for the paramedics (the tragedy of aden grey and brenya davenport)
*the ticking of a clock*
aden grey stirs from his slumber. do we see a trace of saline clinging to his lower eyelid? yes we do. we see it because nightmares were abound. nightmares were a part of adens life. aden was an art dealer.
aden didnt think of himself as boring.
im aden grey. im an art dealer. im not boring.
i think you understand disillusion. its when you wake from a deep sleep. you dont know where you are. perhaps mom is clutching your shoulder rousing you from the deep. perhaps you live in the city and you heard gunshots. maybe dad is running downstairs due to some psychotic episode involving, "whos breaking in this time..."
as dawn settles in, i slowly push myself away from the easy chairs reach. am i in the library? this is where we used to fall asleep. the shelves contain notebooks. these were memories i kept while you were away. the paramedics took you from me. the white coats took you from me. so you had to long for an escape. you said youd wait until someone on the inside got you out.
i kept writing. you never came home.
the jetplane soaring overhead is a familiar sound. it transports this tired soul back to when grandmother and grandfather would visit. theyd bring gifts. everyone was happy then. i can hear them laughing now. i can see the smiles. i can smell the sweet air. oh god, take me back, please.
a trip to the sink. its time to wash the teeth, face, hair. in a desparate attempt to freshen up. lighten up.
no water.
the dripping faucet is a remind of how dull life can be without her around.
i need brenya. brenya davenport.
brenya davenport was an artist. a painter. artist is just a smiple term for the glorius works the emminate from her workplace. it was a sort of heaven. the two up, two down, white, brick building on the corner of mayweather and 8th. essentially not a town house. an artists home.
aden was an art dealer. brenya was an artist. this is how brenya and aden met.
the paramedics took her from her home. from me.
the doctors with their stethescopes and tongue depressers. i call them gaggers. they make me sick. although, i cant shake their closing arguments from my head. she was obsessed with something? someone?
no... im sure it was someTHING.
im not missing much in life. but, i AM missing brenya. the countless pages of each notebook are missing her. the bed is missing her. the kitchen is missing her. the house misses her. i know this because i live there too. haunting.
id sometimes cry out at night. id wonder why youre haunting me. the very walls of this place echo your name. you are as much a part of these bricks as you are of me. does that sound comforting? i need it for when i sleep. sleep is important these days.
the new dawn caresses my face. the shades are up again. was i that tired that i couldnt even pull them shut before nodding off? did the sun really wake me this time?
*the rustling of the notebook pages as the wind fills the room*
i love having the windows open. i lock the doors and i leave the windows open. i imagine that shell come climbing in one of these days.
bloodshot, my eyes lock on the last paragraph of the last notebook to date. its dated today. the tenth. i WAS smiling. i didnt realize that you had written in these notebooks. id been so tired lately, i forgot to check.
lazy.
you wrote this one passage before they took you away.
i WAS smiling.
"dearest aden,
something is definitely wrong. i have no inspiration anymore. i have no control over the periods of sleeping and waking, reality or hallucination, dream or nightmare, night or day, light or dark. i wanted you to help me. you called the paramedics. that was your way of helping. i so want to show you my gratitude. i so really want you to feel the same as i do now. well, one day ill be coming home. one day, well be 'us' again. are you ready? close your eyes sweetheart. i have a surprise for you."
the last two things i hear are footsteps and the clicking of a pistols hammer. i read this as brenyas shadow slowly climbs up the back of my shirt.
aden never missed brenya again...
jd
p.s. it was just something i wrote because i was bored. it means nothing. no worries.
i love you very much JB <3 thank you for being a part of my life... a part that i couldnt live without. *squeezes*
aden grey stirs from his slumber. do we see a trace of saline clinging to his lower eyelid? yes we do. we see it because nightmares were abound. nightmares were a part of adens life. aden was an art dealer.
aden didnt think of himself as boring.
im aden grey. im an art dealer. im not boring.
i think you understand disillusion. its when you wake from a deep sleep. you dont know where you are. perhaps mom is clutching your shoulder rousing you from the deep. perhaps you live in the city and you heard gunshots. maybe dad is running downstairs due to some psychotic episode involving, "whos breaking in this time..."
as dawn settles in, i slowly push myself away from the easy chairs reach. am i in the library? this is where we used to fall asleep. the shelves contain notebooks. these were memories i kept while you were away. the paramedics took you from me. the white coats took you from me. so you had to long for an escape. you said youd wait until someone on the inside got you out.
i kept writing. you never came home.
the jetplane soaring overhead is a familiar sound. it transports this tired soul back to when grandmother and grandfather would visit. theyd bring gifts. everyone was happy then. i can hear them laughing now. i can see the smiles. i can smell the sweet air. oh god, take me back, please.
a trip to the sink. its time to wash the teeth, face, hair. in a desparate attempt to freshen up. lighten up.
no water.
the dripping faucet is a remind of how dull life can be without her around.
i need brenya. brenya davenport.
brenya davenport was an artist. a painter. artist is just a smiple term for the glorius works the emminate from her workplace. it was a sort of heaven. the two up, two down, white, brick building on the corner of mayweather and 8th. essentially not a town house. an artists home.
aden was an art dealer. brenya was an artist. this is how brenya and aden met.
the paramedics took her from her home. from me.
the doctors with their stethescopes and tongue depressers. i call them gaggers. they make me sick. although, i cant shake their closing arguments from my head. she was obsessed with something? someone?
no... im sure it was someTHING.
im not missing much in life. but, i AM missing brenya. the countless pages of each notebook are missing her. the bed is missing her. the kitchen is missing her. the house misses her. i know this because i live there too. haunting.
id sometimes cry out at night. id wonder why youre haunting me. the very walls of this place echo your name. you are as much a part of these bricks as you are of me. does that sound comforting? i need it for when i sleep. sleep is important these days.
the new dawn caresses my face. the shades are up again. was i that tired that i couldnt even pull them shut before nodding off? did the sun really wake me this time?
*the rustling of the notebook pages as the wind fills the room*
i love having the windows open. i lock the doors and i leave the windows open. i imagine that shell come climbing in one of these days.
bloodshot, my eyes lock on the last paragraph of the last notebook to date. its dated today. the tenth. i WAS smiling. i didnt realize that you had written in these notebooks. id been so tired lately, i forgot to check.
lazy.
you wrote this one passage before they took you away.
i WAS smiling.
"dearest aden,
something is definitely wrong. i have no inspiration anymore. i have no control over the periods of sleeping and waking, reality or hallucination, dream or nightmare, night or day, light or dark. i wanted you to help me. you called the paramedics. that was your way of helping. i so want to show you my gratitude. i so really want you to feel the same as i do now. well, one day ill be coming home. one day, well be 'us' again. are you ready? close your eyes sweetheart. i have a surprise for you."
the last two things i hear are footsteps and the clicking of a pistols hammer. i read this as brenyas shadow slowly climbs up the back of my shirt.
aden never missed brenya again...
jd
p.s. it was just something i wrote because i was bored. it means nothing. no worries.
i love you very much JB <3 thank you for being a part of my life... a part that i couldnt live without. *squeezes*