big-face

I have friends now. I don’t participate in my own oppression. I went to the place today. It was all very impromptu and shit. Bill called.  I said: hey how about we meet at quarter to eleven? And he was like huh? Okay.

I went. There was probably gonna be unpleasantness and meanness on the part of glasses girl, aka his woman. I just prayed to be able to handle it. I mean, I’ve done some fucked up things in the past, but I should be able to meet a friend at the only place in town where you can sit for a while and shoot the shit.

Oh boy. So I see bill and we go in. of course it’s fuckin cold as hell. His face all scrunched beneath his tan baseball cap. His little blue puff coat. We go in.

The nice girl, young, is there.

Hi! She says. So far, glasses girl is absent. Oh good. We get coffee and then there she is. I don’t even look behind the counter. I don’t look at her at all, only out of the corner of my eye to notice damn, she has a fuckin big face.

Ok, be cool. She goes out the door. I don’t look at her. Half an hour later, she comes back. I do not look at her. She made her fuckin point the last time I was there. rudeness. Hostility to the max.  I had no idea what to expect this time. Honestly, I thought the worst: him and his woman were going to gang up on me and start hurling accusations, slurs about my mental unfitness, shit like that. Maybe call the cops and have me trespassed from the premises. But no. it didn’t happen. I never saw him. For all I know, he wasn’t even there. one way or another, I didn’t really care. I’m over it. Over him, or the idea of him anyway. They both put a definite stop to that. Their hatred of me couldn’t be any clearer. Ok, fine. I really just wanted to hang out with my friend and lo and behold, it was possible after all. No confrontation. Just don’t look at the bitch. let her think she put me in my place. Well, she kinda did. They both should live happily ever after, him and his big-face woman: the donut couple of the century.

Dunkin Dump

I hardly ever go there at all. So what’s her problem?  I go to the Dunkin dump today. That’s their latest ad, I swear. Gyrating sweating girls drinking some kind of protein concoction and doing splits.  Lot of lipstick. I don’t go there much. Maybe once a week, once every 2 weeks and goddamn, I make sure it’s after her man leaves. In the afternoon. So what’s her problem?

I go in. bill and bob are there, and bob’s wife. Ok…wave and smile

I go to the counter. Glasses bitch spots me and comes up.

What can I get you? she spits at me, making direct eye contact. Nasty. I look at the ceiling briefly, a little taken aback by her…attitude. Rendered mute for a second there. Then I look her right in the eyes. Study her yellow bottom teeth.

A medium cappuccino

Hot or iced?

Hot I say.

What in it?

Whaddya mean, what in it?

Flavoring. Chocolate, syrups—

No.

That’ll be 4.96. out of 10. She hands me back the 5 and 4 cents. I put the four cents in the tip jar. (There ya go, honey).

Careful not to touch her. She stares daggers at me the whole fuckin time. I stare right back at her. She’s not that great looking. Plus she’s mean. What in the fuck.

She goes to the other counter. Yells out my order and puts the cup down, walks away. I’m a little shook. Does she want to fight me? She definitely hates my guts. she doesn’t even know me. I’ll catch her outside some time, put her in a snowbank. Hot or iced. Jesus. It’s 20 below wind chill outside. I’ll bury her ass, given half a chance. Hypothermia would set  in fast. I’m just not in the mood.

“TEA & HONEY”

 There is a round headed, younger guy there. round all over. Pudgy and obnoxious. Says his name is gallon, like the jug. He has a big wallet chain and gangster style, with a baseball cap that says GOAT.  Tuesday night I drive in the freezing cold to the radio station and everyone is glad to see me . surprising. I belong there. i tell Layal on Thursday that I like the radio station meeting.. she turns up her nose. I went there when I  first got sober, she says condescendingly. Round head guy was at the wed meeting, he blew a fucking gasket.

FUCK YOU YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME FUCK YOU he screamed, smashing his fists on the table, getting his things and stalking off, slamming the door off its hinges.

Like that.

He is there the next day. manspreading. Thanking us all for “coming in tonight.” It was a noon meeting but whatever.

Layal came in and sat next to me. Idiot roundhead was running his mouth. Mark did nothing. Just sat there, writing in his little meeting book. I tried to explain some things to the idiot but he kept talking over the top of me. Finally, I said: listen. just listen to what I’m saying,

Okay, grandma, he says. Angeline is next to me. Are you okay? No I’m not. I look at Layal That was rude, she mutters, looking at her phone. Mark says fucking nothing.

Whatever, Baldy I shoot back. He sits, staring me down. Trying to intimidate me. I ponder throwing sulfuric acid in his face. I should have never stuck my neck out. Layal did not give a flying fuck.   On the way out, she was gushing to the little Indian girl “The Homer meeting is tonight. They have TEA & HONEY at the Homer meeting!” Which I took to mean: pay no attention to the crone walking behind us. She is of no consequence.

dragon

I talk to my friend bill. I purposely do NOT look at the pass. The needle, the spoon. I turn my back on it. My curly fuckin back of my head hey get a good look at that, motherfucker. My friend is up against it. I talk to him. At one point the guy walks past me to the bathroom, all black t-shirt and circumspect. I’m so sure he is telling all the women he works with what a piece of shit I am. what a fucking moron. ( one has dragon nails in a very deep shade of red that is to die for. I would compliment her, but I think she’s in on the plot) so he walks past, all fucking weird and I’m like whatever. I have my hair in a corona of unkempt madness.  it was me all along. I am the one and only louche junkie nutjob of misplaced intensity. he walks back, all tip-toe weird. Like I might sink my filed stained teeth into him. I would if I thought I could get away with it. at the cash register, his face. . a joke with the ladies, oh so funny. Laugh, glasses girl. Yeah. You’re cute. Bill and I walk out, after a sideways hug, because like I said, he’s going through it. I believe all the women are watching from behind the counter. I drive out and who should come walking right in front of me but him. In his hat, hanging hair, bagged jeans and a neon orange bag from Kinney’s. I like his style. At this point, that’s really what it all boils down to. My hair writhes. I look right at him and wave with my hand, like go ahead. Walk in front of me. He does, does a little run at the end like I’m gonna hit him or something. Have a nice fuckin day. I’m going to Cortland. Go fuck yourself.

the rain will come

I go to the place a few days ago. There is a huge amount of work going on behind the scenes in my psyche. in my soul. Bob gets there first, his big red pickup we go in together what’re you having?

You don’t have to

I’ll buy not a problem

Thanks bob. can I have a regular coffee cream no sugar? the girls behind the counter smile at one another. my paranoia flares.

I really like your glasses,” blue sweatshirt girl says.

thanks (ok, maybe overreacting).

the coffees will come up right here.

 Sure. don’t look don’t look a quick glance his back going into the other room in slow motion “thanks bob.” we go sit down here comes bill

what’s that?

tuna salad bill really likes it.

Oh. at this point the rain is trying to come. The sky is swollen. Humid. Bill gets his coffee and sits down next to me we all talk. Stuff. I look behind me, in the entryway there is a space where he could see me from the pass, or at least the back of my head.  There is a great deal of work being done by my hair follicles, my brain, and my stomach. I haven’t looked, no more of that despair but now there is a new type of despair: I won’t see him at all. This is horrible but I persevere. Music plays in the background, like my nighttime tinny radio set to whisper volume to have melodies on in the red light. Then the impossible happens. He comes out from his spot, still behind the counter but he goes to the cash register. From there he sees me, takes something out and goes back. He fucking came and looked for me. We see each other.  shortly after, in his neon blue hoodie.

 “bye bill.” the girls call. he looks back briefly, nonplused, then heads out the door.

in the woods there are needles

it is night now. this is not my house. stone walls and cars buried in the frozen waste surround me. 

windows and glass doors. blue sky and desolation he is not there.

how long, i ask you. how long? Amidst the ether of naked trees and billowing cloud formations

his downcast face. His ghost of a smile. We all compare tattoos. Red car. Brush fire. Took off my hair from yesterday. In the woods there are needles. He runs away while I scream I love you at the back of his jacket. (not really about the screaming bit. My voice was low and lost in traffic, I’m sure).

We have a house on top of the world. He comes to visit. We climb on the sod roof and look down into the green valley miles below. that section on  the courtyard

with closed-in hallway

baby-blue cat bowl:

empty.

red-wing blackbird.

little windows to the parking lot.

matted carpet floor.

i will cover my arms

with pictures of you.

your jeans too long

dragging down the sidewalk

of the ugly town. so cold. All the night rain. The day rain. He crosses the street behind the glass. In the cloud light on top of his head, a white streak. He is old! I hold the bowl of vegetables nonchalantly. White clouds move upon the face of the night.

They are you. the guy says it’s really coming on

any minute he’s gonna start barfing.

the kids are out on the streets. we walk past. some are dykes

like me. others junkies. cars pass by slowly:

“Hey. Did you write this?” i am bereft of all comfort. how do i say this?

the brown shades are always down in his

windows over the liquor store.

lurid red neon words

the only source of illumination.

they fixed the window.

there was a tree.

i don’t like to remember his last

sidestep

rejection and alarm all over his

fucked up face .

i am a tree in flames.

i am a baby blue Western Star.

. my wrinkled bills. Tiny eternal pink- carpeted stairways.   “Paulie, c’mon. I got a test  in the morning.”  he doesn’t care as long as he’s getting his.  glass doors open to the mountains. I don’t want that.

Far away, the mountain is shorn. as Overhead fluorescents skitter and wave, the lady at the checkout has no idea about this moment but I am in a euphoric shock. he is mine. his hair really long now and baggy jeans, black wool cap  and  the way he looks at me: clouds scudding behind his eyes. i follow him down, riding an electric grill-top

until i am in the muddy water.

he talks to some women: “no, you don’t wanna go in here.

it’s too polluted.”

the one girl looks at me with disdain: “guess

you’re saving this to wear as a dress.”

i wash my face with a toothbrush at the

public bathroom. a large man works

there. he lets me stay. i keep putting the needle in my arm

and taking it out. put it in. take it out.

thirty years down the tubes.

. beneath the towering waves

our hair artfully disarranged. sunlight pours into the room. onto the blond wood

floor where an empty sneaker sits: rainbow vertically striped.

 someone sings

on repeat.

he gives me the thousand-mile

stare.

the lay you down and do

things to you until the drool

runs in a small string from your open mouth

stare.

five is green and goes off

the page.

(bear down hard now).

burning asphalt engulfs him: his

long brown hair.

his white hoodie

with black tattoo pattern.

swallows him

whole.