Tuesday, June 17

Before She Left

SHE MET ME at the gate wearing a very loose striped black and white dress that hung off her and all the air going around her body. What is the poetry that describes a girl kissing your work-wearied mouth?
‘Your hair is wet.’
‘I just got out of the bath.’ She stopped me, and asked – ‘Do you want a beer?’
We went to the shop and bought two ice-lollies and two big bottles of Polish beer. The beer was cold and even in my hand it felt good to the touch.
She was preparing dinner and the smell of it filled the flat. I wanted to be outside because the weather was beautiful and sunny; it is no good to be holed up in an office all day when the sun is shining. I suggested we go to the sundeck and have a pint. Dinner could wait, she said, and we went down. It was not busy. We pulled up seats in the middle, put them around a table; the wood was old and unprotected and had been worn away by the cold and the heat; it rocked as we set our beers down. We swung our chairs around to face the sun. Up above there were windows open and balcony doors open and no-one seemed to stir behind them but the jagged interiors and all stillness yet the fingers of outside disturbing the curtains. Only a handful of people were up there. I tried to ignore them. A couple sat opposite us, content and barefooted. The girl – her hair mother-of-pearl – handed out bits of crisp to a cat.
We talked and laughed. Her legs were freshly shaven. They shone. A group of grotesque young people came and sat behind us. I became most nervous; too stubborn to shy away, though flinchingly aware of their presence. Why couldn’t I just have my earth and my sun and my girl and be done with the rest of it? For a moment, I tried to imagine their lives and myself a part of it, swinging my arms, joining in all the reindeer games, becoming bored of one person and talking to another, all the time admiring my own reflection in the distant windows.
We kept talking and laughing and I overcame the intruders, enjoying myself and enjoying her. The sun went below the line of red bricks. Everything in cool blue modern jazz. The aquamarine glow made the surroundings peaceful and I was not in the middle of London but somewhere serene, foreign. I could have stayed there all night. I wanted money money money to keep spending in the pub, rushing back and forth with drinks, until we could fall and sleep beneath the stars and wake up with the dew.
She went to the toilet and I overheard – without the least amount of effort – the young girls behind me: one of them was telling a story about a man’s penis. It had been a sizeable specimen and he had tried to fuck her at a party but she had said no. Her friends gazed on at her. She talked a lot about the penis and the party and the whole, abhorrent scene that she recalled with monotonous fondness. I bore my eyes into them, full of hate. Their posh voices made me sneer.
We did not stay much longer. I could not bear them and I had run out of money. She continued with dinner and I picked up my guitar and begun serenading her, smiling at my silliness. She bent over the table in front of me to read a recipe. Her bum was in the air, plump and firm, round. I took a hold of it. I kneeled down on the floor, beneath her, in my worshipping pose. I threw my guitar down. Of all the stars and the lunar bodies, the city’s pacifying drug of landscape, the score of townspeople; I bowed down to her bum. I kissed the cheeks, ran my tongue up them and bit them. I squeezed them because somewhere inside was the universe. She did not budge. Quietly she allowed me to persist. Manoeuvering aside her knickers to reveal more; I pulled them down, arising the striped black and white dress. I spread her cheeks and rolled my tongue up the in-between in a final salute to the perfections I found about her body. I felt her, that she was wet. A few more moments of the more timid skin upon my tongue.
‘Turn the oven off,’ I said.
Clavicles are adequate grips for necks and groans that hang over untidy beds. The television was still on, playing out the Netherlands-Spain game. I had moved the bed half a foot away from the wall a long time ago. The trains could be heard through the open window. Dinner could wait. Beer swilled in our swaying stomachs. I grabbed her neck off the side of the bed, forgetting that I was hungry.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Blank Template By subinsb.com