I’m sick of waking up at 3 AM to the hissing and knocking of the radiators. But, I do like being warm. She left again, early. She showed up again last night, late. The time between was well spent. Well, I suppose it was. I try not to complain about the time. The amount of time being the complaint, specifically. I know she tries. Her arms and legs and feet and face are all traveling in completely unrelated directions at any given moment. That’s why I try not to complain. Having each of her appendages agreeably in one location for even a matter of seconds is magic enough. That’s why I try not to complain.
I’ve learned to make her commit to an estimated time of arrival, and then make plans to do something else at that time. I hate sitting around waiting for her, especially when I’m anxious to see her. Yesterday, she was shooting to be at my house at 2. I left at 1:30 with a handful of errands that would require about 2 ½ hours of time to complete. They were errands that in all reality I didn’t need to do, but I had to do something.
I spent half an hour at a tea store, smelling and drinking and finally deciding on three different types, and purchasing 50 grams of each. The Earl Grey Imperior for the mornings, Anna’s for the afternoons, and Rooibush Jungle Fire for the evenings. I knew when I walked in that’s what I’d get, but I still humored the nice girls who work there, because they really like to talk about tea, and I really like when people really like to do things. (I’m drinking a freshly brewed liter of the Earl Grey Imperior right now.)
Then I went to American Apparel to return a pair of green fleece shorts, which were meant to be part of my Peter Pan costume, to cover my bulge. I never wore them; I was satisfied with the green leggings and a scarf wrapped around my waist like a belt. Not only did the scarf do a fair job of hiding my manhood, it served as a perfect sheath of sorts for my dagger. She was my Tink. It was her idea, obviously. But I went along with it, for even more obvious reasons.
I had trouble in the transaction, only because I had no idea what to get in exchange for the shorts. I like being warm, so I thought another zip-up hoodie, or even a nice pull-over would be good. Colors are my downfall. I like them all. I like blue best, and then maybe green, or a deep red. The problem was they were “fresh out” of my size, “S”, in the colors I really wanted. I moved on, thought maybe some cranberry briefs or perhaps a royal blue V-neck would get me out of there quicker. But then again, I wasn’t in much of a hurry, it was only 3:15, and she wasn’t supposed to be to my house until 2.
I eventually settled on a black cardigan. (It’s keeping me warm right now.) She helped with that decision of course, through a fantastic text conversation. Well, I suppose it wasn’t exactly fantastic, but it was something. If it wasn’t for her I’d be wearing a uniform everyday. The same clothes, the same outfit. A white T-shirt, jeans. Except in winter, I’d wear more clothes, like a sweater and a scarf, I like being warm. A couple of weeks ago a bought a great pair of blue mittens, they’re fleece lined and everything. They’ll keep my hands warm.
Actually, a friend of mine technically bought them for me. I did give him the money, but he gets a discount because he works at the store. He bought them as if they were for him, so the people working there wouldn’t be suspicious, and I waited outside, smoking and pacing, trying to come up with a story/escape route if we were found out. I’m sure he’d get fired, at the very least. I don’t think that sort of thing would warrant the police to get involved, but the way things are these days, you never know.
I killed another hour or so with my sister. It’s nice having her around; we’re great at time killing together. We can hang out for hours comfortably, with nothing actually to do. It’s a good thing killing time isn’t a crime, cause then we’d be doing time. And I’m pretty sure that 100% of doing time is actually spent just killing time. It’s a vicious circle at that point, and once you start, that’s it. Forever. Killing and doing time.
We needed food. I was really hungry, but knew that when she finally arrived she’d be hungry too. If I ate now, that would ruin everything. But I also knew it was only 4 o’clock, and she wasn’t coming until 2, so a snack would be a good idea. Plus, I was suffering from a mild version of a hangover. Not the torturous kind, but the stupid little headache that’s just hanging around on your temples, and every once in a while does a little dance, just so you remember it’s there. The problem is, it’s never enough to make you actually do anything about it, right away. It’s easy to ignore, until about 4:15, when you haven’t eaten much, then the little soft shoe turns into a clog, which requires a simple dose of ibuprofen and some sort of greasy food to kill the music so the dancing stops. And again, I’ve committed another crime. Killing music should be punishable by death.
Unless of course you’re killing death metal, then it works in reverse.
We settled on Bagel Bites, and acetaminophen. The jig faded away, and it was at about that moment when I was aware I should be getting home. She had to be close by now. Still not close enough, but getting there. I knew she was assembling together all her body parts, getting them back in the right spots, putting her hair on straight and making sure her right hand was attached to the end of her right arm, and the same on her left. I think that’s why she’s constantly applying make-up all the time, to cover the seams properly.
One time her ear remembered it needed to listen to a very specific version of a very specific song, and off it went to the nearest speaker. Another time her legs remembered they needed to be at rehearsal, so they just jumped out of bed and ran off! She went chasing after them of course, and, a couple hours later she jumped right back in bed again, with all her faculties intact. I kept her side of the bed warm while she was away; she doesn’t like being cold either.
I rounded the last corner to my street, and ended up exactly one car behind her at the stop sign. Just then I saw an arm zoom by and crash through her rear window. It was probably just finishing up some paper work somewhere. We parked, and she stepped out of her car first. I watched her. I like having those brief seconds when I can just watch her do something normal, she does it so beautifully. Those moments when all is forgotten, all is forgiven, and everything aligns. Time stops, music plays. Her last stray strand of hair arrives perfectly in place. The simple side of love, when it sideswipes your feet out from beneath you, the air in your lungs evaporates. I could taste that first kiss already, I could feel her warm cheeks already, I could swim in her eyes already.
I was melting into what was about to happen.
She slammed her door. It was 5:07. I jumped out of my truck, and as I walked towards her she said, “I’m sorry I’m late…” I held her, smelled her, tasted her lips, felt her cheeks, swam in those eyes. I told her, “Darling, your timing’s perfect. Let’s go inside, it’s cold out here.” She kissed me again and said, “I don’t like being cold.”
