Poil: A Short Story

Poil
Barry Montgomery © 2007

The shaft of light shone through the split in the curtains.  Another dreaded day.  We had closed them over in a pathetic attempt to shut out dawn a few hours previous, when we tried to convince ourselves that the night was still young, a time when everything was so much easier.  The beam shone through the lingering mist of hazy smoke belonging to the previous night's spliffs.  The remnants of a spliff lay in the ashtray crying out to me to finish what I had started.  I made a feeble attempt to try and grab the joint, but the thumping in my head forced my hand to give into the forces of gravity and I let my hand fall back down to the side of the bed.  The dull throbbing and my dry palate made me regret that last glass of merlot.  I could hear my neighbours pottering somewhere in the house next door.  Doors slammed, TV turned up extra loud.  Noisy bastards.  I rolled over, stuffed my head into my pillow and tried to block out the noise when suddenly my other senses became more acute.  A sweet scent rose into the air.  It filled my nostrils.  With it came memories...pleasant memories...

I turned around.  I had suddenly become aware of a pair of eyes watching me from the shadows, brown eyes staring intently at me, as if trying to read my thoughts, to see into my soul.  Strangely the gaze was not unnerving... She fingered my old battered copy of Ulysses that I actually never got around to finishing.  "Didn't take you to be a fan of Joyce?" she spoke with a false American accent.  She had somehow acquired it while learning to speak English.  "I bought it during my pretentious phase." I replied, "Personally, I think the man's a blathering idiot."  "Funny" she giggled, "I think the same.  I thought you were dead.  But then I lay next to you for a while and listened to your heart beating.  It was nice."  She shifted in the chair as if uncertain of what to do next, now that we both were fully conscious and sober.  It was like two different people than the night before.  She reached out for the ashtray and picked up the end of the spliff.  She struck a match and casually took a drag, and proceeded to exhale the smoke in the form of circles.  "Neat eh?  Took me ages to get it right!"

Two wine glasses, still half full, sat on the table among my notes, books and various CDs, where we had abandoned them last night.  The bottle opener, cork intact, lay beside the empty bottle on the floor.  I vaguely remembered sitting at the table and chatting about everything and anything.  We attempted to tell each other tales of our lives in that magical time that came just before dawn, when it was no longer night but still not quite morning.  We spoke about the things that made us laugh, confessed the things that made us cry.  I recalled her favourite colour was green.  We had attempted to form a closeness, something that could never be bent or broken.

Resting the spliff back in the ashtray, she effortlessly unfolded her legs from beneath her and rose from the chair.  I could now see that she had one of my tee shirts on.  It suited her.  She smiled nervously and crossed the room to the bookshelf on the other side.  She stepped over the various items of clothing that lay strewn about the floor where we had flung them the night previous in our fit of passion.  She stared about the room and the mess we had created.  "I'm not normally like this..." she said with a tremor in her voice.  "Hey it's okay" I butted in.  "I just don't want you to get the wrong impression of me..." she said as she ran her finger slowly along the line of books on the shelf.  "Hey, don't worry about it" I said.  "Oh, 'On the Road' I love this book."  I smiled at her attempt to change the subject.  She ran her finger sensually along the line of books on the bookshelf.  "I think I could like you even more."  She hummed a wordless tune while looking through my book collection.  Flicking her jet-black shoulder length hair, she gave me a mischievous smile.  "You're pretty when you dance" she said.  With a sigh she dropped on the beanbag beneath the bookshelf.  "When's your flight?" I asked, not really wanting to hear her reply.  ൙th."  A silence fell between us.  So many thoughts rushed through my head.

She rose from the beanbag and danced across the room to my bedside.  She held out her hand and bit on her bottom lip, waiting patiently for me to respond.  I reached out and clasped my hand in hers and slowly pulled myself out of my bed.  Goose bumps erupted on my skin as the cold morning air hit my body.  Immediately I longed for the warmth and protection of the covers.  In the bed I was untouchable.  Here I was vulnerable and exposed.  I kept close to her.  My skin tingled with warmth as I held her close.  She reached behind the closed curtains and opened the window slightly.  "Can I sing to you?" she asked.  She pulled herself even closer to me.  Her heavenly scent filling my nostrils.

Humming softly, she wrapped her arms around me and we slowly danced around the room.  Standing on tiptoe she sang gently into my ear.  Her voice was pleasing.  I wanted to stay in this moment forever.  I daydreamed as she held me tight.  The world outside filtered through the window, the scent of it trailing in the window.  The sound of cars passing by, the noise of a lawnmower in the far off distance, children laughing.  It reminded me that the world was just more than she and I.  I realised she had ceased singing.  Taking her head in my hands, I tilted her face upwards.  I stared helplessly into her eyes as tears formed on the rid of her eyelids.  "I don't want to leave you" she sobbed.

I woke before dawn to the drumming of rain on my window.  I lay on my back thinking of yesterday.  My head throbbed.  The world outside my window was covered in a blanket of darkness.  Somewhere in the city a lone dog howled.  I felt a connection with him.  We were kindred souls, both of us alone.  Suddenly I felt a gust of wind come through from the window I had forgotten to close.  The cold breeze made me shiver.  I pulled the duvet closer around me.  Soon I would be all alone.  I shivered again, this time not from the chill of the breeze.  She had gone back to her apartment around midnight, saying something about having to start packing.  I didn't want her to leave, I begged her to stay, not just for the night, but she was adamant.  She agreed to meet me for lunch tomorrow.  I despaired after she left; I drank another bottle of wine and smoked the remainder of my pot.  I sank into a foul mood.  I looked about the room.  I didn't want to disturb anything.  I wanted it to remain the state we had created.  Joyce's 'Ulysses' lay on the ground where she had let it fall during our conversation.  My heart felt as battered and bruised as the pages in the book.

I groped out along my bedside locker until I finally found the miniature alarm clock that my mother had bought for me three Christmases ago.  I let out a groan.  It was only 5 am.  I flung the clock to the floor.  I twisted and turned in the bed trying to find a comfortable spot again.  I couldn't.  I swung myself out of the bed and pulled on a pair of trousers.  I grabbed the glass of wine and took a gulp and smacked my lips.  "Much too early" I muttered to no one in particular.  My phone beeped.  "Fuck it."  It was a message from Poil: "Hey, thinking about you, can't sleep.  I guess you're probably unconscious, all that wine and whatnot x."  I cursed.  I had no credit.  I flopped onto the beanbag.  Her perfume still lingered on this side of the room.  I inhaled deeply and noticed her cigarette box on the floor; I opened it.  Only one left.  I dug deep into the pocket of my trousers and pulled out a lighter.  I lit up the cigarette and took a drag.  Everything before she came seemed bland and grey, nothing compared to the exquisite colours I could see now.  I exhaled.  I lay back on the beanbag and stared at the ceiling, hoping that if I stared hard enough, the answers I wanted would come to me.  They didn't.  I dozed back off into a fitful sleep.

I was woken by the commentary of some random football match on my TV.  It blared from the speakers.  I didn't recall turning the TV on.  Still groggy, my eyes slowly adjusted to the dimly lit room.  The spliff I had been smoking now lay on the ground.  It had fallen from my hand, and left a burn mark on the wooden floor before extinguishing itself.  I pulled myself up and checked my cell; I'd gotten a text.  It was from Poil: "Meet ya at the Spire, 2130".  I checked my watch, half eight. I'd slept most of the day.  I picked up the spliff.  I went to light it but decided against it.  I dropped it back in the ashtray, switched off the telly and the lights, and checked I had everything.  There was a strange peacefulness about the darkness of the room.  As I stood there listening to the humming of the fridge down the hall, I thought about the first time I met Poil.  It was a Thursday night and as I had left the pub, that clean smell that comes after a fresh fall of rain hung in the air.  The pavement was slightly damp and the hole in my shoe didn't take kindly to me walking on it.  Wandering up Grafton St., I spied her in the distance coming towards me.  I approached her and cheekily asked her for a kiss...

We met for a late night coffee; we both had agreed to meet up at this little unknown coffee shop I regularly frequented just off Harcourt Street.  Arriving ten minutes early I ordered myself a latte from the young European girl behind the counter, her accent told me she was French.  So infectious was her smile that I didn't realise that I smiled back as I ordered my coffee.  She said she'd bring it over to me.  I turned around and spied two sofa seats in a quiet corner by the door.  Sinking down into the soft red cushion of the chair, I abstractedly stared out the window, not really seeing the people walking by outside.  I thought of all her little quirks that I had learn of over the past couple of days: the way she had to step onto her cigarette butts when she dropped them on the ground.  The way she had tried to explain to me how she always had to crunch up an empty coke can before throwing it into the trash made me smile.  I picked up my coffee and sipped it while I despondently stared out onto the busy street.  A hectic world lay beyond the other side of the glass.  With my earphones on, I listened to a random song on my iPod.  It suited the mood.  A blanket of darkness was descending onto the city streets.  Spotlights highlighted the gothic features of the building across the street.  People strolled pass outside unaware of my gaze.  The traffic lights turned red.  Cars and buses blocked my view for a few seconds.  Back to green and the traffic resumed its slow crawl onwards.  People going about their daily lives, wrapped up in their own little worlds.

Back inside the coffee shop the couple beside me sat talking about their day.  I gathered that she was a teacher and that the guy didn't really care.  I shivered every time the doors opened as people crossed the threshold, looking for sanctuary from the cold bitter night.  The noises from the world outside grew stronger with every opening of the doors; the two worlds collided at every swing.  A tram crawled pass and drew to a stop outside the coffee shop.  I noticed Poil as she stepped out of its doors and onto the platform.  Her pink umbrella hung by her side, vexed that the rain had cleared up and so she had no use for it.  Jumping up from my seat I waved to her.  Not really knowing what to do with my hands, I stuffed them into my pockets.  I felt something at the bottom of my pocket.  I fingered it, trying to figure out what it was.  Of course, it was Poil's lighter; I had found it this morning.  Kissing her lips, my hand caressed her cheeks; they were flushed red from the cold.  She was wearing her fingerless gloves.  "Not very practical" I joked.  "All in the name of fashion" she replied, "Another coffee?"  We spend the night drinking coffee and talking...

After the waitress in the coffee shop had kicked us out, we had nowhere to turn.  We decided to call an end to our night.  I offer to walk her home.  Hand in hand we silently walked the streets, ignoring the people that paced pass us.  Again it was only us in our own world.  Unexpectedly she pulled me to a stop and drew me close to her.  Reaching up on her tiptoes she leaned in towards my face and gently kissed me. "I'm going to miss these 'you walking me home walks and kisses'." she murmured, blinking away the tears forming on the rims of her eyes.  Turning quickly she tugged at my hand.  "Come on, it's chilly," she said as she breathed out a gasp of misty air, "and I want my bed".  We continued walking the deserted streets as dawn slowly crept from its deep slumber.

We spend her last night together.  We stayed up all night talking to each other until dawn.  I still had so much more that I wanted to learn about her.  Soft music played in the background.  Holding each other, I heard the gentle sound of a robin singing his song to us outside the window.  It was partly open; a gentle breeze flowed through the room.  We dozed until noon.  Sunday was finally here.  It had come too quick.  I helped her pack the last few things.  We left her apartment and headed for the bus stop.  Her eyes were puffy and red from her tears, I blinked mine away.  As the bus was driving through the city towards the airport, I heard her quietly murmur her goodbyes to the city.  I held her hand in mine, knowing shortly it would be my turn.

At the airport we shared a tender kiss, neither of us wanting to pull away.  I held her close for one last time.  Breathing in her perfume I knew that it would always remind me of her.  As she waited to board her plane, I turned my back and walked away.  The first step was the hardest.  I walked around the airport desolately and lost, until the bus came and brought me back to the city.  Walking aimlessly around for city for several hours I realised she had really gone.  It was night when I got back home.  It hurt too much to see the room and mess we created together.  I attempted to tidy my room and with it tried to erase every memory I had of her...