation as if it were
an assignment. And with this assignment came all the unnecessary things
that accompany the dillydallying of l'amour courtois. I walked in, as the
floorboards sang a horrid song that made the couple sitting by the door
wince, at least a little bit. I sat down at the table closest to the bar,
and leaned back in my chair, nervous as hell, but relaxed within my
nervousness. She came from the kitchen and looked at me cautiously. A
man approached me from behind and asked me my order. It was that cautious
and nervous blonde headed boy.
"A coffee please, pile on the sugar and cream too." I snapped.
How rude I was back in those days. If only I had the decency to realize
how I affected others. He brought the coffee quickly, and backed off from
my side without turning around, as if to show some unorthodox Eastern
Shinto-like bow. So I turned, and he stopped.
"Hey kid, c'mere."
"Yea?"
I looked behind my shoulder at the couple sitting by the door. So happy
they looked, the happiness you only see in government issued propaganda
movies. I started slowly, "Ya know that girl who works here, uh, I think
she has brown hair, uh I-."
"Oh you mean Maggie. Yea, well she's only the girl working here now," he
said. Obviously he knew exactly what I was trying to accomplish here. A
truly hideous depth I had lowered myself to. Halfway through my eminent
smile, it stopped, and I became a bit disgusted with myself. It was if I
had interrupted perfection in the middle of a soliloquy, and told it to go
away. But I didn't know how to stop it. I had always had the habit of
introducing something into my cluttered mind, and complicating it like a
truly masterful artist of paranoia. There it was, ridiculousness, a color
on my palette-right between the reds and the greens.
The friends I lost to this disease, this superior notion of self worth
above which I hold dear, it all played like a sting on my worldy notions.
I had become autistic, a conductor of the noiseless.
He saw my face slowly transform into a gnarled apparition of contemplation
and sulked away.
I slapped some money on the bar and ran out of the place. Scared.
Appalled. I thought I had done an atrocity not worthy of reparation. I
thought a lot of things. None of them were really worth thinking in the
first place. The sky was an even darker grey that day. The hopeless void
of color flew like a virus.
*****
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4