October 31, 2013

Working Title: The Trip Upstairs

Glimpse of the First Ghost

October 31, 2013

You lounge half on and half off the couch at my almost girlfriend’s house.  And you morph into the girl that sits in front of me in math class and then into my aunt from Cuba, and now you are my latest girlfriend.  How you change into all of these people, I’m not sure, but all of you easy-going souls get bored sitting on the sofa sipping beer.  You wander off, and I follow your changing shapes through the crowd and notice the way your hair goes from long dishwater blonde to short bleached blonde to almost black.

“Man, aren’t you going to ask her to dance?”

“Which one?” I laugh and point you out to a guy that seems to know me very well, he seems nice enough, so I play along. 
“She has a cheerleading competition.”

“In Tampa, and it's not cheerleading.  Who’s he?” You ask.  
"My friend wants to help you with the classes you already make A’s in."
You shake his hand and say, “Go turn the music up.”

I stumble to the patio with you.  The music is fast and loud, but we act as if it’s slow.  My hands find their way up under your shirt.

“Let’s go finish this party in your car."  You wave to our new pal on the way out when he asks why you're leaving early and if the music is too loud.  

I get caught up in the idea I can dance and drive and maybe even fly all at the same time.   

Is the stereo screaming, or is my mom calling about her car?  We are surrounded by smoke.  Red streaks in your shiny blonde hair.  Am I messed up too?  For a second, I am a small child again, and you are my mom.  You tell me, "Don't look so good."

“You look perfect.”  And you do – as perfect as if I just picked you up for our date.  It is as if you spent hours curling your hair and those curls sparkle in the moonlight.  “What did you put on your hair?"  And I start to tease you about all those protein shakes you drink before a competition and ask you again to tell me where it is.

Your door looks crushed in and far away, you seem far away too as if you are in another place.  A phone rings on the floor by your seat.  "I'll get back to you," is what you usually say, and it’s always been a kind of joke between us.  But you don't say anything, and then there is so much light.

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You lounge half on and half off the couch at my almost girlfriend’s house.

“Your underpants are showing,” I say.

You swat at my hands.

“You’re messed up,” you say.

And then you morph into the girl that sits in front of me in math class and then into my aunt from Cuba, and then you are my latest girlfriend.  How you change into all of these people I’m not sure, but all of you easy going souls get bored sitting on the sofa sipping beer.  You wander off, and I follow your changing shapes through the crowd and notice the way your hair goes from long dishwater blonde to short bleached blonde to almost black.

“Man, aren’t you going to ask her to dance?”

“Which one?” I laugh.  I point you out to a guy that seems to know me very well.  I don’t know him at all, but he seems nice enough so I play along. 
“She has a cheerleading competition,” I say.

“In Tampa,” you say.  "And it's not cheerleading.  Who’s he?” You ask.  I don’t even have to fumble for an answer.  The guy seems to want to help you with the classes you already make A’s in.  It doesn’t take you long to say, “I’ll go turn the music up.”

I stumble to the patio with you.  The music is fast and loud but we act as if it’s slow.  My hands find their way up under your shirt.

“Come on, let’s go finish this party in your car,” you say.

I don't correct you about the car and get caught up in the idea that I can dance and drive and maybe even fly all at the same time.   

Later we are surrounded by smoke and noise.  I think I see a flash of red in your shiny blonde hair.  Is the stereo screaming or is it my mom calling about her car?

I get that I’m messed up and you are not my mom.  But for a second, I am a small child again and you are my mom and you tell me, “You don’t look so good.”

“You look perfect,” I say.  And you do – as perfect as if I just picked you up for our date.  It is as if you spent hours curling your hair and those curls seem to sparkle in the moonlight.

“What did you put on your hair?” I ask.

"Aren't you coming?"  I watch you push open the car door that looks crushed in, and I start to tease you about all those protein shakes you drink before a competition but the door seems far away and there is so much light and then you seem far away too as if you are in another place.  You don't say anything else and it seems as if you have totally disappeared.

I see you left your purse, I get that you'll be back.  I close my eyes even though I don't feel tired or really anything at all.