27/11/2009

Three knocks at the door and my hands were full of damp paper towel. "Just a second." I called out. I unlocked the door and trashed the paper towels as the door swung open, grabbing a kitchen towel. Michael stepped in. "Just gimme a second," I said, walking back to the bedroom to make sure the books I'd dusted were dry. "I'm almost ready," I called out. He was standing just inside the door when I came back out. "You can sit. I just have to put on my boots and grab my coat." "And your keys." he said, pointing to my keys. "I'm okay." "And my purse." My purse was hanging from the knob of the closet. "Did you want to smoke some first?" "I'm prepared." he said, patting his chest, which I assumed to be a pocket. "Where did you want to go?" "Well, it's too late to go to a lot of places. Walmart's easy." "I have to get some things. Walmart's fine." "It'll be pretty empty, not so depressing. What do you have to get?" "Stuff. I'm going to look around." "Okay." I said. "I'm ready." This sounded more convenient, we could just meet up at the register or somewhere in the store and I could just get my shopping out of the way. My list caught my eye sitting on the desk. I grabbed it. "List." "Do you have to get a lot of stuff." "Not too much. It won't take very long. Let's go."
He handed me one of his perfectly rolled joints as he started up the car. I was getting use to it, so it didn't knock me back so much, but it was still strong stuff. We were down to more than half when he pulled into the parking lot. He parked halfway to the back, away from what were probably the employee cars clustered at one entrance. A few cars speckled the lot. "I'm fine," I said, as he offered me the joint. He took two long drags off it before putting it out in the ashtray. Outside, I flapped my coat with my hands in the pockets, sure I smelled of pot. I wasn't that worried about it but why invite trouble. Michael just watched. He smoothed the sleeves of his coat, waiting for me to start walking. The walk would air us out some, I thought. Michael never seemed worried about getting caught, maybe because he was sure he could deal with any trouble. He was tall but not bulky, still he was a pretty big guy, He probably wasn't use to feeling threatened by things in general. We walked in step with each other, side by side, hitting the doors at the same time so they slid aside without us needing to break stride. We both grabbed blue carts. "I'm going this way," I said, pointing right. "We can meet up in the middle, or by the registers?" "I'm going this way." he said pointing right. "You can call when you're done. Right now I'm going to look at tools." "Okay." Besides a few people stocking shelves, it was almost empty in the grocery section, so I ran around with my cart, skidding to stops in the aisles. I checked my list after the cart was half full. I'd gotten everything I needed and had started picking up some things I figured I might as well stock up on since I had the opportunity when I decided to call it quits and head to the register. It turned out to be more than I had planned and I hoped it would all fit into the trunk with whatever he got. I called him as I headed past the toy section with my cart. "Yes." "Where are you?" "I'm in the car." "Already?" "I'm quick." "Did you buy anything?" "Yes, I did." "Okay, I'll be out in a sec." "I'll pull up to the front." Hauling the cart around, I pushed it fast enough to need to wrench it around the corner at the pharmacy. He was waiting with the trunk open as I got outside the doors. "Where's your stuff?" "In the back." He reached in, grabbing all the bags, and placing them in the trunk with ease. "I'll put this back. Get in." I was just sitting back with the door closed when the driver's side opened. Fast was all I had time to think. "What did you get?" I asked, looking over my shoulder. "I'll show you when we get back to my place. Let's drop your stuff off." I noticed the roach was gone and he noticed me looking at the ashtray. "Did you want more?" he asked with his hand to his chest. "No, I'm okay. Why, how many you got in there?" "Five." "Really?" "No." There weren't many cars out. We glided back without any one to slow us down, but it seemed faster than that. I couldn't see the speedometer from where I was sitting without making an obvious effort but I was sure he must be speeding. I looked out for cops but there were none. "You gotta be more careful." I said. We were already at my apartment building. "Pot is still illegal. I don't want to get in trouble." "I wouldn't get you in trouble." he said, slamming the door shut. He already had all the bags in his hands as I got out of the car. I felt a step behind everything and I didn't think it was because I was high. 'Should I take--?" "No, I've got them." I held the door open and we got upstairs at an easy pace, but I felt rushed. I fumbled unlocking the door. "It will just take me a sec to put everything away." "I can help." "No, that's okay. You don't know where everything goes. Just sit down and watch teevee or something. You can go on the computer but it won't take that long." I took a couple bags out of his hands and started unloading things on to the counter by the fridge. When I turned around, the rest of the groceries were already out on the stove and sink area. I gathered up the bags, peeking into the living room area. He was on the couch with the remote in his hand. His posture was relaxed but the channels were going by as quickly as possible. I took a beat and took a breath, just looking around with my hands out in a steadying gesture. I wasn't going to rush, I was just going to take my time. I opened the freezer and started to pop things in. It wasn't big so things had to be stacked in a certain way for the door to close, but it took no time. I got into a rhythm right away, putting things in the fridge, moving things around, filing things away in the cupboard. I was about to say I was done when I almost ran into him at the edge of the kitchen area. "Done?" "Why are you in such a rush?" "Am I?" "You're speeding around, you're always right there." "Sorry, I forgot." "Forgot what?" "I've just been, um, busy all day." "Are you on something? Like some kind of speed or coke?" "Oh, no. That stuff doesn't work for me. Don't worry, I'll slow it down more." "More?" "Yes. Here." He held out another joint. "We light it when we get to the car and I'll be slower." "Don't drive fast." "Okay. Here are your keys." They dangled from his grip. I snatched them out of his hand, feeling a bit put off. "I've just been in the house since I dropped you off. I have been around people. I lost the rhythm. I'll pick it up again." "What are you talking about?" I said, sucking on the joint. "Here. Smoke it." "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude but you're all in my face sorta. Not in my face but right there, every time I turn around. I mean, thanks for taking me shopping, I really needed to get that done. You're just really fast tonight, and I'm… not." Everything I said sounded stupid to my ears, but he was just nodding and smoking. He was already pulling up to the house as he passed the joint back to me. I didn't think there was anyone watching there and then but I felt weird to just walk out of the car with it. I pulled on it and handed it back to him. He could do it. He was waiting for me to open my door, watching me. Every move I made was deliberate, swinging open the door, hauling myself up, each step I made up to the porch. He was next to me, waiting until we were up to the door, when he moved past me to open it. "Is it freaking you out, that I"m so fast." he said, handing the joint back to me. I walked into the dark house, taking a hit. "Kinda. Not really. It's just got be off balance tonight." "Because I can move very fast, and I don't want to freak you out." "I'd just like to be prepared." "I can move a lot faster than I have been." "Okay. Here. Take this." I reached out to hand the joint to nothing. He'd moved in the dark from when I'd last heard him. He was by the fireplace, starting it up. I saw the little flame from his lighter make a little flame under the wood. I felt on the wall for the switch that turned on the dining room light. It felt different in here, smelled different, then it struck me right away as the light flicked on. "Oh my god, you cleaned everything! You cleaned everything!" "Not everything," he said, crouched down my the fire. "The floors are totally different!" I tapped my boots on the floor boards. They looked a completely different from the dull gray of the other night. A breeze blew past me as I was trying to get a good look at the walls. "We have light." Michael said from the other side of the room, as he plugged in a cord. A torchlight turned on, the light shining high up the wall. It was a frosted aluminum tube that flared at the top. The box it came in was leaning against the wall, next to plastic shopping bags. He'd gone out to the car and retrieved the bags and assembled a lamp in the half minute I had been reeling around the room. The door was even shut. I tried to recall ever moment of the last thirty second and there had been the barest thud of the door shutting. I hadn't heard his feet or the car door open or close, so he had used some care doing things. He was playing with the dimmer switch, turning it down. I paid attention to the walls again. I hadn't gotten a good look at them the night before, now they looked like greenish wallpaper. I touched it, stroking it and the light switch. There was a slight texture to it, and it left nothing on my finger tips. It was perfectly clean. I looked back at Michael but he wasn't by the lamp, he was back in front of the fire, coaxing it. "You washed the walls?" "I started with the floor in here," he waved his right arm to his side, "but then I decided I should start with the walls since they would drip." I pushed in the kitchen door, but it was too dark to really see. There was a shine from the moonlight that came in through the window, but I didn't know that that was all that different from the night before. The place hadn't been filthy but it felt old. Now the mustiness was gone. My boots made more of a sound on the floor now, as I walked into the parlor and looked into the writing room. I turned in, thinking I'd get a candle, to see Michael turning on a lantern. "Here." he said, handing it over to me. The light shone off the floors, not with the hard shine of polish but a dull one of hard wood. I moved it around me, looking up at the walls and ceiling. He cleaned the ceiling? The floor of the writing room looked just as clean. He must have moved all the furniture. The same could be said of the day room. I walked the light back to the kitchen, where everything looked as clean as possible and the evidence of the process sat by the sink. All the dishrags looked grey but they were dry and stacked on the counter. The wash bin was damp but clean with the scrub brushes inside, looking so used some of the bristles were curved out to the sides. One looked like its usefulness was over. I picked it up, to carry it back into the parlor with me. "That one," he said, sitting on the couch he had moved nearer to the fire, "was the first one I tried. I pushed on it too hard. I learned after that. I put it down by the fire and looked at him. He looked back at me, right in the eye. I walked past him into the day room and through to the foyer. I hadn't gotten a look at this room before. The floor showed wear by the front door to the stairs and the stairs were bowed in the middle from use. The front door was large with a small metal rectangle with a handle. The peephole, I assumed. The foyer opened into the hallway where the bathroom was. The bathroom seemed the same as far as I could tell, except the floor must have been cleaner. It was a small room without much to clean, although there was an extra roll of toilet paper in there now. Back in the kitchen, I noticed the back stairs didn't gleam like everything else. I was somewhat relieved. Walking back through the swinging door, I looked at the dining room again. The windows could use cleaning but everything else was a clean as it was going to get. I walked to Michael with the lantern held out in front of me. He took it and turned it out, placing it on the floor. The candles were lit again, with two on the small table. "I like the candle light better." he said. I sat next to him on the couch. He handed me another joint. I took it and held it in my lap, looking at him. "You cleaned everything. How did you clean everything." I didn't say it as a question because I was sure the answer would be that he was fast. Fast didn't explain the ceilings. "I didn't clean everything. but I got most of the stuff down here." He looked around. "It smells better." "How did you get up there?" I curled most of my hand so one finger pointed up. He wrinkled his brow and smirked, taking the joint from my hand. "If you're fast enough, you can get up there long enough to do the job." He looked for a moment like he was ready to spring up to the ceiling in a single bound, but decided instead to stretch out his legs in front of him and light the joint off a candle. He took a long drag and handed it over to me. I took it from him but kept looking at him. "How did you do all this?" "It took all day. Gimme that. I didn't get high until I picked you up. I didn't get high all day." "This is what happens when you don't smoke pot?" "It can. It's not that big a difference. I'm just not quite as fast when I'm high." "Not quite." I said, looking up and around the room. "But you're still fast." "Still fast." "What does it feel like?" "Like, more like, well, like speed, like coffee, like anything with speed in it. Like wired but not shakey, but that dried out feeling. Stretched out and hungry, knowing you have all this energy." "Huh." I took that in for a moment. "So being a vampire is like being on speed all the time." "Kinda. That's not really the best example." "But no crash." "There's a better way to explain it." "Did you use to do a lot of speed?" "Not really. I tried meth and coke before. It's kind of like coke but not really." "Is this what makes vampires assholes?" "Could be. No, definitely. It's definitely part of what makes them assholes. The other part is," he paused. "That they choose to be. It's a choice. It makes it easier to be an asshole but it's not like you have to be." "Explain the asshole part." "Okay. Let me think." He hit on the joint with a grimace. "We were in a park," he said while holding his breath. He exhaled. "This girl Marissa and this guy Jake and me. And there was this girl in the crowd who could see us, could tell we were different, so she was watching us. Marissa decides to start moving really fast back and forth but stuttering her movements so she could be seen in flashes. We were by the trees and no one else was watching us but this girl. And the girl starts having a seizure right there, which was just what Marissa wanted. Later she said it was because that way she wouldn't remember seeing us, because you usually can't remember things from around the time you have a seizure, but I know she did it just to be an asshole. That girl felt over and hit her head, didn't move at all. People started to gather around her. We had to leave so we didn't get caught in the crowd. It was such a dick thing to do. We didn't have to do anything, people see us all the time, and mostly they don't think much of it. Occasionally someone freaks out, but it's not a big deal. We're fast enough that we can disappear if that's the case. It was just mean. Pure cruelty." Michael looked upset at the recollection, every sentence came out in lurches, words being vomited up. he sucked on the joint silently, his face still grimaced, his mouth twisted up at one corner and down at the other. "But they all aren't like that." "I haven't met them all. But mostly. Mostly they tend to be assholes. And I don't choose to be around them." I wanted to change the subject. "I thought you didn't know how to clean." "I didn't, but I figured, how hard could it be? I started with the brush in here at that end last night," he said pointing at a corner, "and practiced with water and that cleanser. A little on the floor, a little on the wall. The drips were so dark, I decided to start with the walls. Mostly I used water which was good because I would have run out of cleanser right away. I don't think I'm that good at it but I don't think you have to be that good." "I think you're good. It's amazing." "Well, it took all day, and I'm fast." "Yes, you are." he was looking at me but not in my eyes. He was looking at my mouth. He reached out with the joint between his thumb and forefinger but extended his middle finger to my lips, touching my lower lip for a moment, then he rested the joint there. It was a little strange, but I took a hit. The pot made him feel more human, but why was it so important I get high? Was it him being polite, his way of being social? He took a hit that finished the joint and put the roach on the tray. I wanted him to show me how he did it, cleaned the place, moved around, but I couldn't think of a way to ask. When he said it took him all day, did that mean he did it during the day or was it a figure of speech? "Water?" he asked. He was up and back with two glasses before I could say yes. I realized I wouldn't be able to see him scrub or touch the ceiling, except maybe as a blur, so there was no use asking. I drank as he moistened his mouth. "Can you drink the water?" "It would be like saving the water inside me, which I do sometimes. And I can do this." He stood up and swallowed some water, then turned to the wall. With his mouth open and his teeth bared, he made a hissing sound and sprayed the wall with a fine mist. "What's that for?" "I have no idea." I was a little relieved that it wasn't part of the wall cleaning procedure. He sat back down and look at me. His lips were wet. I reached out and touched his lower lip with my middle finger. He smiled.

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.

25/11/2009

I looked down. My coat was draped over me. He must have done it, but I hadn't noticed at all, how did that work? Was he really fast? Had I been lying her a long time? How high was I? The chaise lounge was very comfortable, but I had the feeling the floor would feel very comfortable right now. I made myself get up and I looked at him from the doorway. He was sitting in profile with his feet in front of the fire, smoking the roach. He had a lot of brown hair, thick and swept away from his face. It was very shiny. His legs were long enough for his knees to be level with his lap even with his feet so far in front of him. "Are you okay?" he called without turning around. "I'm fine." "The fire's almost out." I pulled on my coat as I walked toward him. My boots thunked with each step I took. "Did you want some of this?" he asked, extending the roach to his right, where I came up behind him. I put my mouth up to his pinched fingers and inhaled. It was small but the ember flared, and I wondered if it would burn him. His fingernails were short. His hands were much bigger than mine. He took a long measured hit off the roach, turning it into a tiny piece of burned paper. "Are you ready?" "Ready for what?" "To get scrub brushes." "Right now?" "Why not?" I thought for a moment. "Where did you want to go?" "Where do they have scrub brushes?" "I think pretty much anywhere that would be open now. Do you want to go to Walmart?" "We could." "Do you mind if I picked up some stuff?" "No." If I got some stuff i wouldn't have to call Martha. "Okay, let's go to Walmart. Or better, let's go to Costco." "I don't think I've ever been to Costco." "Then we should go. And it'll be empty. I like shopping at night when it's deserted so much better." "Good. Anything's better than Walmart. Walmart is always so depressing." "It's less depressing when there isn't anybody there, but there's always people there." "Fuck Walmart."
Looking up at the warehouse ceilings, I felt small and harmless, like nothing I could do would make a dent in this place so I couldn't make a mistake that mattered. "I don't know where anything is here. This place is huge." "We'll figure it out." he said, pushing the cart. It was one of those wooden flats with wheels attached and a metal handle. I have no idea what they're called. "I don't know if we'll need that." "Better to have one in case we do. You could ride on it." "I thought that, too. Maybe later." I liked that he was willing to push me around on the cart. Looking up cat things gave me the chance to look up at him. He had a strong jaw. He looked less shiny under the big florescent lights. Looking around, I was starting to worry that I wouldn't be able to find anything that wasn't in a giant cube. The only thing I might want a case of was beer, maybe cereal, but where would I store a case of cereal? The same with toilet paper. I could use the toilet paper, but where would I put that much toilet paper? I didn't have the space in my tiny apartment. Just then my stomach made a noise. "You're hungry." "Not really." "When did you last eat?" "A few hours ago." "It has to be more than a few hours." I was embarrassed at my stupid human failing, but Michael didn't seem to mind so much as think it was a problem to solve. He pointed at a large orange block up ahead. "Do you like Cheetos? I don't think we're running into anything fresh for a while." Cheetos would make my fingers orange. "The crunchy kind are okay." "They aren't the crunchy kind. Chex Mix?" he said, holding up a bag of Chex Mix. "I use to like Chex Mix. I'd pick out the Chex parts." "I made Chex Mix once with just Chex cereal. It's only worchester sauce, butter, and onion and garlic powder." He shook the bag. "I'll take it." I said, taking the bag, opening it. I picked out pieces, not wanting to get it all over my hands, and crunched them singly. Pick, place and crunch. Pick, place and crunch. Crunch, crunch, crunch. "You make that look fun." "It is fun." I pointed the open bag at him. He waved it away. "This way,' I said, marching ahead. "I think I see mops." Half an hour later, we had a washtub with four wooden scrub brushes, a gallon jug of concentrated all purpose cleanser, two large packs of sponges and a stack of wash clothes. I was sitting cross legged on the cart, facing Michael as he pushed. His steps seemed purposeful, measured out evenly. "What do you need to get?" "Honestly, I don't think I can do my shopping here. Everything is too big, I have no where to put it. I need a normal jar of mayonnaise, not a gallon jar of mayonnaise. Besides, it would take too long to look for anything in here. I'm tired." "I'll push you around. Look, turkeys. Do you need any turkeys?" "I need ground turkey. There aren't any turkeys." "My mistake, that giant can of tomatoes just looked like turkey. Do you need a twenty pack of paper towels?" "Let's just get your stuff and go." "Do you want me to take you to the depressing Walmart?" "You would take me to the depressing Walmart?" "Of course. You helped me pick out all this stuff. How would I know to get this many wash cloths?" "You never cleaned before?" "No, I never did a lot of cleaning." "Your house is going to take a lot of scrubbing. That's a lot of work." My chin was in my hand. My buzz had worn off and I was tired. I looked up at him. "Could we do it tomorrow? Or later in the week?" "Sure." he said, looking around, striding along. Did he mean scrubbing the house? "I mean the Walmart. But we don't have to go to Walmart. We could go to a normal grocery with less gigantically fat people and their chubby children." "Yes, yes we could." "Thank you." "Your welcome." "Because i don't have a car." "I know." "It's much harder without a car." "And having to eat." "Yes, that." I smiled at him and he smiled back, with his mouth closed. He rested both elbows on the rail as he pushed it along and leaned in. "Let's get out of here." he said producing a joint from his sleeve. I slapped his arm, looking around. It disappeared just as quickly. He straightened up, pushed harder, starting to run. I turned around to see the registers in the distance. He never got to a run, but slid with the rolling cart until we stopped in front of the lone cashier. "Up, up, we have to get out of here." In the parking lot, I remembered the ride out here, scenic and out of the way. All the supplies fit into the wash bin, which Michael carried with ease, stowing it in the trunk. It was nice out, clear but cold. 'Do you know how to cook?" I asked as we got into the car. "No. Why?" "Just asking." Michael made the joint reappear and held it just so until I took it from him. I felt for the lighter in my pocket and lit it, thinking he was just another young guy who didn't know how to clean or cook. His mother probably did it all for him, where was his mother? Was she still alive? I couldn't tell his age, he could have been twenty or thirty. Would he get lines around his mouth like smokers do? He sucked on the joint. My half eaten bag of Chex Mix crinkled in my lap. He had bought me Chex Mix. I hadn't even thought about it. He was going to take me to the grocery store tomorrow because I had to eat. Were we dating now? Is this dating for him? He hadn't tried to kiss me or anything like that, but he did hold my hand by the fire. Did I want to date him? I did have some sexual feelings but it was probably just the marijuana, it did that to me. Whatever it was, I liked it fine and I hoped it meant we were going to be good friends. I was really very happy about getting to go the grocery store tomorrow without having to ask Martha, that was very liberating. Maybe it could become a regular thing and she'd never have to deal with Martha again. I was probably jumping the gun. "Does it make you tired? The pot?" "Kind of. Not really," he exhaled. "I don't get tired. But it makes me feel something in my arms and legs, weight. It's that human feeling, knowing where my bones are, the slack in my muscles. My eyes don't get red, but my lids will sometimes get heavy." I wanted to ask if it ever made his heart beat faster, but I didn't know if he had a heartbeat. "I can shake it off if I have to, most of it anyway. It can make me a little of kilter." "I haven't noticed that." "We've just been sitting or walking. If I was moving fast, you might notice it." How fast was fast? Magically making my coat appear on me fast? "Everything smells like pot." he smiled. He always said pot, he never said weed, which I liked because sometimes weed sounded seedy. Weed. Seedy. Har de har. "I'm good." I said, waving off the joint. He put it out in the ashtray. My skin tingled and the confines of the car breathed in and out slightly. I cracked open the window for some fresh air. Smoke was probably rolling out of the car. Luckily, the parking lot was deserted. The stars were out. "What time is it?" "I don't know. I'd have to look at my phone." "Me, too. I don't wanna look at my phone. I think it's wrong. It never gets daylight savings time right. It gets it eventually but it just surprises me by being right one day. I should really fix that." "I can fix it." "I can fix it, too. I just haven't got to it yet. Look." I pointed at the window. "The stars are out. i forget to look at them sometimes. A lot of the time." "Pretty." he said, and started the car. He seems a lot like any guy, I thought, except he's nice. It was too cold to have the windows down, otherwise I would have had them wide open with the wind in my hair. That reminded me, I really need a haircut. I leaned back in the seat and enjoyed being the passenger. Nice car. Nice guy. Nice buzz. Things were good. Something horrible was bound to happen. Soon he was going to try to bite me or kill me, torture maybe. Nah, that didn't bother me. It really didn't seem like it would happen, I was completely unconvinced by me. Just you wait, I said to myself, bad things would happen. But bad things always happened, nothing stopped the bad things from happening, there was just the hope of having some good things in between. So far, I had a ride home and help getting groceries tomorrow. That was pretty good so far. I realize my goals were not high, but my barometer for suck was waiting for the fog to roll in, as it usually did.

24/11/2009

So, vampires were assholes. Huh. Was it a surprise? Not really. Michael's eyebrows knitted together. He looked annoyed. I didn't want to annoy him, but he was finally talking about being a vampire. I didn't want to push it. "Not all of them, I don't know all of them. I don't want to get into it right now." "Sure. Whatever." "Maybe another time." The fire crackled as I put the roach on the tray. It was almost an inch long but I was already as high as I was going to get. He waved it down, too, but looked me in the eye. "How did you know I was a vampire?" "Um, well, you looked like a vampire. You looked different." "Different how?" "Your face, your skin, it's kind of shiny, almost. Like a glow." "Not everyone sees that, just you, people like you. Have you ever met any other vampires?" "Not met, just seen some at a show once, in the crowd." "I could tell, that you knew, but you didn't act weird about it. That time at Carl's. You knew but you treated me just like everyone else. You were nice." "You mean Carl didn't know? No one else there?" "Carl figured it out eventually, but most people don't know, not like you. To most people, we don't stand out the way you see it." "Huh. So what makes me different." Michael looked into my eyes. His eyes reflected the fire, looking more yellow than the light brown I thought they were. "Have you ever had a seizure?" "Once. From some bad medication." "You take medication." "Yeah." "Whatever makes your brain different makes you able to pick out vampires." "Because I'm crazy. Crazy people see vampires. That makes sense." "You're not crazy. Not that I've noticed." "We've just met. I've had my moments." "I've seen you around." "I haven't been around. What are you talking about." "I've seen you out. You come out at night, usually walking by river." "You've been watching me?" "No, I've just been out, at night, and I've seen you go by, on your way to the convenience store or around the park. You're usually out late. We keep the same hours." It felt weird, knowing someone had been watching me, but it was reassuring, knowing that feeling was justified. He hadn't seen me doing anything odd, just walking around. I didn't have to feel embarrassed. "So when I ran into you, did you plan that?" "How could I plan that? I didn't expect you to walk right up to me, but you did. You came over to me." That was true. "So how did you know I knew? Do I look different?" "It's just the look on your face, recognition, but you didn't get scared or--" "Should I be? Do I have a reason to be?" "I don't think so." "I'm really high. This stuff is pretty strong. I wish we had pot clubs around here so you could pick out the specific kind you wanted. Calming or invigorating or happy." "Do you not like it?" "It's not that, it's that it makes me feel a little trapped in this chair. I feel like I should jump around a little, get my legs back." I got up and stretched, still feeling awkward. My limbs felt a bit heavy. He could tell that I was different. Could he see how many times I'd been in the hospital, how I'd heard voices that one time. I had had periods when I couldn't trust my senses and now he was saying that not only could I see things other people couldn't see, but the times I felt someone watching me when I was out at night were validated. I wanted to believe him, but maybe even this vampire business was all in my head. Maybe this pot was a lot stronger than I thought, and what was I doing in some stranger's house getting high with someone I barely knew in the first place? Shouldn't I be afraid anyway? I wasn't. I had been acting out of boredom in the first place, approaching him. I didn't really feel like I had anything to lose. He could have blown me off or attacked me but he didn't. He'd been nothing but decent so far, not at all creepy, but I hadn't been thinking very far into the future. His motives didn't seem too far beyond my motives, the want for a little company. I took my coat off. The fire was blazing at this point. I sat back down, grabbing my glass of water, sipping it. "Did you want a cigarette?" "You smoke?" "No, but I could smell it on you." 'Oh. No, I"m okay," I said, think now that I reeked of tobacco. "I just have a really strong sense of smell. This smell of the dust in this place doesn't seem like it will ever go away." "Was it empty for a long time?" "A while. I'm not sure how long." "It doesn't look dirty, but maybe it could probably do with a good scrubbing. Really get the floorboards and wash the walls. I never think about washing the walls. Am I supposed to be scared? Should I be scared?" "Are you scared?" "No, but you keep saying." "Some people do get scared, some people just freak out, but usually they just start spitting out nonsense and people ignore them." "But if you're a vampire, you drink blood?" "Well, I have, yes." "Do you kill people?" "Not usually, no." "You're not going to kill me?" "Wasn't planning on it." "Okay." "Did you think I was? Going to kill you?" "No. Not at all." But you have, I thought. Killed people. I didn't want to say it. It was a bit heavy and I didn't want to get into it right now. "Do you have any scrub brushes?" "I don't think so." "Well, we could get some at the big box store and work on the house." "Right now?" "I wasn't thinking right now. But another time or later." "It would be a lot of work." "Do you think so?" "It's a big house." "The upstairs isn't so bad. It's mostly sealed off with dust covers on everything. This room is probably the worst." "Do you eat?" "Are you hungry?" "No, not really. I was just wondering if you eat." "No, not really. I can but it isn't really like eating. Are you going to ask me a bunch of questions now?" "Can I?" "I don't really want to answer a bunch of questions. The answers will just come out eventually, if we're going to hang out." "So we're going to hang out?" "Is that okay with you." "Yeah, sure. I'd like that." I wanted to ask why he wanted to hang out with me, but it sounded too loserly. "We keep the same hours, or so it seems." "I do stay up mostly at night. I get to sleep around dawn. I call it third shift and people mostly seem to get it. Can you be up during the day?" "I don't like bright light. It hurts my eyes and I'm extremely photosensitive." "How did you get the house?" "A lawyer contacted me." " Sorry. I'm totally baked, and I feel awkward." "It's okay. Do you want some more water?" "Sure." I got up to follow him into the kitchen with my near empty glass. He grabbed a candle off the table. I wanted to ask him if he even needed the candle but I wanted to stop spitting questions at him. Why did he want to hang out with me? Were the asshole vampires out of town or local? It was easier to stop thinking. I looked around the kitchen, no fridge. I guess he didn't need one. He turned on the faucet and the pipes thumped again. This time I looked inside the pantry. There were cans and jars on the shelves, it was too dark to make out more than that. If he didn't eat, what was the deal with that? Had someone else stocked up, maybe someone else he was hanging out with? He placed the glass on the island, turning toward me. "Where's the bathroom?" I asked. "It's around here." he said, walking towards the back stairs. A little hallway I'd missed opened up to the left. "Take this." he said, putting the candle in my hand. "It's on the left." I found a little room with a sink and toilet, with a mirror above the sink. The candle light wasn't the most flattering as it lit from below, sitting on the edge of the sink. I pushed my long hair out of my face, pushing pieces behind my ears. I hadn't gotten a chance to see if he had a reflection or not. Mine looked kind of puffy. I didn't have an urgent need to use the toilet, but decided I might as well since I was here. Thankfully, there was a roll of toilet paper on the tank. So maybe he was just a good host for his human friends, having food and toilet paper for them, not needing them for himself. Maybe the cans and jars were old preserved food that came with the house. The sound of urine against the bowl echoed loudly, she was sure he could hear it, whether all his senses were amplified or not. Oh well. Humans had to pee, he knew that. He was human only a few years ago. Five years ago was nothing but it could stretch out a long while if he spent it with asshole vampires. Asshole vampires. It wasn't a stretch to think that vampires could be total dicks, but he was separating himself from them, so they didn't have to be assholes, some had chosen to be. It made sense. The flush roared, filling the small room. She could see his silhouette from the hallway. He'd gotten the other candle and carried it back with him, waiting at the island. "Do you use the kitchen much?" "Not really." "It's huge. My kitchen's so tiny." "Do you like to cook?" "Yeah, I do, but whenever I cook, I make a lot of food, so there's a lot left over and I'm eating the same thing for a while. I don't usually mind." "The stove works. It's gas." With that he turned back towards the door and I followed him back to the fire. "That dining room table is nice but I don't know what happened to the rest of the chairs. That sideboard is in good shape, too. Are you warm enough?" "Oh, yeah. The fire is warm." "It has to burn down some." he said grabbing the poker. In his button down shirt and gray pants, he looked like a man from an earlier age, poking a fire, but he could be around her age. There wasn't any stories coming about the civil war or prohibition. He probably had an ipod charging up somewhere. "Are you bored?" I asked. "No, why?" "I mean, is that why you wanted to hang out." "Not really." "I was. Bored. I'll do a lot of things out of boredom." "Like what?" "Stupid things." "Are you bored now?" "No, not at all. But I can't think of any thing interesting to say. All I can think of are questions and I don't want to drill you with more questions." "Here, give me your hand." he said, his hand reaching out for one of mine. It was warm. "It's warm because of the fire, normally it's cold." "Oh." "I've always had cold hands. Bad circulation." "Mine are like that too sometimes." "So we have that in common." "I like it better cold than hot. You can always wear more clothes or have a fire when it's cold, but as I get older, I can stand it less." "I don't mind the cold at all anymore. And I like fire." His hand felt strong but he was holding my hand delicately. His thumb stroked the back of my hand but it felt like it could crush it in an instant. I squeezed his hand and let it go, letting it fall back into my lap. I could have been squeezing a lamppost for all the give in his flesh. "Sorry. I feel dopey." "It's okay." I got up and walked around the room, lingering in the writing room doorway. "It's not all that cold yet. It will be soon though." I sat on the chaise lounge, then swung my legs onto it and laid back, sighing. "You okay in there?" he called. "Yeah." I called back. "Micheal?" "Yes?" "What's your last name?" "Caine." "Really?" "Yes." "You're name is Michael Caine." "Yes." "Like the actor?" "Yes." "Are you named after him?" "No." "That's pretty funny." "If you say so." "I say so."

23/11/2009

"Hi, Ed, it's Michael." "Oh, hi! I was going to call you. About the thing." "Oh, okay." "Yeah, I've got it here, with me, so you can come pick it up." Ed felt like she was rushing. Damn. "Right now?" "Oh, there's no rush. I got it already so whenever." Awkward, awkward, awkward. "You got it?" She wanted to get over the feeling that the phones were bugged. Relax. "Yeah, I got a whole ounce so we could split it." "Oh, well, thanks for that." He paused. Did he want more than that? Crap. "What are you doing right now?" "I was watching a movie. I've seen it before, no big deal." "So, I should come over?" "Yeah, sure." "It'll only take a minute, I've got a car." "Oh, okay." Was he just going to run in and out? Oh, well. Whatever. Whatever. "Alright, see you in a bit." "Bye." The phone clicked. She sighed. Might as well split it up so he didn't have to waste time. He probably had things to do. She didn't have scales but she just eyed it, pulling out an extra bag. That was good enough. She tried to handle it as little as possible but it felt sticky to the touch, and she regretted breaking off any crystals. She hadn't tried the new stuff yet, there was still a couple small buds of the old stuff. She'd offer him some when he got there if he didn't just run for it. She left his bag on the table and got up for a glass of water. Shake it off. She turned the movie back on and leaned back into the couch. Pphhhtttt. She shook the pack on the table and fished out the last cigarette, took a drag, then wanted to put it out. Wasteful, she thought, tapping it out on the glass ashtray. Let him hurry up and put her out of her misery. It wasn't misery. It wasn't any big deal. He was a nice guy. A nice prompt guy who knocked. Edna jumped up, then took a beat to walk to the door. "Hi, come in," she said as soon as she cracked the door. For a second, she was worried it wasn't him and she had just invited a stranger in, but she saw him in the same black coat as the door swung open. He was smiling. "Hi. That didn't take too long, did it?" "No, it was quick. Here." she gestured at the table. "It's all ready." "Oh, okay," he said, pulling out his wallet. "So," he lingered, "did you want to smoke some with me?" "Oh, sure. Yes." "Have you tried it yet?" "No, not yet." Was he being polite? He was polite. A nice guy. Michael went over to where he had sat previously like assigned seating and opened the bag. "Do you have..." he gestured for a tray. Edna reached for the box. "Did you want papers or a pipe?" "Let's just try the pipe to taste it." "Okay." "You like the pipe?" "It's easier and quicker, and it's less wasteful, I think. I don't like to overhandle the pot. How about you?" "It's okay," he said, handing over the loaded pipe, "but I like rolling. I like the ritual." The smell of the new stuff hung in the air. "Tasty. Do you want me to wrap it in something else. It really stinks." "Yeah, maybe." he said, taking the pipe. He inhaled deeply. "I don't think it's going to be a problem." he said, exhaling, passing the pipe. 'I'm just going straight back to my place." He paused, rubbing his hands on this thighs. "Did you have any plans for the evening?" "No, not really." "Do you want to come over to my place?" "Oh," she started, "Oh, sure. Okay." "Because last time we were here, so now it can be my turn." "No, okay. Sure." Edna looked around, kind of scatty, looking for her coat. She handed him the pipe, pointed at him and said, "Finish." then got up and grabbed her coat. "Sorry, I , uh, didn't know if you wanted to just get the pot and go." "And thanks for that," he said, "taking care of everything. I really appreciated that, not having to go through a bunch of people or waiting around." "It was no big deal, really." "I really mean it though. Saving me the hassle means a lot to me. It's not always easy having to go through certain people--" "Did you want more? Because I just went for the ounce. If you want to do it again, it's no problem. We can just keep it like this." "Yeah, great." He was smiling that brilliant smile. "It's finished. Do you want to go?" "Yeah, I'm ready." Edna clicked off the television and pulled on her coat, spotting her keys on the counter. He put the bag inside his coat and was out in the hall in one smooth movement, waiting for her to lock up. "My car is this way," he led. Edna knew nothing about cars but it looked nice, black and shiny with silver lining parts of it. "It's unlocked." he said, climbing in. The seats looked like leather and it was clean inside, no dust. She wondered if he was one of those guys really into car maintenance. "It's not far." he said. "Nothing is." she murmured reflexively. "It's true." She relaxed into the seat as she realized the new buzz. "Can you feel it?" she asked. "Yeah, it's good." he said. "As good as that other stuff. Thanks again." "Yeah." She liked being in a car at night, watching the lights pass by, just being the passenger. "Are you okay to drive?" she asked a bit late. "I can always drive." he said. They seemed to be going a bit fast, but she trusted him not to get pulled over. It wasn't a busy street, but a quieter one that went around the edge of town. Town looked deserted and she liked it that way. It seemed sudden that they were slowing down. "Is this it?" she asked looking around. "Here," he said, pointing up, turning into the driveway. "You have a house?" she said, surprised. "A whole house?" It was dark, so it looked brown in color, with no lights on, with three stories and a porch that went around the side of the house she couldn't see. "It belonged to my family. It's why I came here, because I inherited the house." Why shouldn't he have a house, she though, he could be really old or really rich. The car was slowly pulling around back to where she could see the porch end. "Do you live with any one?" she asked. It seemed a bit silly since no lights were on but maybe they were out. It looked deserted, and old but not in bad shape or with any thing in disrepair. There wasn't much foliage around but none of it looked overgrown or untended. "No, it's just me. There is a cat that comes around who is starting to get friendly but that's it." There were concrete steps up to the back porch, where Michael unlocked the door with what looked like one of those old skeleton keys. The knob was oval with a big plate, and it creaked predictably as the door swung open. "The wiring isn't completely reliable. It flickers in some places." "Wow, it's big." Edna said, looking around the room. There was a door immediately to the right that swung at Michael's touch as he passed it. The ceiling was high and the only thing in the room was a large dining room table with three chairs with their backs against the furthest wall. One parlor doors was slid closed, the other opened into a room with a ceiling light that flicked on as Michael passed into it. She followed him into the better lit room which turned out to be two uncovered bulbs. Michael was lighting candles lined up on a carved stone mantelpiece of a fireplace that looked to be working. "I'm going to make the fire." he said, wincing at the overhead light. "I need to get a cover for that thing. It... sucks." Edna peered into the other rooms that opened into the lit one. "Let me get the fire started and I'll give you the tour." Michael said from his position crouched in front of the fireplace. He couldn't be too flammable, Edna reasoned, with all the smoking and fire lighting. Maybe that wasn't true, but it wasn't like he was going to catch light like a pair of polyester pajamas anyway. Everything looked clean enough but she skirted touching anything as if it were covered in dust. She felt like they were playing house in an abandoned building, which felt exciting, but it was his house, so he said. The couch and chairs in the room were made of carved wood with pale blue patterned cloth on the seat and back. The pale blue made it seem faded, from sunlight or age, but this room didn't have any windows. It opened into two rooms, one with windows to the porch and a desk with a chair, as well as what looked like a daybed. "There's a little fireplace in here, too." Michael said from behind her, making her jump a bit. He was holding two big cream colored candles in candle holders with handles, handing one to her. "They're more reliable than the lights. This is the writing room, I guess. It gets a lot of light during the day." "Oh, really?" Edna blurted. So he could be in daylight? "I don't use it much." He said, moving into the other room. "And this one is the day room. It's got big windows, too. It opens up onto the porch. You go through here and it opens up into the foyer and the stairs. There's another set of stairs in the kitchen." He walked back into the room with the fireplace, checking on the fire. A small but steady flame burned under a blackened log, a blue glow wrapped around two thick sticks that propped it up. "This is the kitchen." he said, pushing open the swinging door they had passed in the first room. He gestured around with his free hand. "I guess this is the dining room. This way," he said, holding open the swinging door. The kitchen was large, with a big gas stove and a white enamel sink with a spigot that looked like the end of a pipe. Counters ran on either side of the sink under the windows. A wooden island took up the center of the room. "This is the pantry." Michael said, pointing his candle at the wooden doors. Edna was curious but she didn't want to snoop. Was there food in the cupboards? Did he use the kitchen? "I don't use it much. And these are the back stairs." he said, walking to what had looked like an arched doorway but turned out to be a skinny flight of steps. "They open up to a small room upstairs. I think it's a linen closet." He walked back through to the dining room door. "I have to keep an eye on the fire." Alone in the kitchen, Edna looked around quickly but followed him back into the fireplace room. "On the other side of the foyer there's stairs to the basement, around the backstairs, too, but it's really dirty down there. There's bedrooms upstairs. Some of the lamps work. Now the fire seems to be going." he said, poking at the log with a poker. "Can you get the light?" He pointed the poker at the wall switch. Edna killed the overhead light. "That's much better, don't you think?" he said, putting the poker on its stand. He picked up two chairs and placed them close to the fire, then turned to grab an end table. It was carved wood also and had a drawer which Michael opened. Edna sat down, swinging her legs a little. Michael pulled out some papers and shut the drawer. The little table shone in the firelight. Edna put her candle down on it lightly, wondering if she should. Michael looked up and nodded, taking back the candle he had place on the mantle piece and putting it next to her candle. He walked into the day room and came back with a silver tray. Pulling the pot out of his coat, he eased out of it, draping it on the chair, sitting on it. After pulling a long bud out of the bag, he sealed the bag and put it in table drawer. "This is nice, having a fire." said Edna. It felt somewhere between having a bonfire and camping. "It's the weather for it. I love a fire." "How long have you been here, in this house?" "It's been a few years now." He was breaking up the bud with his fingers in a methodical way. "Really?" She looked around the room. "It doesn't look ever lived in." he said. "I don't have a lot of people over." "Oh." There was a smell of dust and ash, but the chair she was in looked clean and wasn't musty at all. "I need to fix a lot of things like the light." he gestured upward. 'What is that in the writing room, is it a day bed?" "I think it's a chaise lounge." "So you don't do a lot of writing?" "Nope. And," he said catching her eye," I'm sensitive to the light." "Sensitive." "Bright light hurts my eyes. I can't stand it. Do you want some water?" "Um, yes, I do." "Be right back." He was up and out of the fire light like a flash. A great thump and groaning sound came out of the walls, then the sound of water splashing into the big sink. He was back with two glasses just like that. "The plumbing is old but it works. The water is fine." He handed her a tall glass. A pattern of tiny leaves twinkled in her hand as she turned it around. He barely took a sip and seemed to hold it in his mouth, putting the glass on the floor. "I forgot coasters." "That's okay." Edna watched him resume rolling the joint as she sipped her water. She expected a mineral taste like the kind that came out of her own pipes unfiltered but there was none. She looked up at him just as his tongue peeked out to lick the paper. It glistened. It must have been why he got the water. Did he not have saliva? The joint was perfect and he waved it in front of the fire to dry it a little before dropping it onto the tray and starting another. "You're really good at that." "Practice." The next one he rolled very quickly, in a fluid movement she almost missed, pausing only to lick the paper. "Ready for more?" he asked, the first joint pointed up between thumb and forefinger. "Sure." she said, wondering how off her sense of time was. He'd only breezed through the first floor rooms and the car ride hadn't taken very long. She knew better than to start worrying about it, it was a lost cause. They hadn't smoked all that much, just a couple of hits, so it could be wearing off. Edna was comfortable in her chair by the fire. Things were different and exciting. He handed her the joint to light. She automatically pulled out her own lighter but saw him put a thin stick into the fire, to light the joint for her. She accepted with a long pull, passing it to him. She hadn't smoked a joint in a long time, she realized, quickly settling into the ritual. Blue smoke curled off the joint. Waste, she thought, but they both had a lot of pot, so there wasn't really a worry. He drew in the smoke slowly, so it burned evenly. "It tastes good. So far I like this stuff. It's a body buzz but it doesn't floor you. What do you think?" "The same." "Do you get dry mouth?" "Not really. It's different." Edna braced herself for the explanation, if explanation was coming at all. "I use water to keep my mouth moist but it doesn't dry out. It stays... soft. But I like to keep it moist because it's more… human. It feels more human. Like when I was human." He passed the joint. "It's why I like pot. It feels like when I was human. I feel more human when I'm high." "How long since you've been human?" "Around five years." "Is that all?" Edna was shocked. "Yeah. Why?" "Well, that doesn't seem long at all. Doesn't that make you pretty new?" "I don't know. Is there a difference?" "I wouldn't know." "Who would know?" "Other vampires?" "I don't know about that." "Do you know any other vampires?" "Yeah. Some." "So how come you're not with them?" "Because they're a bunch of assholes."

22/11/2009

Sure I was thinking about Michael too much for my own good, I went for a walk at sunset. It was okay, but I was waiting for a proper nightfall so I could get a look at the stars. Too often I forgot about looking up, especially at night. Part of it was for lack of a porch. I really missed having a porch area of some kind. It was a good place to drink a pot of coffee in the morning and have a meditative cigarette at night. There wasn't anything I really needed but I didn't want to go out for nothing, so I bought a pack of fresher cigarettes and a candy bar. The price of cigarettes had gotten ridiculous, making me grateful I wasn't more of a smoker. The few left in the freezer were the last of a carton; it had been a long time since I'd bought a single pack of cigarettes and they'd added a lot of tax in that time. The candy bar was a new flavor I hadn't tried before, dark chocolate and mint. I didn't need it, I really didn't need it, but it would be a little treat to savor later after I got high. I started thinking of things I'd need to be getting at the grocery store. I'd have to call on Martha and she if she wanted to help take me shopping at the big box store, hopefully we could run our errands together, since I didn't have a car and she did. Usually I could just smoke a joint or two with her and we would wander the warehouse of food together, maybe go in on something packaged in a giant cube. It was cheap and that was what it had going for it, although she did like wandering the almost deserted store at night, but mostly they'd been having to shoehorn it into an afternoon during the week in more of a rush and that wasn't nearly as much fun, having more of an urgency to it, which harshened the buzz if they got high at all. Martha was getting to be more of a pain, or was it she who was getting to be more of a pain to Martha. Edna grimaced at the thought but it was probably right. Martha just didn't have much time for her any more. She could have been painting it in a more negative light but it was the way it seemed at that moment. Really, she'd been putting Martha in a box labeled boring herself. She never really looked forward to spending time with her any more so much as getting her shopping over with. Maybe she wasn't putting enough effort into it. Edna stopped herself and made herself look around and stop trudging along with her head down. The few streetlights were turning on as the horizon to her left was losing its gold to a fading canvas of blue. She thought of Michael's big beaming smile. That was the only time she got a look at hiw sharp his teeth were and how white. Mostly he grinned a tight lipped grin and when he spoke his lips mostly covered his teeth. Most of the time you wouldn't notice his teeth, except when he smiled. She had only seen that genuinely happy looking smile, not a scary one. He probably could look very scary but she hadn't seen it yet. It was enough to change her thinking into a brighter shade. Maybe she would call him in an hour or two and see if he wanted the pot she'd already secured. It wouldn't be too soon for him since we was out, there was no silly game playing necessary. And besides, she wasn't thinking of him as a date, but as a friend. Maybe she'd put on a movie this time, maybe she should hike it to the little rental store over on Clinton while she was out. She still had credit there. She loved credit, it made things seem so clean with no money having to exchange hands. It was like being able to say the usual at a bar or being waved through at a club. Things weren't all bad with this town. Live anywhere long enough and you get the little things that make life a little smoother. She really should be more social, get out more, but a little here and there was all the fun there was of it, any more than that and it was a bore that turned into weird social obligations with people expecting to see you every day or else they feel snubbed. Once in a while and people acted like it was a special treat. Edna could be social once in a while, but most of the time she liked to be able to be on her own. There were a few people she kept her hand in with but mostly it was to keep from totally losing touch, with connections and the occasional rudimentary gossip. Really, it was pot that kept her social as much as it kept her happy to be on her own. Most of the time when she got a good batch, she couldn't wait to be able to smoke it on her own and listen to music or watch something, read or do whatever, without having to worry what other people thought, just completely relax, but she had been on her own too much for a while. She had gotten out of the habit of even looking in a mirror and she'd put on weight. Her hair had gotten long in the default way of someone who didn't bother and her clothes showed no effort, only comfort. Just walking to the store was good for her, she thought. At least she wasn't already out of breath. She caught herself in time to get back into some kind of shape.
It was too bright in the video store, the way it always was, and she looked around and the dollar rentals. Maybe there was something she hadn't seen already or something worth seeing again. she didn't want to bother with the new releases, most of which weren't very new. Maybe something animated, something foreign. They didn't have a lot of foreign options outside of horror. Nothing was leaping out at her. A few aisle away some teenage couples were making fun of something, sounding like generic teenage jocks everywhere, arrogant, ignorant. Somewhere else there were kids and parents. Edna suddenly wanted to get out of the store very badly but she didn't want to leave empty handed. Just pick something. She hadn't seen Master And Commander but she didn't feel like it. Lord, not Underworld or Blade, they weren't even good movies. Something visual, quick, quick, just pick something. She walked the to the new releases and grabbed Wall-e. She didn't have to watch it with him there anyway, and she'd only seen it once. She got to the counter and was out in two minutes but they seemed to last forever. It was always that way in the video store, if she didn't have something in mind she could grab right away, it became urgent to get out after a few minutes. Was it the lighting or the other people there, whatever it was she was out now and the darkness washed over her with relief. She could take the straight way home or loop around the more residential way and she found herself doing the latter, the darker, less public way. Balancing on the curb, she felt better, with no one watching her. She mused on the therapeutic used of pot as she certainly had developed a social phobia or anxiety. Also, she must look a mess. She'd feel better if she looked better, she thought. She could play with her hair and make up when she got back, see if that helped. But not before she saw Michael, she didn't want to look like she'd done herself up for him. He'd already seen her and her place, and he seemed okay with it. No use putting lipstick on a pig. Still, there was nothing wrong with making an effort. It was nice to be out, the air was cool and it was fully dark now. She almost whistled, but she didn't feel fully alone yet. That was the point, wasn't it? To get out more. None of this had probably taken any time at all, but it was good she had gotten out. But she wouldn't feel right until she was back in her own place, preferably with a bowl in her hand. Stoner. She certainly looked like one.
At the door, she felt relief. Shutting it, she exhaled, throwing the movie on the couch with other purchases. Stepping out of her shoes, she walked toward the freezer, wanting to smoke what was left of the old pack. Looking around, she tried to see it with new eyes, the place still looked neater and she liked it better. The window was still open from before. She lit her cigarette with a flourish and put up her feet, taking up the whole couch. Her back arched and sighed loudly, feeling stupid. Get it together, get it together. Looking don at herself, she decide the skirt was okay but maybe she should change into a different shirt. Oh, what was the difference. Maybe she could clip back her hair. She stubbed out the cigarette carefully and got out the pipe. She was smoking too much lately, not waiting. It was wasteful, she chastised herself, but she was running herself down too much and she should stop. It was making her anxious and she was thinking too much. Just relax, just be. She didn't have to worry, she'd gotten a whole new ounce, it didn't matter. She inhaled slow and steady, watching each part of the pot catch and burn away. She could hold her breath for ages. Exhale. Better. Her head buzzed in silence. There, now what the hell were you blathering about. This moment, just live this moment. And all the rest of it washed away, for the moment. She lay back and reached for her cigarette, paused a beat before lighting it. The remote prodded her thigh, so she reached for it and clicked on the television. Some sitcom rerun. She turned the sound down and got up to put the new pack of cigarettes in the freezer and put the candy bar in the kitchen pantry. She was just being foolish earlier, glad none of the blather in her head had leaked out. If she had acted weird in the video store, she was blocking it out. Just now. She took big steps out of the tiny kitchen and twirled into the living room, leaping to the couch in a single step on her tiptoes. Once you've chilled out, you can call Michael, she thought, ashing her cigarette. The movie was in her hand. Might as well put it in. What was on tonight, anything? Whatever, it's not important. Nothing is important. Enjoy yourself as much as you can, that's important. Don't waste it. The first part of Wall-e was heart breaking, she remembered, putting out the butt of her cigarette, finishing the bowl. When Eve showed up she was as delighted as a small child. She loved that. The purity of the moment. It rippled through her. She was halfway through the movie before she remembered she was suppose to call Michael, thinking she could put it off a bit, when the phone rang.

21/11/2009

Maybe she had a crush, but thinking of Michael made her smile. She didn't want to get physical with him, not yet, nothing like that. She didn't really know how she felt about him so far except that she liked him. She was excited about having a new friend, if that's what they were becoming. She didn't want to over think it, it was too easy to do that with anything. If she let herself she could get all anxious about it, ripping apart her behavior to find things to regret and be embarrassed about, so she had to make herself stop that, couldn't let herself cross the line towards obsessing. Edna sipped the smoke of a single hit to prevent it. She hugged a pillow. It was okay to let herself feel good about something, harmless to be a bit goofy, what could it hurt. She got up to get a glass of water, she usually drank a lot of water. It was suppose to be good for you and Edna thought it would dilute any thing bad for her, flush things out. She could throw back a pint of water, no problem. Michael had only tasted his water, taken in only enough to wet his mouth a few times. His general ease made it easy for Edna to relax and they had passed a couple hours enjoying the buzz in a calm laid back manner with light conversation. The pot had added to the feeling to tingly excitement, she hoped the next batch was comparable. Overall, today she felt a kind of freedom, like relief from some burden. She must have been feeling more stressed out than she knew lately, a kind of inhibiting anxiety that made the world feel cramped and small. Now it felt like she could lift her head again and look around, like things were lighter, brighter. Maybe there was some vampire residue on the mouth of the pipe that had antidepressant powers, maybe he had the ability to manipulate moods. Or maybe she had been so isolated these last few weeks that anything was a breath of fresh air breaking her out of her shell, she thought, turning to her computer, looking for some music. Something new or something old. She didn't want to endanger her good mood with the unknown, so she found some old Elvis Costello and clicked. She loaded another wee red haired clump into the bowl and obliterated it in a single drag. Breakfast had been a quick scramble of eggs to feed the machine and now they were happily digesting. She decided on a third lungful to ride the positive feelings up as far as they could take her, pivoting to the upbeat rhthyms thumping out of her small round speakers. With a delicate precision, she removed another clump of bud and loaded the bowl, covering it with her thumb. With a step into the bedroom, she launched herself on to the bed on her belly, snuggled into the blanket and lit the pipe. She held her breath as she snuggled around onto her back, exhaling into a flat starfish shape, wiggling her arms and legs like a snow angel. Ah. It's not that all is right in the world but at least nothing is wrong. There was nothing pressing that had to be done and the day stretched out before her, full of possibilities. She was comfortable, feeling flattened, flush with the bed. She could do anything, including just laying there until it stopped being what she actively wanted to do. Snuggle, snuggle. Water. Water and some straightening up, she thought. The bed would only take a second, the kitchen was already clean. The piles and piles of things in the living room weren't really going anywhere. She rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up by the chin. Might as well, she thought, heaving herself up on her feet with a single push up. Everybody's going through the motions, are you really only going through the motions. Looking around, she decided she could get rid of a bunch of clutter by stacking a bunch of books in front of the ones already on the shelf. It was a quick exercise and already things looked better. She couldn't remember why she had them out in the first place, but they'd been piled for at least a month or two. And the papers could be put away except for this one pile, she wasn't in the mood to sort and she knew out of sight was out of mind but she was going to chance it by dropping them all in a drawer. What a big difference it made. Oh I feel so loose tonight I might fall to pieces, so please excuse me as I fall upon the floor, something something something before the music ceases, she really needed to turn up the volume. Michael had mentioned some movie for its visual, what was it called? Did he say if he had a copy or just had seen it? He didn't seem that old, maybe he was still a newish vampire, but weren't they suppose to be more violent or unpredictable? Edna seriously started to question where any of her vampire knowledge came from. Where was she getting this stuff? She decided to check wikipedia to see if there was any straight factual stuff out there. Of course it turned out that most of the page had to do with book and movie characters with specific links to individuals and anything other called for citation or references. There was still a lot of mystique and mystery and they seemed to like it that way. Edna blew a raspberry. Oh, well, don't kill your buzz. She looked around with a feeling of accomplishment, the place looked better. That didn't take much at all. Maybe I should redecorate, or really, decorate. It wasn't a great place in the first place and she wasn't allowed to paint or alter things much, so it was only ever going to look so good. Still, there was nothing wrong with making an effort. Looking at the place from the perspective of a visitor was a big difference as she'd had it set up solely for the function of one and it showed. Every area was a little nest where things fell into an easy reach, areas that were stepped into like pilots bays. A little pushing and pulling of things made the couch area more hospitable with the coffee table cleaned off, more central and easy to navigate around. A few minutes had made a huge difference and that was enough for now. Edna plopped down on the couch, taking in the view from there. Better. She didn't want to make it look like she tried to hard either, she thought. Crap, where is the line there. Whatever. Whatever. She got up and gave the bed a quick primp, flick flick, plump plump, and closed the door. She opened the window in the living room. She was going to have one of her rare cigarettes and she didn't like smoke to get into bedroom. An open pack, sealed with the cellophane inverted over the open end, waited in the door of the freezer. For a moment she wanted to swear, but she had made coffee, she'd just forgotten she'd made coffee. It was warm and waiting for her in the pot. Fixing herself a mug, she took it into the living room by the window and extracted a cigarette from the pack. She didn't smoke much at all but she liked to be able to have one now and then. Did vampires smoke? Spike did on Buffy but who knows what he got out of it. Maybe it was just a habit. Kind of dangerous if you can light yourself on fire, they did look kinda flammable on that show. Coffee and cigarette. It was such a nice day. Blowing the smoke out the window, she couldn't help but think she really liked that show, especially Spike at the end, but she didn't think vampires were like them at all. That show was all from Joss Whedon's head and mostly they were suppose to be symbolic of things. What was the deal with souls. If she was going to hang out with Michael, she really had to get over the vampire thing and not be such a weirdo about it. She should know better than anybody how annoying it was when people kept wanting to pick at one thing about a person, not being white. Some people were such idiots about it, saying the stupidest things, thinking she was the racial question and answer station, asking things that went beyond stereotypical because they couldn't think of anything to say, or just because they were dumb. This town was lousy with idiots. She really had to get out of this town. Why was he in this town? People asked it of her all the time. Just enjoy your cigarette. Mindfulness. It was bright outside, but chilly. The windows had southern exposure so the place would really heat up by the afternoon. It was really bad in the summer but fine for the colder months. It was probably nice out in the sunny spots, she mused. Maybe he'd go for a walk later, after she got dressed. The cigarette was reassuring. There was a time when she smoked a lot but that was a long time ago, and unless she was in a chain smoking phase, it never bothered her to cut down or not smoke for a while. She just liked to have the option, like any adult, she wanted to keep her hand in. Some day, she expected, she would quit completely, but one now and then wasn't so bad. She was still in her twenties, close enough to thirty, but it was your thirties when it was time to finally quit things. How this mattered when she smoked pot was still up in the air. She hoped never to quit pot. Maybe she'd get a vaporizer, they were suppose to be the best way to use marijuana, but they were really expensive. No use worrying about it yet. Good coffee. More coffee. Mindfulness. Add the sweetener, pour the milk, stir. She stretched. Her buzz was fading from its peak and she wondered what time it was. It didn't matter, she reminded herself, nothing mattered today. She had enough pot left to stay high all day if she wanted, and she could get a hold of Billy later and get some more before she was out. She had enough cash so she could cover the bill and then Michael could just pay her back. It would be easier that way. She gathered the pipe and box together on the coffee table and switched off the music. She flicked around with the remote until she found something agreeable, it looked like an underwater documentary, pretty and soothing. She loaded the pipe and left it ready, sipping her coffee. She was comfy, she had coffee, and a bowl awaited when and if it was need. Things were good, things were fine, just enjoy it. Something pulled like a tense neck muscle, as if she was forgetting something, but she couldn't remember, it was a lost cause. She was going to avoid the internet for now. She'd check mail and things eventually. Enjoy things while you can. Nothing is wrong. You're high, what are you going to do anyway. She'd already decided it was going to be one of those stay high days if she could help it. She singed the red hair off the bowl and enjoyed the taste of it. Her head thrummed with it. A fish rippled by in striped and glowy glory.