Faces stepping into the room. Crystal balls whirling in the ceiling. Neon colors madly banging the walls. Her eyes hurt. She had wanted to see clearly. Haze of cigarette smoke. They were prancing like lunatics. Brushing their lustful bodies smoothly unto each other. He held her waist like a fruit's basket, stooped a little and whispered in a lulling baritone, "will you step out for a while?" A stranger's call. She shivered to reply, "why?" she asked as she felt obliged. "I have something very important to say."
They closed the door, opened more doors to escape the thunder of drums. Stepped out in the deplorable evening where the moon cowered behind the dense city smog. Darkness looming down from the empty night sky. Traffic lights, trafficking. There was a flicker in his eyes.
"Hey," he said, calling her attention. "Can you recognize me?" Brown irises met. No. She could not. "Never mind that," he seized her wrist. "Come with me," he said. "I think I remember you," she said. She did not, in truth; but she said it anyway. The gin washed her memories again, she thought. Admitting she did not remember although in reality (without the gin), she did, will shame her again once she will return to her sanity. "You probably do not remember me," he said while he caressed her sleek body like the stem of a budding rose. "What are you doing here, by the way?" He mouthed her nose teasingly as if to say, "can you remember my scent?" She remembered vaguely. "I am the lead guitarist." He laced his fingers on her spaghetti straps and started plucking, "that stupid instrument of yours," he teased her again, plucked the other strap. "I think I remember now," she told herself.
Brown irises met again. The pupils, dilated. "How did you know where to find me?" They walked in a darklit spot, where even cars did not shine on. "Saw you in that instrument of yours. Read where you'll be playing." They parked under the newly planted tree. It was government-funded. The volunteers came a year ago to deposit the tree in that sterile soil. Infertile would be more appropriate. Infertile soil. "I always knew you'd follow your heart." He drew her close and tight. So close, she was squeezed. "You are mine at last!" That's what he would have wanted to say; but he managed only to whisper, "I always knew you would..." "I ran," she said, her voice faltering; "I ran away," desperately, she continued, "Did you always know that?" He never knew. But he lied. That virile lie again. Uttered to please a woman, "Yes of course! I knew you would. Always knew you're a strong woman." She leaned closer, wanted to be squeezed.
"Get up now," he pulled back, pushed her beside him again. "We cannot stay closer to the building. Let's inch away farther." They abandoned the tree. The young leaves decocted, crushed under the weight of their flesh. "Where to? I was just shaking off the gin. I need to play on stage an hour from now. You must take me back!" He clasped her bony wrist and dragged her. She let him.
"We cannot," he said, "there will be no hour." He waved his pointing finger in front of the speeding blue taxi. He pushed her woman. "Just go straight," he commanded the man like an emperor. The emperor and his wife. They were speeding straight. The woman, silent, subversively silent. Entwined in his arms, she felt safe--that nothing can harm her. Nothing. Not even a pin can prick her. "Here. Stop here." He paid the driver and drew out his woman...kissed her forehead, kissed her cheeks, her ears... "I always knew it. I knew it!" She knew it. She knew it! She had known him long ago; and she fancied she knew him just then--assuming nothing had changed. "What brought you here? Have you gone weary of the mountains?"
They squatted under a tree again, a grown one this time, with leaves as lush as the forest where he had stayed for four years now. "I came here for this!" He wrapped her mouth with his. Pressed lightly like a powder, he wrapped her with his. Passion of yesteryears oozed like cheese on stuffed pizza crust. "I came here for this" was all he said. And they both fell silent in their furtive business. On top of the dank grass, she lay gazing at the distant stars--like dreams that never came true. He stole her sight and pressed his mouth lightly on her neck. "I never thought I'd see you again. How are you by the way?" She looked at him wistfully, wanting to be kissed again. "Didn't you hear? I'm a guitarist now. I play to earn money."
"I was not pertaining to that," he said. They both lay quivering when the cold breeze swept by. "When will you be leaving?" She brushed the kinky hairs in his chest. "Soon. When the fire has broken." "I don't understand, what will you get from this?" The grass was silent. "And when will you be coming back?" The grass swayed a bit. "I don't know," he said. "Let's part here!" She dustered the discussion in oblivion. A capricous remark, he thought, as expected of women, he said. Then she brushed his hand, picked her straps and hastily slipped away from the man whom she would never see again.
A kilometer from where he stood, the building shattered. Wires sprang like held rubber bands. The city lit like a candle...like fireworks! Everywhere, it was flickering. How she loved the lights! He blew it down for her. No, not for her who left him. But for her who never lived. He conceived all these because he was bored, by the way: the girl and the blue taxi. It was a lie. A wish. He had always wanted a girl who could play strings.
This is what happened. Faces stepped into the room. He, included. His momentary gaze whirled with the oscillating crystal ball in the ceiling. Neon colors madly banged the walls like rockstars. Haze of cigarette smoke. Men were prancing like lunatics. Brushing their lustful bodies smoothly unto women. No one saw. He furtively planted. Then he slid out of the room. He sauntered in the roadside until he reached the park. There, he squatted alone and waited for the moment. "This is it! This is it! It flickered at last. "
Story concluded without her. And no. This is not a lie.
They closed the door, opened more doors to escape the thunder of drums. Stepped out in the deplorable evening where the moon cowered behind the dense city smog. Darkness looming down from the empty night sky. Traffic lights, trafficking. There was a flicker in his eyes.
"Hey," he said, calling her attention. "Can you recognize me?" Brown irises met. No. She could not. "Never mind that," he seized her wrist. "Come with me," he said. "I think I remember you," she said. She did not, in truth; but she said it anyway. The gin washed her memories again, she thought. Admitting she did not remember although in reality (without the gin), she did, will shame her again once she will return to her sanity. "You probably do not remember me," he said while he caressed her sleek body like the stem of a budding rose. "What are you doing here, by the way?" He mouthed her nose teasingly as if to say, "can you remember my scent?" She remembered vaguely. "I am the lead guitarist." He laced his fingers on her spaghetti straps and started plucking, "that stupid instrument of yours," he teased her again, plucked the other strap. "I think I remember now," she told herself.
Brown irises met again. The pupils, dilated. "How did you know where to find me?" They walked in a darklit spot, where even cars did not shine on. "Saw you in that instrument of yours. Read where you'll be playing." They parked under the newly planted tree. It was government-funded. The volunteers came a year ago to deposit the tree in that sterile soil. Infertile would be more appropriate. Infertile soil. "I always knew you'd follow your heart." He drew her close and tight. So close, she was squeezed. "You are mine at last!" That's what he would have wanted to say; but he managed only to whisper, "I always knew you would..." "I ran," she said, her voice faltering; "I ran away," desperately, she continued, "Did you always know that?" He never knew. But he lied. That virile lie again. Uttered to please a woman, "Yes of course! I knew you would. Always knew you're a strong woman." She leaned closer, wanted to be squeezed.
"Get up now," he pulled back, pushed her beside him again. "We cannot stay closer to the building. Let's inch away farther." They abandoned the tree. The young leaves decocted, crushed under the weight of their flesh. "Where to? I was just shaking off the gin. I need to play on stage an hour from now. You must take me back!" He clasped her bony wrist and dragged her. She let him.
"We cannot," he said, "there will be no hour." He waved his pointing finger in front of the speeding blue taxi. He pushed her woman. "Just go straight," he commanded the man like an emperor. The emperor and his wife. They were speeding straight. The woman, silent, subversively silent. Entwined in his arms, she felt safe--that nothing can harm her. Nothing. Not even a pin can prick her. "Here. Stop here." He paid the driver and drew out his woman...kissed her forehead, kissed her cheeks, her ears... "I always knew it. I knew it!" She knew it. She knew it! She had known him long ago; and she fancied she knew him just then--assuming nothing had changed. "What brought you here? Have you gone weary of the mountains?"
They squatted under a tree again, a grown one this time, with leaves as lush as the forest where he had stayed for four years now. "I came here for this!" He wrapped her mouth with his. Pressed lightly like a powder, he wrapped her with his. Passion of yesteryears oozed like cheese on stuffed pizza crust. "I came here for this" was all he said. And they both fell silent in their furtive business. On top of the dank grass, she lay gazing at the distant stars--like dreams that never came true. He stole her sight and pressed his mouth lightly on her neck. "I never thought I'd see you again. How are you by the way?" She looked at him wistfully, wanting to be kissed again. "Didn't you hear? I'm a guitarist now. I play to earn money."
"I was not pertaining to that," he said. They both lay quivering when the cold breeze swept by. "When will you be leaving?" She brushed the kinky hairs in his chest. "Soon. When the fire has broken." "I don't understand, what will you get from this?" The grass was silent. "And when will you be coming back?" The grass swayed a bit. "I don't know," he said. "Let's part here!" She dustered the discussion in oblivion. A capricous remark, he thought, as expected of women, he said. Then she brushed his hand, picked her straps and hastily slipped away from the man whom she would never see again.
A kilometer from where he stood, the building shattered. Wires sprang like held rubber bands. The city lit like a candle...like fireworks! Everywhere, it was flickering. How she loved the lights! He blew it down for her. No, not for her who left him. But for her who never lived. He conceived all these because he was bored, by the way: the girl and the blue taxi. It was a lie. A wish. He had always wanted a girl who could play strings.
This is what happened. Faces stepped into the room. He, included. His momentary gaze whirled with the oscillating crystal ball in the ceiling. Neon colors madly banged the walls like rockstars. Haze of cigarette smoke. Men were prancing like lunatics. Brushing their lustful bodies smoothly unto women. No one saw. He furtively planted. Then he slid out of the room. He sauntered in the roadside until he reached the park. There, he squatted alone and waited for the moment. "This is it! This is it! It flickered at last. "
Story concluded without her. And no. This is not a lie.
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