the everyday exploits and bursts of ideas from a twenty-something beatnik

Archive for the tag “fiction”

The grey walls on your apartment seems to emanate a dark mood on our light conversation, after all it’s been 3 years since we’ve last talked and I’m glad to start it like this before we go into more ‘important’ matters. Calling me 5 days ago to set-up this ‘date’ was surprising but predictable, having heard the news from friends, I wasn’t really expecting that you’d want to break it to me after years of no talk. I guess we really did mature and somewhat ‘evolve’, just like that silly  mauve round coffee table that we’ve always imagined to be other things rather than being the setting for your art books and ‘zines, and that green and blue kid’s lamp we bought at the flea market downtown during the Christmas holidays. The mauve table Looks more chic now that it’s next to your newly upholstered royal blue couch, psychedelic chic I must say.

As you slowly make your way across the room to obtain the neatly placed vermilion mugs on the cupboard, I think to myself that no you would not offer me coffee, which you did of course. I politely refuse and ask for beer instead, I managed a tacit laugh as you poured the blood-red wine into the mug. Unfittingly tasteful still. Your thoughtfulness was one of the things I’ve postulated, sorry.

My gaze shifts to those good ol’ records that you’ve religiously kept and still display on the shelves above where our idiot box used to be. Back then we always had this banter over Miles and Coltraine, not to forget – with Pollock and Basquiat too huh?  But getting back to business, you finally open up about your engagement, how you crossed paths over a macchiato and an espresso, I was never a coffee fiend so good for you. I imagined your fiancee’s belly swell and host your screaming and kicking little terror. It made me feel my belly – which will never house our gene’s successor/s, we never really thought of that did we? So you pour more wine in to my mug and tell me that you are unsure of being able to handle such responsibility, I assure you that you will, you were a good lover and maybe that will qualify you as a good father, I jokingly said. You mention of the past and we open up to the days of yore, next thing I notice was the time on your orange clock, it was past 1am. With an awkward stance you kiss me on the forehead and thanked me for the night, I gave a wry smile, said my goodbyes and hurriedly left for the door, leaving it ajar as I ran for the elevator that was closing down the hall.. .

Pilar Nereida (10/2011)


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