*or: the reason I've been away
He's in everything
every emoji heart (blue, for his favourite team)
lukewarm coffee (starbucks by choice, dunkin donuts for convenience)
and his pick of vending machine snacks (caramel, caramel everything)
He's on his phone again
God, I wish I was his mother
Domino's pizza on the weekend
the Turkish barber that gets his beard right
I wish I was his everything
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Monday, December 29, 2014
(Personal)
There's a subtle vulgarity in the open spread of his legs; the way he rocks back and forth, swings left and right, and how, when he slid down the chair, his thobe rode up and gave away the faint trail of hair around his ankles—oh!
His face hides beneath the red of his shemagh, and although he'd been talking to my father the whole time, he kept stealing glances my way, and I'm not sure if it was just the excitement of it all but it almost gave me butterflies.
"You don't want to be here, do you?" he asks, the moment my father leaves the room. There's more vulnerability in his voice than I would've otherwise expected.
I smile. "I do."
He smiles back; his gaze wanders between my eyes, slowly down my face, and finally settles on my lips. I catch my breath.
My father loudly fiddles with the doorknob as he makes his way back into the room. He quickly looks away, clears his throat, and goes on to ask about my university studies.
Be still, my fucking heart. This is not what you want.
His face hides beneath the red of his shemagh, and although he'd been talking to my father the whole time, he kept stealing glances my way, and I'm not sure if it was just the excitement of it all but it almost gave me butterflies.
"You don't want to be here, do you?" he asks, the moment my father leaves the room. There's more vulnerability in his voice than I would've otherwise expected.
I smile. "I do."
He smiles back; his gaze wanders between my eyes, slowly down my face, and finally settles on my lips. I catch my breath.
My father loudly fiddles with the doorknob as he makes his way back into the room. He quickly looks away, clears his throat, and goes on to ask about my university studies.
Be still, my fucking heart. This is not what you want.
Friday, December 12, 2014
You
They said we were two peas in a pod, so good together
like vanilla ice cream and apple pie
and she laughed for fifteen minutes straight.
She said she liked the way his nose flared when he laughed
and when I asked if my nose flared at all
she said she never really noticed before.
She rolls her eyes at me a hundred and twenty times a day
and I loved every bit of it until
he walked by and she turned and drew a million hearts in the air.
It's been two weeks and I still can't wrap my head around
her praise for that girl
with the eyes and the hair.
And then she came around and called me a miserable asshole
said I'll always be alone
and I'm picky and hard to please and I never like anyone
and I said,"I like you."
like vanilla ice cream and apple pie
and she laughed for fifteen minutes straight.
She said she liked the way his nose flared when he laughed
and when I asked if my nose flared at all
she said she never really noticed before.
She rolls her eyes at me a hundred and twenty times a day
and I loved every bit of it until
he walked by and she turned and drew a million hearts in the air.
It's been two weeks and I still can't wrap my head around
her praise for that girl
with the eyes and the hair.
And then she came around and called me a miserable asshole
said I'll always be alone
and I'm picky and hard to please and I never like anyone
and I said,"I like you."
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Soured Milk, 12
"This is Sven."
"I can't believe this is how you answer the phone."
"Who is this?"
"Lamm."
"Who?"
"Oh, god. It's getting really hard for me to keep up with all these fucking names."
"Min?"
"Well it's Lo now, but yeah."
"What do you want?"
"Ever the gentleman, Sven."
"What the fuck do you want, Min?"
"I want to invite you over for dinner."
"Why?"
"He thought it'd be nice for all of us to get together."
"Don?"
"No, Ollie."
"Who the fuck is Ollie?"
"Don's boy."
"What? You're... you're with him now?"
"Yeah, didn't Don tell you?"
"I don't talk to Don."
"Right. Anyway, are you coming or not?"
"I'm busy."
"We all know you're not busy, Sven."
"I don't want to see you, Min."
"What about Ollie?"
"Fuck Ollie."
"Well, if you change your mind—"
"I won't."
"Tomorrow, 6:30. Get a fucking cheesecake or something."
"I can't believe this is how you answer the phone."
"Who is this?"
"Lamm."
"Who?"
"Oh, god. It's getting really hard for me to keep up with all these fucking names."
"Min?"
"Well it's Lo now, but yeah."
"What do you want?"
"Ever the gentleman, Sven."
"What the fuck do you want, Min?"
"I want to invite you over for dinner."
"Why?"
"He thought it'd be nice for all of us to get together."
"Don?"
"No, Ollie."
"Who the fuck is Ollie?"
"Don's boy."
"What? You're... you're with him now?"
"Yeah, didn't Don tell you?"
"I don't talk to Don."
"Right. Anyway, are you coming or not?"
"I'm busy."
"We all know you're not busy, Sven."
"I don't want to see you, Min."
"What about Ollie?"
"Fuck Ollie."
"Well, if you change your mind—"
"I won't."
"Tomorrow, 6:30. Get a fucking cheesecake or something."
Soured Milk, 11
If I were to describe Ollie, I'd say he was a kind of boy-scout mobster; with his puppy-dog eyes and sleazy smile. He had a boyish charm about him, this playfulness that presented
itself with an air of innocence, but deep inside was as rotten as an out
of season apricot. A man of endless contrasts and contradictions, that's how Ollie was. He was up and down and left and right, without being anything in particular, without being anything at all.
"Jeez, Lo, I swear I could hear you talk all day."
I rolled my eyes, too familiar with his random compliments to know that they weren't random at all.
"I like the way your mouth moves, too."
"Oh?" I smiled, fiddling with the front-buttons of his boxer shorts, "What else do you like about my mouth, hmm?"
He pulled my hand away and smoothed down the creases on his underwear. "I like you, Lo, I like you a lot."
"Well you're in luck, because I happen to like you too."
He frowned, hesitating before starting once again, "Listen, Lo. I know we're not gonna get married or nothing, it's just... I really fucking like you, y'know?"
"What are you getting at, Ollie?"
"This," he said, pointing at the scar at the back of my thigh. The scar where Sven's tattoo used to be.
I sighed.
"Don't get me wrong, Don's a fucking nutjob, but he doesn't do shit like this for no reason."
"And you think the reason is?"
"Sven," he said, and gave me one of his understanding smiles. I guess he thought he was being kind, but, man, did it piss me off. I just couldn't shake off this feeling that it was eerily similar to Don's patroinzing hand-on-shoulder routine. "You really like him, don't you, Lo?"
"I don't."
"Really, it's okay—"
"I told you I don't! And I'll prove it to you. I'm going to call Sven and invite him over, how about that? We can catch up and be one big, happy, fucking family."
"Jeez, Lo, I swear I could hear you talk all day."
I rolled my eyes, too familiar with his random compliments to know that they weren't random at all.
"I like the way your mouth moves, too."
"Oh?" I smiled, fiddling with the front-buttons of his boxer shorts, "What else do you like about my mouth, hmm?"
He pulled my hand away and smoothed down the creases on his underwear. "I like you, Lo, I like you a lot."
"Well you're in luck, because I happen to like you too."
He frowned, hesitating before starting once again, "Listen, Lo. I know we're not gonna get married or nothing, it's just... I really fucking like you, y'know?"
"What are you getting at, Ollie?"
"This," he said, pointing at the scar at the back of my thigh. The scar where Sven's tattoo used to be.
I sighed.
"Don't get me wrong, Don's a fucking nutjob, but he doesn't do shit like this for no reason."
"And you think the reason is?"
"Sven," he said, and gave me one of his understanding smiles. I guess he thought he was being kind, but, man, did it piss me off. I just couldn't shake off this feeling that it was eerily similar to Don's patroinzing hand-on-shoulder routine. "You really like him, don't you, Lo?"
"I don't."
"Really, it's okay—"
"I told you I don't! And I'll prove it to you. I'm going to call Sven and invite him over, how about that? We can catch up and be one big, happy, fucking family."
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Soured Milk, 10
Don had this friend. He's about Sven's age, maybe a little older, and he'd visit every other week. He'd come over on Friday afternoons, have lunch, hang out with Don for a while, and then leave. He didn't seem to like me all that much, and he always looked at me with such a strange expression; like a frown was lurking somewhere beneath the surface of his face and he had to repress it so much that it physically hurt.
He wasn't really all that handsome, this friend, definitely not as handsome as Sven (or, for that matter, Don in his heyday) but when he smiled, it would take over his entire face; melting into the brown of eyes like warm honey, and staining his cheeks and ears with a shade of red that I've only ever seen on giggling schoolgirls.
"What's the deal with you, anyway." he mumbled, almost to himself, the moment Don left the room to take a phone call. It was the first time he'd ever talked to me.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," he cleared his throat, not really whispering but it kind of felt like he was, "What are you doing with an old geezer like Don?"
I smiled, wondering why he seemed so distraught by the whole thing, "Oh, I don't know. He gives a mean fu—"
"You think you're fucking something, huh?" he barked, looking over his shoulders before continuing, "He's only using you, you know."
I shrugged, "What do I care? I'm using him, too."
"How?"
"I had this thing with his friend for a while, and then Don came in and decided he wanted me to himself, so Sven-"
"Sven?!" he stood up, almost leaping to the seat next to me, "You know Sven?"
"Yeah, like I said, we had a thing. Then Don took a liking to me and Sven gave me away. That's what I'm doing with an 'old geezer' like him, to piss off that asshole Sven. How do you know him anyway?"
"Oh, I don't. Not anymore, at least." he frowned, looking away from me, "How is he like?"
"Sven? He's an asshole."
"Listen," he started, turning to check if Don was still on his phone. This time he was definitely whispering, "We should get together sometime, yeah?"
"And do what?"
"Nothing special." he smiled in a sort of suggestive, filth-ridden way that made me feel like Sven himself was smiling at me, "What's your name, by the way?"
"Uh... Laurel?"
"Guess that would make me Apollo, then."
He wasn't really all that handsome, this friend, definitely not as handsome as Sven (or, for that matter, Don in his heyday) but when he smiled, it would take over his entire face; melting into the brown of eyes like warm honey, and staining his cheeks and ears with a shade of red that I've only ever seen on giggling schoolgirls.
"What's the deal with you, anyway." he mumbled, almost to himself, the moment Don left the room to take a phone call. It was the first time he'd ever talked to me.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," he cleared his throat, not really whispering but it kind of felt like he was, "What are you doing with an old geezer like Don?"
I smiled, wondering why he seemed so distraught by the whole thing, "Oh, I don't know. He gives a mean fu—"
"You think you're fucking something, huh?" he barked, looking over his shoulders before continuing, "He's only using you, you know."
I shrugged, "What do I care? I'm using him, too."
"How?"
"I had this thing with his friend for a while, and then Don came in and decided he wanted me to himself, so Sven-"
"Sven?!" he stood up, almost leaping to the seat next to me, "You know Sven?"
"Yeah, like I said, we had a thing. Then Don took a liking to me and Sven gave me away. That's what I'm doing with an 'old geezer' like him, to piss off that asshole Sven. How do you know him anyway?"
"Oh, I don't. Not anymore, at least." he frowned, looking away from me, "How is he like?"
"Sven? He's an asshole."
"Listen," he started, turning to check if Don was still on his phone. This time he was definitely whispering, "We should get together sometime, yeah?"
"And do what?"
"Nothing special." he smiled in a sort of suggestive, filth-ridden way that made me feel like Sven himself was smiling at me, "What's your name, by the way?"
"Uh... Laurel?"
"Guess that would make me Apollo, then."
Soured Milk, 9
He
said his name was Poseidon. An obvious lie, I know, but one that I let him keep. He said he once lived within a mighty sea of sins, and in the end, he
was almost consumed by it, but just as he was about to
surrender to his fate, something stirred within him; this violent need to fight, and he swam up to surface, and he rose above the sea. What once almost drowned him, now lied tepidly at his feet. Poseidon; master of the sea.
Now, of course, it was all absolute bullshit. I mean, surviving an overdose is hardly a triumph of will, plus that whole 'sea of sins' business sounded shady as hell, but he seemed adamant on having some awe-inspiring tale that I just fucking went along with it.
Speaking of going along with it, my time with Don was actually much better than I excepted it to be. Don was nothing like Sven; he was a master puppeteer, his manipulation was done from way afar, so far that you could barely even see the strings. That being said, he was no better than Sven. In fact, he was much worse, for at least Sven was honest about the piece of shit he was, while Don twisted and turned and spun himself into a lie just so he could go on pretending he was somehow above what Sven was.
"Don, can I ask you something?"
He peered at me through his reading glasses, "You're quite the inquisitive one, heh."
"What did you see in me?"
"What can I say, Lamm, you're such a scrumptious little thing."
"Don.." I purred in that sing-song voice he seemed to enjoy so damn much, "Please?"
"That Sven, he's not right in the head. Sometimes you just have to put him in place."
"That doesn't make any sense. How on earth was he being out of place? And what does this have to do with him, anyway?"
He sighed and shook his head, "You don't understand the situation."
"No shit! I think that's why I'm asking you to fucking explain it."
"Lamm," he put his hand on my shoulder, and I could tell from the expression on his face that he was going to do that patronizing shit he does whenever he thinks I'm acting 'out of control', "Calm down, okay? Calm down. You're being hysterical again, Lamm, calm d—"
I don't know what compelled me to do such a thing, but next thing I knew I was staring at Don's spit-splattered face, and I burst out laughing.
Don, however, wasn't the least bit amused, and even though I've always known he wasn't as harmless as he liked me to believe, I never, never, thought he'd be capable of doing what he did next.
"Take off your clothes and go to the bathroom," he calmly ordered, wiping the spit off his face and walking into the kitchen, "And if I hear another word from you, I'll cut off your tongue, too."
Now, of course, it was all absolute bullshit. I mean, surviving an overdose is hardly a triumph of will, plus that whole 'sea of sins' business sounded shady as hell, but he seemed adamant on having some awe-inspiring tale that I just fucking went along with it.
Speaking of going along with it, my time with Don was actually much better than I excepted it to be. Don was nothing like Sven; he was a master puppeteer, his manipulation was done from way afar, so far that you could barely even see the strings. That being said, he was no better than Sven. In fact, he was much worse, for at least Sven was honest about the piece of shit he was, while Don twisted and turned and spun himself into a lie just so he could go on pretending he was somehow above what Sven was.
"Don, can I ask you something?"
He peered at me through his reading glasses, "You're quite the inquisitive one, heh."
"What did you see in me?"
"What can I say, Lamm, you're such a scrumptious little thing."
"Don.." I purred in that sing-song voice he seemed to enjoy so damn much, "Please?"
"That Sven, he's not right in the head. Sometimes you just have to put him in place."
"That doesn't make any sense. How on earth was he being out of place? And what does this have to do with him, anyway?"
He sighed and shook his head, "You don't understand the situation."
"No shit! I think that's why I'm asking you to fucking explain it."
"Lamm," he put his hand on my shoulder, and I could tell from the expression on his face that he was going to do that patronizing shit he does whenever he thinks I'm acting 'out of control', "Calm down, okay? Calm down. You're being hysterical again, Lamm, calm d—"
I don't know what compelled me to do such a thing, but next thing I knew I was staring at Don's spit-splattered face, and I burst out laughing.
Don, however, wasn't the least bit amused, and even though I've always known he wasn't as harmless as he liked me to believe, I never, never, thought he'd be capable of doing what he did next.
"Take off your clothes and go to the bathroom," he calmly ordered, wiping the spit off his face and walking into the kitchen, "And if I hear another word from you, I'll cut off your tongue, too."
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