Burned

         The ceiling was making its normal intervals above my head before it was suddenly knocked back in place by an out of place series of raps on the door. It sounded like a small animal begging for shelter from the cold – the truth wasn’t far off. Her wet mascara made her look like the most feminine raccoon I’d ever seen. She just kept whispering as she grabbed me without a glance into my eyes. Her tears fell almost as fast as her clothes. It was like the first time you ever lit a match; she just didn’t know when to let go.

         She let go with a sigh, I just laid there staring at the red marks on my shoulder as they slowly disappeared. She was glad that I was there for her, I thought she didn’t need me anymore. I knew she’d be gone as soon as she felt better – this was the only time she needed me. The ceiling was spinning again and I was glad I didn’t have my watch on. Her whispers tickled my chest as their meanings slipped into oblivion.

         I forgot that she frowned while she slept. I didn’t want to stare into her sad face but I couldn’t help it, just as I couldn’t help the feeling of guilt that swept over me. I reached over and knocked the box of camels off the night stand – damnit. She left for work an hour early with a half frown in place of a goodbye – it was my turn not to return the I love you. I smoked the rest of my pack in the next five minutes. Damn the sun hurt my eyes – why even put windows in bedrooms? The voice on the phone asked me why I missed our lunch date – shit.

         Brenda was sitting outside in a blue sundress and a red frown wrapped around her cigarette. Another quite lunch punctuated by a pair of painfully non-alcoholic lime-aides followed. She needed my help for something again. We shared a pack of cigarettes. I followed her to her apartment. It smelled better now, but that would change. She handed me a paint brush and a bucket of paint we’d picked last week. I took about an hour before a nap break became a sex break became a dinner break and the living room remained half done. Brenda was in a better mood now – a good time to spend the night.

         I almost jumped out of my sheets when I woke up. There was a giant poofy blonde creature on my chest. I tried to brush it off but I found a nose – oh it’s Brenda. She got up early to make us breakfast – toast, just after ten. We ate in bed with our coffees and watched the same last 15 minutes of that movie with that Tom Hanks guy that comes on TV every weekend. We lamented never having English muffins and promised to eat breakfast with a matching accent next time. Brenda went to the fridge and a lime fell on her foot – I need to listen and stop putting fruit on the door. My phone played a very unfortunate melody – it was her.

         I barely had time to put my jeans on. I hope I at least left a t-shirt in my car – who knows what’s in this bag I grabbed. What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t know if I was asking it because she did, or if I was generally intrigued by the answer. Right now the answer was that I was sober – coffee instead of tequila was a bad choice.