Miss Kitty

Miss Kitty - X

I sat on the couch with only the stove light on.  Something about it, in any apartment, threw enough light for the rest of it.  Never saw my theory wronged.

It was quiet.  Only the soft metal to metal squeak of the kitchen sink window.  It buckled, very slightly, when the neighbor walked around.  Guy in his mid-50s.  It was 11:28 pm: he was getting ready for bed.  I was usually asleep at this point and I don't hear the window often.  It gave me something to concentrate on.  He would wake up around 6:20.  I think he worked at a pool store over on Avalon.

Like many single men, my apartment lacked decor.  There were only these thick, brown vertical lines around me: where the dining room met the kitchen, where the doors of the hallway shrunk into the dark behind, the breakfast bar rose from the carpet.  If Picasso were practical, this staid scene is what he would create.

The squeaking stopped.  He was in bed.  I was tired, but I knew it would be another night of sleeplessness.  There was nothing worse.  I felt like I had been through trench warfare.  My eyes looked like a racoon.  I resented L-, the dark side of my childish obsession came to me since she arrived.  I knew I should quit.  That would make the most sense.

But, she didn't recognize me.  She probably doesn't even know who I was back then or now.  The light in the kitchen flickered for less than a second.  Besides, you have too much in that place to back away.  How would it look?  What next?

I took a deep breath when I realized I was holding it.  I need time.

...

I used to eat my lunch right on an nice landing that the high school had between the main quad and the science building.  It had slated wood benches where you could put stuff down.  If the day were right, L- would be sitting with her clique on the tables nearest the street.  Our school was at the intersection of two major streets.  During the day they were empty: all the action was in the school.

I was left alone, as I've said, invisible.  There was one kid, Tedio, that would find me once or twice a week to talk tv.  He was into Babylon 5.  I knew just a little, an 'almost fan' he called me.  But he would go off for the entire time.  I just listened politely and was happy I wasn't completely alone.  Other than him, though, it was pretty sparse.

On Tedio-less days, I would try to position my lunch so I could look down on L-.  When she would change her hair, I have to admit I would swoon.  She had this smile that showed off more teeth than I thought were possible.  She barely ate, and I envied the soft pounch juice straw that she would drink religiously.  She was in the fashion clique.  Her friends were all cute, but no one compared (for several years in fact) to her.

I would pull out my yellow pad.  Passersby would think I was sketching and disappointed that my intense look was a bunch of garbage - it was hard writing clearly any time, let alone during the 45 minutes of lunch.

"Where could we run, you and I, hand in hand?  We are breathless with laughter, but we cannot stop: why would we?  I look at you and I don't remember the time before it, or, at least, I cannot remember it because it did not shine until you were here.  The sun may be in the sky, but the light is from you.  Where can I go?  How could I turn away?"

"That is awful."

I slammed the pad down.  Gloria Mitchell.  Yech, "What do you want, Gloria?"

"Originality.  You need to read some Marquez.  He's a poet.  You," I knew she liked me, but she was just simply impossible to like.  Between her endless critiques, she smelled of Spam.  Her face was masculine, I couldn't find a modicum of a girl in it, especially the eyes.  Why couldn't the eyes be right?  "...you're a hack."

I was done writing for the day, "Don't you have a dog to molest?"  With that she was gone for another two weeks.  Good riddance.

"Hand in hand - we glide the glade - flowers quietly tolerate what we are - 

We are together - time is unnecessary - the sky is meant for we two -

This is triumph - you know how I feel - you know what I am -

I've won the world - how could I keep from beaming - your smile is meant for me"

"Gliding, hand in hand, quiet flowers tolerate the momentary interruption

of us

the moment suspends, the sky a willing backdrop to laughter

it is music, the best I've heard.

You stare at me, with understanding, you know that I once walked three miles in a storm

because I hoped you would notice

a wet fool, a wet notebook in tow, a cold to follow.

triumph is here, as we held hands

this is it."

...

Did I not grow up?  It was 12:14 am.  I took a sleeping pill, but it only made things worse.

...