There's A Lot To Be Said For Staying In One Place And Building Something

Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York

A guy at work last night said that Austin was full of whiners. I laughed and told him that New York was full of insincerity, that the default attitude here seems to be guarded defense and condescension, whereas the default attitude toward people, in Austin, seems to me to be openness and curiosity. Call that whiny if you want. "Doesn't that make you sad?" he asked. "Like a dagger to my fucking heart man." He laughed at this.

The night and people wore on in secure drunken obliviousness as girls preened with feigned indifference as guys posed with pompous attitude. Insincere stances attracting insincere advances.

A young actress with a stern and serious face came in looking like a normal girl, meeting up with a tall and austere, self important man with a cold stare who looked like he sold peoples lives for a living.

After midnight I retreated into my mind.

Around 1am someone called me over to a crowd that had gathered by the bathrooms where a tall man in his early forties with a shaved head leaned into a dazed and frightened looking woman berating her. "What would you think if I went into a bathroom with a woman and locked the door? Huh!" he demanded. He gripped his hands behind his back restraining himself as he leaned further into her. She had no response as people stared and the man restated his question louder, lost in his rage, the woman lost in fear as I put my hand on the man's shoulder. "It's time to leave..."

2 o' clock in the morning. I hid in the shadows thinking of Marie at the Waterfall house Upstate, wondering if we would re-engage in the peaceful environment if I were there, or if our problems were manifestations of thought, our dance, that would follow us wherever we went. I thought about running, leaving, knowing it wouldn't change a thing. I thought of Austin, New Orleans, New York, wondering to what extent environment has an effect on our behavior. Just then I got a text from a friend in Austin who moved from New York City, "You're just homesick," it said, "not romanticizing - Austin and environs are romantic. New York can be cold. You just wanna home somewhere."

I woke this afternoon to the cool breeze of the air conditioner. I looked at my phone, 'missed call Upstate,' it read. I felt a sense of relief as I lay, cool and comfortable in bed and called Upstate. It was hard to hear her on the phone. She felt far away, the other side of the world. Her mind sounded unsettled and her voice slightly severe as we searched for each other through private fears. I pictured the large house surrounded by woods and the waterfall in the background. She said I sounded good... better, I think she meant. I can make this work, I thought as she talked about a book of mine she took with her and change. "It's a good time to change," she said.

She didn't say, I love you, in response before the line went dead, but she rarely does on the phone. I got up and put coffee on then checked my inbox, a line catching my attention in a an email sent from the author of the book that Marie had talked about - "There's a lot to be said for staying in one place and building something." http://therumpus.net/

Love

Lover's Discourse

Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York

I wake with a burning headache. The bed feels like it's on fire. I can't move. I have to buy an A/C unit today, I think as I lay in the sweltering heat. I can't sleep like this anymore.

I shuffle through the blanketing heat of the apartment, sweating in my boxers. I feel a longing in an indefinable part of me. The apartment feels empty. Marie is gone for the weekend. Maybe it's for the best, I think. Something is amiss between us. Maybe it's me. Maybe it's us. Maybe it's not important what it is, but that it's happening.

I check my email, the fans twisting like satellites searching for a far away signal. I scan for her name in the inbox. I think of emailing her. She won't call me, I think. I'm not calling her either. I have nothing to say. Heat and light pulse through the windows. I follow a link to an article, reading the line, "...the lover’s discourse is today of an extreme solitude.” It sears me. I feel us drifting away from each other unsure of the direction we're heading.

I throw on some clothes, put my sunglasses on, walk out the door and descend into the all encompassing heat in a daze as I hit the street. Cars honk as I weave down the littered sidewalk. Music blasts from shop windows and kids shriek as the traffic from the BQE blasts its discontent from the overpass up ahead. I stop in the new corner cafe for a coffee at the foot of the bridge. The place feels stale and uninviting. I walk to Broadway with my iced coffee trying to wake, looking for a store that sells A/C's. The elevated train SCREECHES overhead. A group of young toughs on the corner make aggressive movements relating a story, pointing their cigarettes for emphasis. Young girls talk loudly into their phones. Street vendors haggle with customers. Someone screams out of their car window as they round the corner and the coffee moves violently through me. A bus stops in front of me as I try to cross the street blowing a noxious cloud of fumes, enveloping me as I realize that I've left my wallet back in the apartment. I turn around suddenly thinking of Marie as the surroundings dissipate into a silent scream. Something somewhere lost inside of me feels like crying, but nothing comes. The sadness is silent, unseen, yet as present as the air around me. The emotion takes too much physical energy to form as I shield myself from my surroundings. The sun beats down and I feel like I'm losing her, us, as I walk back to the apartment the demons of doubt tearing at me from the inside, feasting on the black pain under the glaring sun as sweat trickles down my forehead.

Love.

Back From The Brink

Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York

I'm cleaning the apartment. Marie is following me around biting me on the arm, the ribs, my stomach. I laugh, tell her to stop. She bites me once more on the shoulder.

Things are back to normal.

Domestic bliss has been restored.

I crawled back from the edge of the cliff like a repentant jumper - someone who doesn't really want to die, but doesn't really know how to live anymore.

Not before staring blankly into nothingness.

I went to look at apartments out in the no mans lands of Brooklyn on the far reaches of the subway lines. Small, dark and cold spaces, each one more depressing than the next. Each one more expensive than our sad little love nest. I dragged myself around day after day through the gray and cold searching for a place. Sitting across from girl at one of the better places, comfortable, clean, cared for and loved I started to feel sick to my stomach. Anxiety and sadness welled up inside of me as I pictured living with a girl that wasn't Marie in such a tight and intimate space. I couldn't see myself doing it. I just wanted to go back home. I just wanted us to be okay.

I left the place as quickly as I could. My head was spinning. I thought I was going to throw up. I stepped out onto the street as the orange glow of the sun faded over the darkening silhouettes of the industrial warehouses that surrounded me. The wind began to blow the leaves around the barren streets reflecting the disorder of my thoughts. My clothes couldn't keep the stinging cold out. Regret rose, choking. How come we couldn't make it work?

I went to the restaurant where I was taking her for dinner. Warm. Silent. Waiting. Making order of my thoughts. She'd stopped drinking. She was willing to look at my concern. She said that she wanted to change. She said she didn't mean to dismiss me. She said she cared. She said she didn't want me to give up on her just yet. She said she loved me. I didn't want to run again. I didn't want to run again. Searching for the words to work it all out. The words are wrong. She is upset again. Wrong. The words come out wrong. I'm coming undone.

We lay together on the couch that night. Home. We apologize. Warm. We can work it out. Safe. We don't want to hurt each other. Love. We love one another.

Why is this so difficult?
She hears my words.
She doesn't want to hurt me anymore.
I believe her.
I hear her struggle.
I let my struggle go.

An old friend comes to town, tells me that this is my pattern - I run when I'm hurt. He says that he thinks that I would regret it if I gave up her now. He says I have an opportunity to grow, as does she. Don't give up on love just yet, he says, you'll regret it. She seems like she's willing to work with you. Don't give up on her just yet.

I walk down the street. I see the signs. Love spray painted under the overpass. Love scribbled into the sidewalk. Love conquers all on a poster posted on the building. A car passes playing, ALL WE NEED IS LOVE!...

LOve