Lonesome Things
Your sister has broken up with her first boyfriend and you are pouring concrete to pay for your half of the cramped apartment. She waits tables at a cafe close by and falls asleep every night in front of the television, the title menu of the same DVD blinking vapidly. Filling your thermos then flicking off the set, your sister squints through pudgy cried eyes and wakes at the absence of the maudlin soundtrack which led her to sleep, she thinks, just minutes before. Outside the window you see an ambulance driver sit on the curb with his head in his hands. Sunlight fills the empty spaces of the room. This feeling is a lonesome thing.
On New Year's Eve you drink three beers, smoke two cigarettes and call it a night. You also finish a novel you have been meaning to read for awhile now. You fall asleep with the distinct feeling a palpable lonesomeness has separated your skin from blood.
In the wake of a startling dream, you try out a new coffeehouse. You are given no saucer with your cup and though you can see your usual place across the street, you don't permit yourself to leave. Lonesomeness has hid weights in the pockets of your jeans and gathering strength to rise, you leave a bigger tip than necessary. Stepping into the day, you catch the eye of the man who owns the coffeehouse across the street. Lonesomeness is your specter as you pretend you don't see him and almost turn into oncoming traffic.
The evening holds a promising Valentine's Day date. You take the bus downtown and meet a friend for lunch at a franchised sandwich shop. You both hold the mayonnaise and ask for cups for water. The winter day is bright and you have lost weight. The good kind. Your friend comments on it and you encourage his new beard. The buses have stopped running for the day and the prospect of walking back to your apartment to ready yourself for the evening is almost unbearable. You work it in such a way as to go with your friend as he goes about his afternoon business. He stops at a woman's house. Through several clues (never mind specifically how) you realize he is having an affair with this woman. You call a cab and while wondering how you are going to pay for it and the looming date, you understand being lonesome exactly in that moment, maybe for the first time.
Walking to work you see two chefs, tall white hats and aprons and everything, smoking in the alley behind the restaurant you proposed to your wife in. One of them calls to you and it becomes clear they were having a disagreement and need you to settle it. You hold up your briefcase and walk away. This is surely how a lonesome person would act.
Your mother has left three messages telling you how much she loves you. There are a few more you haven't the stomach to listen to, much less return. Somehow, you've been waking up in the space between your bed and wall and you can't bring yourself to push the frame a few inches thus taking care of the problem. The phone rings in the morning as you stand looking at the situation in your underwear. Surely it is your mother and she has just come home from church. You begin to shed tears and some get caught in the hairs on your chest. For some reason, this is the moment of your life and you're happy when it passes for it was quite a lonesome thing.
On New Year's Eve you drink three beers, smoke two cigarettes and call it a night. You also finish a novel you have been meaning to read for awhile now. You fall asleep with the distinct feeling a palpable lonesomeness has separated your skin from blood.
In the wake of a startling dream, you try out a new coffeehouse. You are given no saucer with your cup and though you can see your usual place across the street, you don't permit yourself to leave. Lonesomeness has hid weights in the pockets of your jeans and gathering strength to rise, you leave a bigger tip than necessary. Stepping into the day, you catch the eye of the man who owns the coffeehouse across the street. Lonesomeness is your specter as you pretend you don't see him and almost turn into oncoming traffic.
The evening holds a promising Valentine's Day date. You take the bus downtown and meet a friend for lunch at a franchised sandwich shop. You both hold the mayonnaise and ask for cups for water. The winter day is bright and you have lost weight. The good kind. Your friend comments on it and you encourage his new beard. The buses have stopped running for the day and the prospect of walking back to your apartment to ready yourself for the evening is almost unbearable. You work it in such a way as to go with your friend as he goes about his afternoon business. He stops at a woman's house. Through several clues (never mind specifically how) you realize he is having an affair with this woman. You call a cab and while wondering how you are going to pay for it and the looming date, you understand being lonesome exactly in that moment, maybe for the first time.
Walking to work you see two chefs, tall white hats and aprons and everything, smoking in the alley behind the restaurant you proposed to your wife in. One of them calls to you and it becomes clear they were having a disagreement and need you to settle it. You hold up your briefcase and walk away. This is surely how a lonesome person would act.
Your mother has left three messages telling you how much she loves you. There are a few more you haven't the stomach to listen to, much less return. Somehow, you've been waking up in the space between your bed and wall and you can't bring yourself to push the frame a few inches thus taking care of the problem. The phone rings in the morning as you stand looking at the situation in your underwear. Surely it is your mother and she has just come home from church. You begin to shed tears and some get caught in the hairs on your chest. For some reason, this is the moment of your life and you're happy when it passes for it was quite a lonesome thing.
posted by kyle at 5:27 AM
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