Observation
Looking at Brett, I’ve lost all my cool; you know, the little mannerisms and antics you make to look average, concentrated, and uninterested in the world around you. But I should have been playing my antics then, I’m so good at it.
They’re really quite simple to think of, you only need to focus. You can rub your lips, play with your food, maybe sip on your drink while your eyes continue to read, or circulate your wrist as if coercing some pain out. Though it can sometimes attract attention, you can check your watch, and with faint quick whispers, deduce and count the minutes of your approaching obligations and interactions.
But looking at Brett I’ve lost all of that, and am simply waiting, eager like a child, for what is next, because I can sense it coming. Like a slippery bilious smoke cloud, the time and interactions have drifted away, and the future is coming. I sense it coming like I can sense food moving up my esophagus, shit it comes quick. And in a violent spew and spray, Charlotte launched the event. For an instant I startled, but quickly homed. She widened her lips greatly to show her small girlish teeth, and the technique complemented the joy that was in her words. She practically spoke them straight into his ear, keeping only enough distance for everyone to watch everything.
I forget what it was she asked, but I’m sure it was a very simple question. “Did your mother buy you that polo shirt? Are you going to the tennis game, they’re undefeated? I think I’m have yellow teeth, Brett, are they white?” Yet her arms were tangled around one another, twisting over and again like vines; and she spoke with a lyrical intent, eyes glossed staring at the distance beyond her. Jesus, why did she say it like that? Maybe she felt the future coming up through her neck too, like we all did; so she put so much importance in that question.
And I know it must have looked like I was either undressing him in my mind or trying to count every pore on his face, but I couldn’t turn away and go back to my insecure antics; because I saw it, and I knew it before anyone did, before he did. I knew he hated her, even if only for a few moments, for his lips pruned up like a fruit that had its life sucked from it. He didn’t say anything, or look at her. Didn’t give any sign that he heard a word. And you could feel his coldness travel through the air and pass into you, to circulate in your veins, making you feel deathly vulnerable.
And the coldness entered Charlotte, where her sweet warm heart pumped it to every sunlight corner of her body. Her face thinned out until it was transparent, and her eyes froze up...crystallized…and then shattered into innumerable pieces of sparkling hope-raining in on her clothes and in her drink. She understood it, and took her failure, turning and reverting back to her old position, like a disappointed robot. I, being so engrossed, had my torso bent completely over of the table for a better view, and my shirt was gently dabbing in my hot sauce, what a pungent smell, but I didn’t care. I only wanted to howl a slow calm howl in order to commemorate our climatic event for everyone. But like the one before, this slippery grey bilious smoke cloud was to pass away down the black night street, for what was next arrived. I don’t know why I come to lunch, I’ve never found much satisfaction here.
They’re really quite simple to think of, you only need to focus. You can rub your lips, play with your food, maybe sip on your drink while your eyes continue to read, or circulate your wrist as if coercing some pain out. Though it can sometimes attract attention, you can check your watch, and with faint quick whispers, deduce and count the minutes of your approaching obligations and interactions.
But looking at Brett I’ve lost all of that, and am simply waiting, eager like a child, for what is next, because I can sense it coming. Like a slippery bilious smoke cloud, the time and interactions have drifted away, and the future is coming. I sense it coming like I can sense food moving up my esophagus, shit it comes quick. And in a violent spew and spray, Charlotte launched the event. For an instant I startled, but quickly homed. She widened her lips greatly to show her small girlish teeth, and the technique complemented the joy that was in her words. She practically spoke them straight into his ear, keeping only enough distance for everyone to watch everything.
I forget what it was she asked, but I’m sure it was a very simple question. “Did your mother buy you that polo shirt? Are you going to the tennis game, they’re undefeated? I think I’m have yellow teeth, Brett, are they white?” Yet her arms were tangled around one another, twisting over and again like vines; and she spoke with a lyrical intent, eyes glossed staring at the distance beyond her. Jesus, why did she say it like that? Maybe she felt the future coming up through her neck too, like we all did; so she put so much importance in that question.
And I know it must have looked like I was either undressing him in my mind or trying to count every pore on his face, but I couldn’t turn away and go back to my insecure antics; because I saw it, and I knew it before anyone did, before he did. I knew he hated her, even if only for a few moments, for his lips pruned up like a fruit that had its life sucked from it. He didn’t say anything, or look at her. Didn’t give any sign that he heard a word. And you could feel his coldness travel through the air and pass into you, to circulate in your veins, making you feel deathly vulnerable.
And the coldness entered Charlotte, where her sweet warm heart pumped it to every sunlight corner of her body. Her face thinned out until it was transparent, and her eyes froze up...crystallized…and then shattered into innumerable pieces of sparkling hope-raining in on her clothes and in her drink. She understood it, and took her failure, turning and reverting back to her old position, like a disappointed robot. I, being so engrossed, had my torso bent completely over of the table for a better view, and my shirt was gently dabbing in my hot sauce, what a pungent smell, but I didn’t care. I only wanted to howl a slow calm howl in order to commemorate our climatic event for everyone. But like the one before, this slippery grey bilious smoke cloud was to pass away down the black night street, for what was next arrived. I don’t know why I come to lunch, I’ve never found much satisfaction here.