ressurection
im regurgitating old prose for ideas in my fiction class at college. yeah whatever.
The Midnight Snack
We ran out of food at my house so I went over to Oliver’s apartment around midnight. I was hoping to drop in to say hi, and then casually rummage around in the kitchen for something that wasn't stale or disgusting. Of course I didn't; the cupboards were as desolate as a schoolyard on a holiday. And though they were both earnestly offered to me I did not accept the cocktail or the neck rub from his twitchy roommate, Kevin.
Their lumpy, battered old couch leaned against a wall in the living room, probably from necessity more than anything. The lights weren’t on, and probably hadn’t been since they both got back from work at 7. Colors from the television tossed constantly shifting patterns of light on the bare paint above our heads. Sunk between to ratty cushions, I was explaining how I thought my present situation was a metaphor. As if my physical well-being was playacting directly upon my emotional stability.
“I’m starving, right? But in a deeper sense, I’m emotionally ravenous. You know what I mean?” The words just kept spitting themselves up from my throat even though I felt like the magazines on the coffee table were more attentive than Oliver.
He was flipping channels and said “Huh?” after a pause between the weather channel and some Chinese sitcom where the lady was in the hospital hooked up to tubes and machines. “Never mind”, I sighed and started kicking the coffee table with my foot until he said to stop and I mumbled an apology but kept doing it anyway.
Oliver found a cable channel that was showing Porky’s and congratulated himself on the find by punching the pillow next to him and hissing out “Yessss. I love this movie.” He didn’t even flinch when I informed him that the movie was being shown on TBS and all the scenes that were considered inappropriate for regular television were probably edited out. He put his right foot up on the table and lit a cigarette.
“I’m still hungry”, I said and looked at the side of his face, flashing with color when the channel on the television changed. He pulled his focus from the screen as if it caused him great pain and leered at me. Oliver managed to have the bluest eyes in the entire universe and the messiest head of thick brown hair to follow suit. Somehow this was altogether terribly attractive and completely infuriating. In a sultry tone, which coming from him just sounded like a 90 year old female smoker, he scraped “I got something to feed you...”
When he got up to pee I took the batteries out of the remote control and put them in the microwave.
The Midnight Snack
We ran out of food at my house so I went over to Oliver’s apartment around midnight. I was hoping to drop in to say hi, and then casually rummage around in the kitchen for something that wasn't stale or disgusting. Of course I didn't; the cupboards were as desolate as a schoolyard on a holiday. And though they were both earnestly offered to me I did not accept the cocktail or the neck rub from his twitchy roommate, Kevin.
Their lumpy, battered old couch leaned against a wall in the living room, probably from necessity more than anything. The lights weren’t on, and probably hadn’t been since they both got back from work at 7. Colors from the television tossed constantly shifting patterns of light on the bare paint above our heads. Sunk between to ratty cushions, I was explaining how I thought my present situation was a metaphor. As if my physical well-being was playacting directly upon my emotional stability.
“I’m starving, right? But in a deeper sense, I’m emotionally ravenous. You know what I mean?” The words just kept spitting themselves up from my throat even though I felt like the magazines on the coffee table were more attentive than Oliver.
He was flipping channels and said “Huh?” after a pause between the weather channel and some Chinese sitcom where the lady was in the hospital hooked up to tubes and machines. “Never mind”, I sighed and started kicking the coffee table with my foot until he said to stop and I mumbled an apology but kept doing it anyway.
Oliver found a cable channel that was showing Porky’s and congratulated himself on the find by punching the pillow next to him and hissing out “Yessss. I love this movie.” He didn’t even flinch when I informed him that the movie was being shown on TBS and all the scenes that were considered inappropriate for regular television were probably edited out. He put his right foot up on the table and lit a cigarette.
“I’m still hungry”, I said and looked at the side of his face, flashing with color when the channel on the television changed. He pulled his focus from the screen as if it caused him great pain and leered at me. Oliver managed to have the bluest eyes in the entire universe and the messiest head of thick brown hair to follow suit. Somehow this was altogether terribly attractive and completely infuriating. In a sultry tone, which coming from him just sounded like a 90 year old female smoker, he scraped “I got something to feed you...”
When he got up to pee I took the batteries out of the remote control and put them in the microwave.