Segment 13

         “. . . hey, you comfy there?”
         “Mm, yeah. This is nice. This feels nice.”
         Voice whispers. Bracketed by rustling.
         “Are you sure, because if you, ah, if you need more room, I can . . .”
         “No. Stay where you are. You’re fine. Really. I like, I like having you right here.”
         “God, you’re really warm. I never realized, are you sure you don’t want the sheets-“
         In the cloying dark.
         “It’s fine. Honest. Geez, I’m not made of glass, you know. You can . . . yeah, right there, that’s fine. You can keep your hand there, don’t, no, ha, that tickles . . .”
         “Sorry, geez, sorry. I . . . I don’t want to hurt you.”
         “The only way you can get hurt me is by going away.”
         There’s soft sounds. Water inverting, the lake losing itself. Skin on cloth, shifting. Folds of negative space, barely moving.
         “I don’t want to hurt you. You know that, right. I want to do the opposite . . . God that sounded stupid.”
         Muffled laugh, a curious explosion.
         “Yeah, I know, I know, I’m so smooth . . .”
         “No, no, that’s all right. It’s the thought that counts. I know what you meant. That’s sweet, you think I wouldn’t be here, if I didn’t believe it?”
         “I don’t believe it, honestly.”
         Softly, it travels. Caresses. Follow the line it makes, pastels in the dirt. Someone breathes, so quiet.
         “Why? Why wouldn’t you? I mean . . . mm. Ah.”
         “You like that?”
         “I do. I feel like we’re the only two people in the world. I feel . . . ah.”
         A giggle. This place, what? Sheets like waves, undulating, suggesting the outline that it has to be. The walls, nothing beyond. Borders in the dark. Barriers to this. Keeping it all in.
         “What? Is something wrong?”
         “No, it’s just . . . if you keep doing that, I can’t, I can’t concentrate. It just . . . it derails my whole train of thought.”
         “Oh, I’ll stop, I’ll-“
         When you’re so close you can feel it even without touching.
         “Silly. Sh. Who said that? I didn’t say anything like that.”
         An expelled sigh. The night crinkles, exhales. Stretches.
         “You smell nice, tonight.”
         “Just tonight?”
         “Hm. I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
         “You said it, hon. I didn’t prompt you. You want a chance to rephrase it.”
         To lick. You trace the path and it’s just an outline. Every single inch. It all comes to a point. To a head.
         “Well, what I was . . . I was trying to say . . .”
         “Yes?”
         “You smelled like the, ah, you’re not going to laugh at this, are you?”
         “I can’t promise that, no.”
         “Ha, wench. Come here and I’ll . . . no, what I was saying, it reminded me, the way you smelled . . . the first time I hugged you.”
         “You remember that? Really?”
         “Why, only girls are allowed to remember that kind of crap? You’re damn right I remember it. Why not?”
         “Wasn’t it that time, the first time we saw that movie-“
         ”No, no, before that. We barely knew each other, it was . . . remember that party? At your friend’s place? That night you were . . .”
         “Oh! That night, the one where I . . .”
         “Yeah, you and him, you, something happened, you came in with all these people and, I was sitting on the couch . . .”
         “I thought you were asleep, when I first sat down.”
         “No, I was, ah, I had a few drinks in me. Let’s put it that way.”
         “I’m not surprised.”
         “Hey, you think that’s funny . . .”
         A shout, a squeal, a violent shower of leaves. Dry, like a fire brought too close. You never suspect. How close it really is.
         “All right, all right . . . I was saying, you were next to him, you sat down with that girl, the two of you. I didn’t know who you were.”
         “Well it was mutual, then. Hey, can you . . . yeah, right there, just . . . oh.”
         Out of breath. It’s loops, in the shadows.
         “Better?”
         “Yeah. Oh yeah, much better. You’re really, you know, really good at this.”
         “At what? Lying in bed? I should be, I do it all the time. People hold mirrors up to my nose, to make sure I’m still alive.”
         “Ha. Ha-hah. That’s, it’s not what I meant.”
         “I know. I just . . . I have to joke because none of this, it doesn’t feel real.”
         “What? Us? Here?”
         “That’s what I mean. I never thought, I mean I guess I, ah, I imagined it . . .”
         “You dirty little man . . .”
         “Hey, I’m only human, I’m . . . and hey don’t make it sound so . . . what’s the word I’m looking for here? What is it?”
         “Sordid?”
         “Yeah, that’s it. That’s the word. Just like that, only, I always figured it would be this, this kind of wet dream . . .”
         “Ew, you’re really piling on the romance here . . .”
         “No, it’s, let me finish. I always thought that and here we are, we’re . . .”
         “We’re doing all right, aren’t we? Especially after . . .”
         “Yeah, we’re, ah. We’re okay. We definitely are. I mean, I never thought, sitting on the couch . . .”
         “Yeah, you were saying.”
         Stillness shudders. These ripples part and settle and cease. In each other, one puzzle fits the other. How do they go together? That’s the question.
         “You know when you’re buzzed, you . . . you hear things, you interpret them differently. No matter what you really want, it’s like, something hijacks your brain.”
         Muffled, slithering. Oh, protect this symphony. Keep it near, where it needs to be. Undercover and hidden. A hood for your face. A face for your time. A time to be slowed, and stilled.
         “I know, I’ve been there. Damn, have I been there. Two drinks and my ticket is punched.”
         “Tell me about it, you make for a cheap date . . . ow, geez, I’m just kidding, Christ woman you . . .”
         “Not so drunk now, am I?”
         “Yeah, that’s for sure . . . that better not leave a mark.”
         “Poor baby. Here, how’s this?”
         Simple rhythms. You set the cadence and the machine slides along. Quiet trickles, back and forth, lingering. It’s a dance, sideways and muted.
         “Great, that’s great . . . ah, now who’s being distracting?”
         “Whine, whine, whine. I can always leave you alone with yourself, you know.”
         “Can I finish? At least give me that. I was saying, I was, I was buzzed and listening to the two of you, maybe more . . . there was someone else there, maybe.”
         “Maybe. People kept coming over to me. I made a bit of a scene, I think. I didn’t mean to.”
         “I heard you, everyone talking. It got to me, listening and I . . . I chimed in, I guess.”
         “You said he was a bastard. You weren’t the first.”
         “I meant it, though. Everyone else was just trying to make you feel better. I knew the slob. He was a bastard.”
         “Well, I know that now. I’ve got poor taste in men, what can I say?”
         “Heh, and here I am. Do I taste poorly?”
         Muffled waveforms. This we can make out. A black lens in a black room. They’ll find the monster right where you expect him to be. In the bed. On the floor. On top. Right there where you are.
         “We’ll have to see. You were pretty good, that night. You know that. I barely knew you were drunk.”
         “Probably because you weren’t too far off yourself.”
         “I had a couple. That’s all.”
         “That’s all you needed.”
         “Maybe but . . . hey, I listened to you, didn’t I?”
         “You did. Do you remember what I said?”
         “Not at all.”
         “That makes two of us. But, ah . . . and this is what I was trying to tell you before . . . you hugged me, as you were leaving, you were going to sleep at someone’s dorm but you gave me this big, ah, emotional hug, I guess, you almost fell on me and I was too uncoordinated to really catch you but . . .”
         “But?”
         “You smelled nice, I remember thinking that. Your hair was in my face and I don’t know if you were wearing some kind of perfume but . . . I remember how it felt and how you smelled and after you were gone, I . . . I wanted it to happen again. I didn’t even know who you were. I wanted to find you.”
         “You did, eventually.”
         “I did. But not that night. That night, I passed out on the couch and didn’t wake up until noon the next day.”
         Shuffling, shifting. The gap is so close now, it’s barely there. So close and whispers abound. Tentative nervousness, crumbling under these steps.
         “I’m impressed you remember all that.”
         “You’re impressed? I’m amazed. Maybe I didn’t, until right you now. Until you reminded me. Until you brought it all back.”
         Silence, what have you done? These seconds have to have something in them, crammed in, that keeps the flow moving along. So close, wrapped in the other. Hints of shapes, we’re defined by what isn’t there.
         “That’s . . . that was a nice story. I didn’t know you felt that way. I, God, I could be like this forever. I don’t ever want to leave. What time is it?”
         “Who cares?”
         “Ha. Exactly. I was going to say. Who the hell cares?”
         “That’s why I turned the clock around. Because it doesn’t matter.”
         “Oh, that’s what that red glow is?”
         “Yeah, what did you think?”
         “I figured you were just trying to set the mood.”
         “Jesus, you’re bad tonight. Nobody ever said you were like this.”
         “Did they say I was full of surprises? That’s what I tell them to say. I figure that covers nearly everything. Anything important, at least.”
         “I don’t know. I guess I should have asked. Or listened.”
         “Well, that’s guys for you. Never listening.”
         “I’m listening now, right?”
         “Then what am I saying?”
         “You want to know? Here. I’ll show you.”
         Black on black. An indented explosion, ringing inwards. It’s moving, somehow, it’s still moving. Right up until the last day. Sliding against, there’s no sound. It’s suggested. By what you don’t see. Outlines. It’s all just. In the dark.
         “Whoa . . . that was . . . wow.”
         “I’m paying attention, right? I told you I was.”
         “It’s definitely . . . geez. I can’t even talk right. I just . . . right now.”
         “That tingles, what you’re doing. Right there.”
         “So? Is that so?”
         “I’m just saying, that’s all. I’m not judging. Just . . . ah, saying.”
         “I’m going to wake up here, in the morning. When we do go to sleep.”
         “If that’s what you want. Then, yeah, I guess you are.”
         “It’s what I want. I’m sure of that.”
         “Then you are.”
         Syllabic sputters. Everything finds the contours, the boundaries are unimportant. Everything blends. Together with the colors. Absent tones. Melted shapes, striving for sharp angles, compressing.
         “And you’re okay with that.”
         “I like to think I am. Should I be? I don’t see a problem with it.”
         “What if it, ah, what it happened more than once?”
         “Hey, tomorrow sounds good to me.”
         “No, geez, that’s not . . . I didn’t mean it that way, I . . . I mean, ah, what am I trying to say?”
         “That you find me irresistible.”
         “Ha, maybe. I don’t think so, I . . . if you were to wake up next to someone . . . all the time . . .”
         “As long as they aren’t dead. Because I saw that movie and I don’t want it happening to me.”
         “You’re not listening. I’m trying to say, but . . .”
         “Sh, fine. All right. Go ahead, talk. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. What are you saying?”
         “If you, waking up to someone all the time, to want that, is that a bad thing? To want that?”
         “To be married to them? Or just, you know . . .”
         “Maybe married, maybe . . . does it matter?”
         “I think I see, I . . . I mean, everyone wants to settle down, at some point. We’re not going to be young forever, you know.”
         “We are now.”
         “We are, for the moment. But that won’t last.”
         “I know, I know that and I . . . I want to enjoy myself but at the same time . . .”
         “Tick tick tick.”
         “What’s that?”
         “Your biological clock.”
         “What? Yeah, duh. I guess. I’m not sure if that’s it.”
         “Do you want kids, someday?”
         “Maybe that’s what I want but . . . you know, I like the idea of grandkids better. I’d rather just jump right over and have them. I mean, it’s better, you have more experience, you know what you’re doing but you don’t have to do it anymore. Because they’re not your kids. So you can have some fun.”
         “I don’t think I ever looked at it that way before.”
         Look. What are you looking at? What you paint on the canvas is entirely of your own imagination. Without lids there’s nothing to close. Easy. Easy. It won’t go where you suspect. You won’t have to see. All your distant fragments. Speaking words into nothing. Finding that even when you listen that doesn’t mean you heard.
         “And even then I don’t know if it’s the idea of grandkids so much as the idea of getting old that I like.”
         “You’re a rare breed, then, my dear.”
         “Ha, see that, right there. That’s the way an old person would talk. Nobody talks like that anymore.”
         “Maybe I heard my grandparents say to it each other one time. Maybe I’m just an old soul. You like it when I talk that way?”
         “It’s a possibility.”
         “I’ll remember that, my dear.”
         “But don’t overdo it.”
         “Point taken. So you’d rather be old? That’s different.”
         “It is. But still I . . . everything is just more comfortable, you have family and friends and there’s . . . there’s more of them. Everything is familiar and you’ve been through so much, to get there, that . . . nothing scares you anymore. There’s nothing to be afraid of, because you’ve seen it all.”
         “I don’t think I’ve ever looked at it that way before. But it makes sense, in a way. Although I know what it really means.”
         “What?”
         “You think I’m too young for you.”
         A flutter of noise. Rippling and stacked, there’s a box we could all fit into, if we had the time. It’s not going to happen. Not the way you expect. Not while we’re watching. Not unless we all pull together.
         “Ha, stop. That’s not it at all.”
         “Really? Whew, that’s a relief.”
         Water going down the path. It’s so slick, the way it goes. With nothing stopping it.
         “You’re really good to me, you know. I just want you to know that.”
         “Well, I try. I do my best.”
         “You are.”
         Ridges of whispers.
         “Do I have to say that you deserve it, or is it just implied?”
         “It’s fine. Really, it’s great.”
         “Good, good. I don’t ever want to be accused of being subtle.”
         The fountain goes up, goes down. What do you see? Nothing to look at, to stare. Come on, don’t. Not here. Dear God.
         “I’m not tired at all, you know. Relaxed, but not tired. And I’ve never really . . . goddammit!”
         “What? Is something wrong?”
         “No, it’s . . . I almost said, I nearly said I’ve never felt like this before and that’s so, so like I’m fifteen years old and I’m holding hands with a boy for the first time.”
         “Would you like to hold hands?”
         “I, ah . . . well, it’s a good place to start.”
         “Ooh, it’s almost like a promise.”
         “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. But, ah, no, it’s . . . I feel like I sound so stupid, like if I was listening to myself, if someone was here listening they’d think I sounded like an idiot.”
         “I’m listening, I told you. And I don’t think you sound silly at all.”
         “Well, that’s nice. But how impartial are you?”
         “Not much, but who cares? Besides, how many people really sound profound at two in the morning?”
         “It’s two already?”
         “I have no idea. But it sounded good, right?”
         “Yeah, it did. You . . .”
         “What?”
         Timely eyes see it coming. No, we don’t. If you suggest we’ll. They’re not going to. They aren’t. Not while we.
         “Yikes, woman, just when I was starting to settle down, you . . . what? Why are you looking at me like that? What did I do now?”
         “Nothing. I just . . . can I, can I ask . . .”
         “Go ahead, what is it . . .”
         “Before it gets too late, or, ah, too early, you know what I mean . . . what I’m trying to say is, ah . . . do you want to . . .”
         “I think I know what you’re asking.”
         Soft supple sighs. Arclight strives the rushes burning.          No. What you see is not. You let it go and.
         “Oh, because I’m that obvious, like I’m all ready to just jump all over . . .”
         “I was hoping you’d have the guts to bring it up because I didn’t know if I could. I didn’t know if I had the nerve.”
         “I’m not brave, you know.”
         “Don’t tell me that. You’re taking away the only excuse I have.”
         “Ha, if we’re both cowards, then what?”
         “We could run toward each other, right into each other’s arms, panting and gasping and sweaty . . .”
         “Jesus, stop, you really know how to set an image.”
         “An image that turns you on.”
         “Let’s not go that far.”
         Where’s the space. Separated in time. Don’t let this watch. Form. A frigid day, this was, cloaked in idle calm. Who can recall. Not if you were here. It’s lost. We depart out the exit, in whatever lies beyond. Outside. Close the door. Close it.
         “Oh, I’m going, I’m . . . hey, what, mmph-“
         ”Come on, can I . . . let me be serious, here. Just for a second.”
         “I know your question. You know my answer.”
         Oh, you roving hand. You feeble eye. You wayward tongue. Oh, it’s silk, screaming inside out. Where you don’t.
         “Just like that, huh?”
         “You want a flowery speech, I can give you one. You just have to give me an hour or so to . . .”
         “No, that’s all right. That’s really okay. So, ah, you really want to? Honestly?”
         Sinuous. It’s painful, when your head can’t turn. When the dark only details. Colors of negative contrasts. Get your. Move. Blink. Look away. Away.
         “Since we got close enough to even consider it.”
         “Oh. Wow.”
         “What, you thought I was going to say something horny like . . . even since I first laid eyes on you? I have to work my way up to it, you know.”
         “Oh, you’re working just fine. You’re . . . mmph-“
         It crinkles. No, flows. This argent evening. God, no. Why here? Do you see, when you look? All this thrashing, it’s cutting right through.
         “Just thought I’d share. In case my answer wasn’t direct enough.”
         “I, ah . . . I get the message, I do.”
         “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I thought it was possible. I can’t put it any more plainly. I really can’t.”
         “You really mean that, don’t you . . .”
         “Do I need to say again . . .”
         “No. No, you don’t, I . . . yeah, I just don’t know how . . .”
         “Just relax, you know? There’s no audience here. Just go with it. Just . . .”
         “You’re right, I, ah . . .”
         We’re too close. Sheets. Paper cuts, razors sideways to the dark. No, it’s moving. Watch it, no. Don’t let it. Reach out and oh dear God, I shouldn’t be.
         “Sh, yeah, don’t be . . . that’s right, just . . .”
         “Ah, God, ah . . . this, it’s . . .”
         “I know, mm, I know, just . . .”
         Here. Cresting waves, they can’t be here. Pulling together into. I can’t. Unfold. Just like a.
         “This is . . . God, this is . . .”
         “Okay, just be, okay . . . ah . . .”
         Just like I can’t see. I shouldn’t see. Why did you let me here? I’m not seeing. Not watching. Christ, where are my eyes?
         “You . . . ah, don’t, right there, I . . .”
         “Ah . . . God, I . . .”
         With shapeless sights suggested, I’m trying to tear myself out but I’m sorry. I told you, I’m sorry. I can’t explain, but I never meant to. I can’t be here. Once something is seen I can’t make it.
         “I . . .”
         Because I have to get out. Let me go. Let me out. I’m not intruding. I’m right up against you. Make it stop. Please. I’m not drawn, I’m not attached. Dammit. God. Damn. You.
         “. . . you, this is . . . you . . .”
         Ah no, I said I just want to move just to leave and I’m sorry I never meant to I didn’t want to. Believe me I.
         “. . . yes, you . . .”
         Goddammit no look away I have to stop before I.
         “. . . God, yes . . .”
         No you bastard you dammit look away.
         “This is, it’s just . . . I . . .”
         Oh God, I said oh God no.