four dreams. pt. 2
i lit my pipe with an old pink lighter, burning the tip of my thumb and i dropped it in resentment. There's just something about a good pipe and a summer night, especially when your feeling the alone. The warm flavor of tobacco temporarily fills the holes where the other familiarities are absent, and if you smoke it slow and hold the smoke under you tongue, it blurs the hurt a bit for an hour or two. So, again, i was on the lower porch, as it seemed i had been too often that summer, putting up a smoke screen between myself and your memory. the tuesday night dark kept me from being discovered and broken only by the occasional hot orange glow from the burning tobacco that lit up my face.
only the tobacco leaves crackled because there was no wind, so the trees and the lake sat still still still. well, there were the ducks moving around in the garden, probably making another nest by the violets. damned loud ducks too. i turned to see what all the commotion was about, and found you. you must have tripped on a footstone as you walked through the little path that connected our backyards.
suddenly, you were lit up, face and right hand by your white cricket. the smell of imported cavendish overpowered my grocerystore apple cut. you wordlessly dragged another green plastic chair. we didnt look at eachother as custom became, but sat and dragged in clouds of smoke and then let them come tumbling out again.
after five minutes or so, i dared to peek at your face. i waited until i heard the familiar crackle or the intake and turned my eyes to the momentarily orange-lit scene. they met yours and burned and brok tie only when the darkness returned. even through the tobacco calm, my heart or stomach or whatever i still had left inside ripped open. no past sutures held. all of my skin crawled and ached for just on small touch of your hand again, even just to feel your cheek near mine. but we sat and smoked and burned inside, though neither of us admitted to noticing. i knew the pipes were running out, but i prayed for them to burn forever. but they died. yet, died nicely funeralized by the slow strains of our neighbor's violin practicing filtering out an open window to the right. (this is the reason i liked to come out at night in the first place, his middle aged hands could really make beauty of horsehair and catgut.) i leaned down to the pavement of the porch to tap out the ashes and heard you do the same, unconsciously triple time to the slow song. i sucked a deep breath to catch the last bit of smoke in the air and got up to go in. i
i would have too, had you not taken my hand again. such a littl thing. and we danced, for just a few measures, but danced none the less, our feet scraping the cement in time with the song. all three of us, for those few bars, escaped. escaped any heavyness of pain or gravity. a sort of relieved kind of happiness, a short lived euphoria hung.
as the last note slid out, it became tuesday again. we moved apart, half in surprise at what had happened, and half in fear of anything else coming next. after a few blinking seconds, you turned and walked back through the garden and all was quiet again. even dave must have stopped to get a drink of water or rest his fingers. i sat back down in my green chair and packed another pipe.
click here for pts. 1, 2, 3 & 4 part one part two part three part four