26/11/2009

I asked him to drop me off at home and he said okay and that he'd call me tomorrow. He waited until I was in the building to drive off. I shuffled up the stairs to my apartment. The institutional metal door unlocked, swinging open with gravity for all its weight. I always had to be caught or else it would slam, shaking the hallway. The place seemed even smaller tonight, but it was mine. My coat fell off into a chair as I took off my shoes. I didn't want to turn on the teevee, I didn't want to do anything that would alert me to what time it was. It was dark and it was late but timeless this way. In the kitchen, I fished out a large yogurt container and ate a few spoonfuls. That should be healthy enough. I'd finish it off tomorrow and get more. The list started forming in my head, need eggs, need lettuce, maybe some milk. I pulled a chicken from the freezer. I could cook up the chicken tomorrow so I had something ready to eat, avoiding any more public declarations from my guts. There was a last onion and garlic, a packet of wild rice and just enough dijon mustard and honey for a glaze. It would be enough for soup and a baked chicken carcass, case closed. All I wanted to do was lie in the bath for a hour and give everything a good soak, condition my hair, open my pores, groom the way mammals do. My clothes smelled smoky as I stripped them off. Laundry was piling up. Everything here could do with a good tidy. There was dust and I hated dusting, which was part of why there was so much of it. I could see a layer on top of the books on the shelves and the cds that never moved from their cases. I gave myself a hard look in the mirror as I flossed. I probably should floss more but it averaged to little more than once a week. Of course I knew some people who never flossed at all. If I flossed more it was usually because of something I ate. The thought of Michael's sense of smell was a tad disturbing, but the pot, it seemed, dulled him some, where it heightened some of my senses but I could only focus on them one at a time, even if I shuffled through them quickly. Maybe that's what it did to him, let him be overwhelmed a sense at a time or focused on single things rather than what could be a barrage of sensory overload otherwise. I would get him to explain that, remember to ask, I thought, as I rinsed with peroxide. Was I getting gingivitis? How was my breath usually? I had no idea. All the smoking couldn't help, making my mouth dry. The mouth was a festival of germs at the best of times. After a final rinse, I brushed my teeth, then rinsed my face, examining my pores. I would not give in to the temptation of unclogging my pores. It would only end up with a mess of dots and scabs at best. Better to lie in the tub and hopefully steam something open. I stuck my head under the faucet and rinsed some of the smoke out of my hair, reaching for the shampoo. It was cheap so I could use lots of it. The froth ran down my back and floated in the water. I was starting to fully relax. The more I hung out with him, the more familiar we became, the more relaxed I'd be, but was that a good thing? Wasn't the by nature dangerous and should I stay wary? Whatever. There was no sense in thinking myself more anxious than I usually was. He didn't scare me, he was just a bit exciting. Something new. I'll just see what happens. Play the ball where it lies. He could turn out to be a liar, although he hadn't said much in the first place. Five years. That could be a lie, but a pretty pointless one. Laying back in the tub, soaking my hair, I thought about cutting it myself. Less hair meant less time spent taking care of it, less cost, less bother. I was still too thick to pull off a really short hair cut, in my opinion, but no matter what, it wouldn't happen tonight. All I was up to was a long soak and a long rest in bed, in a proper night gown even, after I made myself moisturize. It was getting to be colder, winter was coming, and it took a conscious effort to make myself moisturize, to keep it from that stage of painful paperiness, or worse. I was going to take care of myself tonight. It was good for me and I should get use to it, making the effort. Tomorrow Michael would smell clean soap and bath products, maybe chicken. It was hard to fight the smell of chicken. It would get everywhere. Damn lack of ventilation.
I slept early and woke early, it was barely noon. The light peeked in around the shade and poked me in the eye. Damn flaming skyball. It was bright out. I lay there for a while but I was fully awake. Might as well make coffee, I thought, pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweater. I pulled my hair back into a pony tail, rolled up my sleeves, and decide to get to cooking right off the bat, to get it out of the way, but the chicken wasn't full defrosted yet, so I set it in a tub with a trickle of water running, and pulled out a good knife and cutting board. Prepping everything took no time, and everything was waiting for me to butcher the bird. Perfect timing for me to take a coffee break. Add milk to the list, maybe some whole milk for once, just a quart. I could make a sauce or pancakes or something. I wavered for a moment, cigarette? It was a fresh pack, and I felt like holding off on the pot for a while, so I retrieved the pack from the door of the freezer, and sat by the window with my coffee. It was cold out. I thought I could almost see my breath. I liked cooking better when it was cold because I could warm myself by the oven. I tended to keep it cool in the winter, pulling on sweaters over turning up the heat. I liked snuggling in quilts far more than overheated rooms and the smell of heating registers. My eyes rested on the dvd case, reminding myself i had to return it today. Should I walk it down early or wait and see if Michael would drop me off? I could use the exercise. I felt zingy from the coffee and turned on some music, a random shuffle of old downloads I never got to sort through, and decide to make more coffee. The little machine only made four cups at a time and today I felt like having a lot of coffee. It felt like a day to get things accomplished. Cooking was a good way to do that, feel a goal achieved, and it was time to dispatch the chicken. Wings, legs, bones went into the pot. The meat was reshaped into a flat bird in the baking dish with the rice mixture. The oven was heating as the remains of honey and mustard were turned into a glaze for the flat bird. The kitchen was small enough that everything was done from a single stance and a series of reaches and twists, economical motion that finished the task in no time. Remember to get more honey and mustard. I scrubbed my hands as things heated up behind me. The music was light and upbeat and the coffee was almost ready. I was ready to keep cooking but there wasn't anything else to do. There wasn't a need to make more food. I reached into the fridge to finish the yogurt and found some strawberries that were almost too far gone, and ate those too, rinsing them and holding them by their green tops. First, drop off the movie, the plan formulated. I grabbed my keys and coat and got ready to get it out of the way. For once I remember my sunglasses, and felt appropriately hidden for the quick hike. It seemed to take no time at all, then I was back, hit in the face by cooking smells. The pot was on low, the chicken was halfway done and my coffee was cool enough to drink. Everything was clicking along well enough that I considered dusting. There was enough dust so it would be a proper chore. Not yet. Finish your coffee, smoke some pot. Maybe i'd take a nap later if i was going to be up all night. A quick hit and I was settled into the couch, my peppiness ground to a sudden halt, replaced by an aura of fuzzy excitement. I should write out a shopping list so I didn't forget anything. The clock on the computer said it was still smack in the middle of afternoon. How long until Michael got up? If he never got tired, did he not sleep? I took the pot off the heat and waited for it to cool. It could finish cooking another time. The chicken still had a few minutes. I pulled out an onion shaped timer so I wouldn't forget it. Part of me wanted to flip channels so I gave into it. A comforting habit, curled up on the couch. Another hit and all I wanted was to find something distracting on teevee, to just lie there and veg. In a few minutes I'd have my fix of it and get on the computer, check my mail and assorted sites, maybe then I'd be up to dusting. Were we doing to clean his house today? It would be hours before he called, if he did at all. He could flake out or decide he didn't want to hang out any more. Anything could happen. I feel into my habits to try not to think about it. Whatever happened happened. It was nice to think about him, though, in between everything else, letting my multitasking short attention span kick in. I was readying myself to prepare for the worst, which in this case would be simply being blown off, which wasn't so horrible in the scheme of things. Maybe I should call Martha and get the shopping out of the way. I really didn't feel like calling Martha. The day still felt bright and shiny with possibility.
It was after ten when Edna realized her phone had run out of power. Stupid phone. Stupid battery. But even after she had pulled it into the charger, none of the messages were from Michael. She'd fallen asleep for a hour at around sunset and woken to complete darkness. She didn't feel like calling anyone back, use to making excuses. Her phone's battery was a convenient one, but more and more it had become actual fact. She'd wrapped the chicken in foil so it was still warm and decided she should have some, standing over it at the stove with a knife and fork, rather than dirtying a plate for nothing. It was good but she took the flavor for granted, only eating enough so she knew her stomach had no complaints. She had the notion of losing weight which kept her from giving into the munchies but only actuated the fact in treating her body like a machine that needed a minimum of fuel to run. It was working but she had no scale to check numbers. She put the food away and tidied up the kitchen. She drank a large glass of water and returned to the couch for her after meal bowl. She thought it helped her digest, and whether it did or not, it was a reliable habit. She turned on a PBS documentary and prepared a bowl, steadily drawing on it until it was so much ash. She held her breath, watching baby animals cavort in the wild. The new pot definitely made her tired. She was glad to still have some of the old pot, but since there was so much of the new, she was saving the old for when she needed a change. She could get use to the new stuff, but she didn't think the tiredness would go away. She'd just have to get use to it. It still gave her that euphoric feeling at first, that tingle of excitement, but it made her limbs heavy, the quality Michael liked. She muted the television and turned on the music, jumping up and down on her toes a little. She didn't want to disturb the downstairs neighbor. Checking the coffeepot, there was still some cold coffee she left unfinished from earlier. She doctored it up with the last of the milk and some sweetener. She threw it back and the liquid felt sloshy in her guts. Should she call Michael or wait. He had a couple hours, then she would call or give up. There was food ready made for the next couple days so it wasn't an emergency. What was he doing and who was he doing it with? Maybe he'd run into some asshole vampires. Maybe someone more biteable came along after she came home last night. Oh well. She packed another bowl. It was a pretty small bowl, especially if you didn't pack it tightly, which she never did. She liked getting nearly the whole bowl in a long slow draw, watching the ember catch from tiny hair to tiny leaf all the way around. She thought about the possibility of going out to the bar just to get out, but she shied away from the idea, knowing she was more comfortable staying home and smoking dope by herself. There wasn't really anyone she wanted to run into besides Michael, she might even run into people she was avoiding on the phone. Why was Vanessa calling anyway, she hadn't heard from her in a while. She wasn't feeling kindly toward Vanessa these days, since she could be quite the bitch, but she did always have all the news of what was going on. She was quite the resource as a gossip, which was valuable to Edna as she wasn't that social, so she was always behind on the goings on, but recently she'd been cold to Enda, who was sure she was probably unkind about her if she ever talked about her to anyone. Vanessa was probably on the outs with someone and decided that she was a safe person to babble to about it. Whatever the reason, the dim interest in what news there might be was drown out in a general distaste for her right then. One of the calls had been her mother, who she also didn't feel like dealing with. Two other calls she didn't recognize.
What day was it, Thursday? All she really felt like doing right now is playing flash games online, staring at the bright colors and cute characters. She'd call Michael after she got that out of her system. She wished she hadn't slept through prime time television but oh well. The Daily Show would be on soon.
It was past midnight when I called his number. It rang three times, then went to voice mail without a message, just a beep. I didn't leave a message. I sighed and left the phone on the desk and went back to playing Drench. I already knew I wasn't going to go out to the bar. I was already over Drench but I had gotten a bit compulsive. It knew I had already peaked at the game but it was easy to keep hitting the refresh button and start another go round while listening to Letterman. I was glad I returned the movie already, and still glad I hadn't called Martha. If I was dreading calling her so much, she was bound to reciprocate at her end to some degree. I could probably put off going to the store for another week if wanted. I could push it to two if I ordered delivery. I got up and strecthed, leaving the game on, frozen without my touch, and decided to have a cigarette. The chill from the open was sharp tonight. My hair was still in a ponytail, so I loosened it and pulled down a hat from the wall. It was furry, white and tan, and I twisted up my hair under it. I was halfway through it when the phone started to vibrate. It took three rings before I realized it was the phone. The ring kept changing by itself, it was becoming more than a nuisance. I had to lunge for it to catch it before it went to voice mail. It snapped open and I said hello without time to check who it was. I already regretted it in the silence that waited for a reply. "Hi." it said. "Who is this?" "Micheal. It's Michael." "Oh, hi. I didn't check who it was. I've been having problems with my phone all night." "Sorry about that." "Don't be sorry, it's not your fault. It's just my stupid phone." "I just meant sorry you're having problems." "It's not that big a deal. It's just…" I sighed, "stupid." I paused. "What are you doing?" "I was calling to see if you still needed to go to the store." "Yeah, if it's not to much trouble." "No, it's fine. Are you okay?" "Yeah, why?" "You sound irritated." "I do? I'm sorry. It's, it's just my stupid phone and stupid things. I think it needs a new battery or something. I guess I'm frustrated with it." "Oh." There was a pause I didn't bother to fill. Did he call because he saw I had called? How could he not have seen I had called. I had worked myself into a snit and wanted to be over it already. "I can come pick you up in, oh, half and hour." "Okay. That sounds good." "Good. See you then." Click. What did he have to do for half an hour. I sat down in front of the computer and continued playing Drench for another round, feeling out my bad mood. I had to shake it off. Naps sometimes left me out of sorts. He had called, and he was coming over, so I had nothing to feel bad about. Looking over my list on an envelop, I started to wonder if it would feel weird having him look over my purchases. It wasn't a lot of things, maybe I could get away with running in by myself. My cigarette was burning out without me. I finished it and decided I had enough time to roughly wipe down the books on the shelf, because I was going to keep busy until he arrived, not letting myself get too caught up in stupid thinking.