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this time i am fighting it, i am not letting myself follow that train of thoughts back to you. otherwise, it would end like it always does, and that is precisely letting myself follow that train of thoughts back to you. of course, after a yet one more ride on a roller coaster..

- what's gonna be for you today, sir?

- hmm... not pancakes, not scramble eggs..

- so?

- hold on, one second.. i'll just have the special, whatever that is.. which is?

- we're out..

- of course..

- so?

- i'll just have a big fat fresh glass of orange juice..

- sure..

by the time she comes back with my big fat fresh glass of orange juice i will be wondering how long it would take to pluck my beard one hair at a time, unless, of course, there is a slice of lemon in it.. then.. then the train again..

laptopless

the incident ii

It has been a couple of weeks since the last time I wrote something on this brand new Hewlett-Packard that will soon be sold. My doctor, who I see every week at least once, was not happy about it, although she told me she would not force me to do anything. I have been busy doing nothing. I still choose WAL-MART over a full night's sleep, I still choose drinking and smoking with my father over talking to him, I still choose Jane, Bill, and Shanecca over everyone else.

I went to the water park with my friends. Bill is skinny but fit. He used to be a runner in high school. He never went to college. He hates his father, who lives with a Cuban girlfriend somewhere in Atlanta, and visits his mother's grave the first Tuesday of every month. After going to the water park I learned also that he likes speedos as much as briefs, and he hates boxers as much as board shorts.

Shanecca is fat. She is also beautiful. She could work for a plus size modeling agency and be in women's clothing catalogs. Even though she works at Wal-Mart she buys all her clothes at Target. She does not know how to swim, but she still enjoys the water park as much as children do, or so I guessed.

Jane is neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin, neither blonde nor brunette, but she is really pretty on an average kind of way. She drives a very old car and has seventeen different lava lamps at home. After the water park we went over to her place to watch a movie and have a beer. We watched Casablanca, which is supposed to be a classic. I, personally, dislike everything from Casablanca but the ending. Although I only like it because of how it makes me feel I wish it was different. I felt sad after watching the movie. Her tiny smiling eyes again. And silence. I spaced out, and only after Bill punched me in the stomach realized that Jane had been asking me if I wanted another Guiness for almost a minute. Of course, yes.

My father read my first writing. He did not like it. Too childish, he thinks. According to him, before the incident I was able to actually draw feelings. He liked how deep I was able to reach without trying. You were a bittersweet, yet happy soul, he told me after a long silence filled with two beers and seven cigarettes. But then you fell in love with her. I do not know what he meant, and did not want to ask. I am afraid of remembering things I am not ready to, although my doctor says that is unlikely to happen. She says I might start remembering things from before the incident one piece at a time and will actually need to piece them together to make sense of them. She knows about the incident, she has told me about it. I only know because of her. What neither of us really know is what happens before.

I will try to write sooner next time. I am not feeling well today. I have described my friends better, though. I do not know if I should call them my friends, just yet. Sometimes I wish I could contact those who once thought they were my friends, they might be helpful. But then again, I don't not know if I want their help. I am afraid. I am going to the restroom now, I need to refresh my butt.

the incident i

The doctor asked me to write about it. It could be helpful, she said. The truth is, before the incident, I used to write. I used to be a fine writer, or so I was told by many people. I have tried to read my old writings, but it has not been helpful. I do not recognize them. I am sure there was a purpose behind them, I just do not know those anymore. Sometimes, when I read my writings, I cry, but I do not know why, I just do.

After the incident I moved in with my father. He lives in a mobile home at a recreational vehicle resort surrounded by a car cemetery, a fast food restaurant, a freeway, and a beach. He works at the car cemetery. We do not talk much and when we are both home we stare at each other drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. Soon after the incident I started smoking and drinking. Marlboro Reds and Guiness Draught only. Before the incident I always believed I would die either of gastric cancer, because of a chronic disease I did little to take care of, or in a bycicle accident. Nevertheless, nowadays I am inclined to believe that either liver or lung cancer will be listed as the cause of my death.

Ever since I saw "WAL-MART: The high cost of low price," I did not step into a WAL-MART again. But that was before the incident, today I do not know what I would do without them. I cannot sleep. I have not been able to get a full night's sleep since the incident. That is how I started to spend the night at a 24 hours WAL-MART across the freeway.

I have no memories of the incident other than her tiny smiling eyes. I randomly see them every now and then, but I am unable to relate that memory to any other memory, so the line of thought dies with them.

My favourite things at WAL-MART are playing Wii and bending over while still seated in the toilet seat so it flushes. I also like the silence, and the beeping of the barcode readers. As for the Wii, I am very good at ping-pong. I actually only play pin-pong. At the beginning I was not good at all, but after a few days I could play for an entire night without losing.

I have three friends at WAL-MART. I do not keep in touch with my old friends, people that used to know me before the incident. Bill, Shamecca, and Jane are all WAL-MART associates that work the night shift. Bill likes to watch me playing Wii. He has never played himself, and will not let me make him play. He just likes staring at me while I play. We do not talk much, but we enjoy spending time together. He is a divorcee and has two children somewhere living with their mother. Shamecca is really loud and talks to me about American Idol while cleaning the floor. I do not know what she is talking about most of the time, but it is still fun. She still lives with her parents, but only until she can become a singer herself. Sometimes she sings and her privileged voice fills the empty corridors of WAL-MART. She goes to karaoke every friday night. I have yet to go with her even though she invites me every week. Jane is really pretty. She also likes the beeping of the barcode readers. We have plans to make a song using them and become famous. I think she likes me. I like her too, but not the way I like those tiny smiling eyes.

I have just realized that this is not a story with an introduction, a body, and an ending. Maybe that is because I have nothing to tell. I hope this is what my doctor had in mind when she asked me to write about the incident. But this is not about the incident either, since I have no memories of it. The stories I wrote before the incident had most of them an introduction, a body, and an ending, and probably I had something to tell back then although I do not know what anymore.

Tomorrow I am meeting Jane, Bill, and Shanecca for lunch. We are going to go to the water park afterwards. Bill is behind me right now. I am writing this in one of the laptops exposed in WAL-MART. He does not like to use them either. I think it is time for me to go back home and try to sleep an hour or two before the sun rises. Before, though, I will visit the restroom once again and bend over. I will come back tomorrow, since I am not busy or anything with something else. I am never anymore. Sometimes I wish I remember what happened. But then again, I am afraid I will not like it. My life now is simple.

home

And then, one morning, after a quiet night's sleep, you realize there are just two kinds of travelers.
There are those who depart, and there are those who return.
The former wander around maps, the latter look for themselves in the mirror.

And then, one morning, after a quiet night's sleep, you realize life is a journey.
And you need to figure out what is that you have in front of your eyes.
Mirrors or maps?
Maps or mirrors?

And then, one morning, after a quiet night's sleep, you let go one tear and draw a bittersweet smile.

And then, one morning, after a quiet night's sleep, you wake up.

Is there someone there?

layers

She walks to the left, restless. Looks down, worried. Sighs. Looks up, hopeful. Walks to the right, eager. "I don't know," she says.

He stays still. "What is it?"

"Oh, you know..." She kicks the floor with her left foot.

He does know.

"Don't look at me," she rubs her hands together.

They listen to the loud silence. The walls of the living room fade. They feel uncomfortably comfortable. They have been there before. It is happening again. Once again.

He rushes towards her and kisses her on the lips. He should not have. That is the tipping point.

They kiss and hug and caress and clumsily walk to her room. She closes the door. What they are stays outside. It is just herself. It is just himself. Naked. In a desert island surrounded by blues. Two merging rainbows.

When they open the door again, their paradise sinks. Layers of life that keep them away from themselves. That fade the colors. Only then, the reasoning, the rules, the logic.

"It's cold out here, isn't it?"

Wedding Ring

"I know you don't believe me. I know you think I'm joking."

"Do I?"

"You'll probably be married by then, but when I finish, before shaving, cutting my hair, or even getting a shower, I will ride to your door and ask you to marry me."

Silence.

"I know it'll be too late, but some things just have to be done."

"You're silly."

"I know."

my life after you

"Here, happy birthday," she gave him a handmade book.

"My life before you," he whispered the title.

She had been working on the book for the past five years. Among its pages, polaroid pictures of random useless things, pictures of a younger version of herself surrounded by younger versions of family and friends, love letters never sent, pink, green, red, blue, and black journal entries, drawings, hearts, unicorns, and stars, and the photo booth picture they took of themselves on their third date in the last page.

She could see his heart smiling for the first time in a long time. They dived into a deep embrace. Tears and smiles.

In bed she felt naked, empty, relieved. She stared at him all night while listening to her loud and incisive heartbeat.

He had not notice her shoes were not on his way to the bed as they always were.

* * * * *

The following morning he woke up in an empty bed and unsuccessfully whispered her name and stood up and clumsily walked to the bathroom and stepped on a left foot green Carolina Herrera shoe and fell down.

"Breakfast is ready," he could hear from the kitchen.

painless

The ambulance driver drove as fast as he could through the still busy streets, even though it was already late. When they finally arrived to the packed emergency room he was covered in love and still bleeding despite of the effort of the paramedics. He was bleeding love all over. The doctors could not help him. He urgently needed a transfusion but his love type was unique. They could just helped him die. It was painless.

twelve point five miles

you space out
you get in the water
you wait for the deafening siren
you wonder
what will i be thinking about for over six hours?
you start swimming
you swim under the scorching sun
you keep swimming
your shoulder hurts
your head hurts
your eyes hurt
you keep swimming
you finish
you try to remember
what was i thinking about over six hours?

it is easy to lie to myself, to live a different life in my mind. it is easier when i am surrounded by blues, unattached from my so called life. there you are, waiting for me at the finish line, your eyes smile, so do you. you are anxious, you are worried, you are excited, so am i. but when i step out of the water, my smile is the only one i can see, and i am happy, and so you are. the sky is bluer today, and the clouds smile back at us. even when we are this apart.

sometimes

sometimes
it is easy
sometimes
it is not

but sometimes bleeds
and becomes never

and it is out of never
that always blooms

how to sleep

I cut open a cuddly teddy bear with a sharp scalpel and substitute the light stuffing by tiny lead balls you can get at any ironmonger's. I sew it back with care, a needle, a thimble, and thread. All I need to do now is get ready for bed and lay down upwards in a bed with the once light, now heavy cuddly teddy bear on top of my chest. It is not your weight I feel anymore, but it works as soon as I switch off the lights and close my eyes. Sweet dreams...

unexpectations

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"There's something I have to tell you."

"You are married, aren't you?" Smiling. "Just kidding!"

"Well," he looked down before looking up again. "I am."

"What!?"

"It's not what it seems."

"You better have a good explanation for this one!"

"I am married to another man."

"What!?"

"Are you gay? Who is this man?"

"No. I needed to stay here so I got married to him two years ago to get a green card. He's my friend."

"This is just ridiculous!"

"Well, will you get a divorce, now?"

"I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"He's been in a coma for the past year. He was in a car accident..."

Silence.

"Another Guiness?"

"I think I'll have a whisky," sight and brief sedative laugh. "And this won't end here... I am really mad at you right now!"

slow motion

I open my eyes after a long night of sleep remembering when I was not able to dive into Morpheo's realm. Sleepless nights with her but without her. She is no longer here. She never really was. I probably should stop letting them in at night, the flying pink elephants. There are always collateral damages. Always. Black sheets, red pillowcases. I am naked and in need of a shower. She used to complain about my sticky skin every morning. I used to brag about my soft skin every night.

I like cold showers. I like the feeling of being under the water. High pressure. The echo of yesterday words fades. It is not just you and me anymore. As it was yesterday. As it will be tonight. Daylight slaps me in the face and I cannot longer pretend there is nothing else. The same words that make me hope, now hurt. You are in your island. I am on mine. No matter how much I swim against the tide. Smoke signals on a windy day.

I have breakfast on the counter. Cereal. Chocolate milk. In a purple bowl. I will see you today but I am not allowed to look at you. Not the way I am meant. Chocolate milk is one of my favorite things in the world.

I ride my bike to the office, where I pretend to work for a couple of hours before going to the pool. I swim, and swim, and swim. Meditation. I am you. I am me. Surrounded by water I imagine conversations we will never have. I hate to roll every twenty five meters. A wall that keeps me from getting closer to you. I hate to swim indoors. I am loosing my tan. I sit on the concrete outside the pool after five thousand meters and enjoy my lunch. The same girl every day. She smiles at me. I smile back. Tomorrow I will ask her her name. That I said yesterday. That I will say tomorrow. I am not ready.

I take a nap in the office. I dream. I snore sometimes. Afternoons are long. I keep waiting for a signal. An email, a phone call, you. But most of the time nothing happens. And if it does, I do not care the same as if I was alone, sitting on the swing in my porch, under the Christmas lights. And the moon. And the stars. In my island.

A run, a bike ride, a soccer game. Anything that keeps me away from the inertia. And makes me tired. I like to have dinner when I am exhausted. Sometimes I do not like being alone. Sometimes there is nothing else I want. A second cold shower.

The flying pink elephants are back. The swing creeks. Melancholy. The reflection of the lights in a glass of wine. The smoke. And then you again. It is difficult to fight my drive. My drive towards you. But we both want the same. Everything else fades again. It is just you and me. Subjectivity. Living a sedative lie that will no longer exist tomorrow. I do not care. I do know the rules of the game. And, no matter what, I will keep playing. And I will win. And we will find a shade of gray that is neither black nor white.

I sleepwalk to bed. I am no longer aware of what it is and what it is not. Tomorrow morning you will be gone again. Only to be back, though. Meanwhile, my heart beats in slow motion...

the backpack

I needed some cash for my monthly deal. I love those pink elephants flying around my tiny colorful apartment. It was late but I got in my bike and rode to University Avenue. I do not usually step out of my bike when I am in front of an ATM. Debit card. Secret number. Withdrawal. Fifty dollars.

"Hello."

"Hello?"

He looked sketchy.

"Don't worry. I just want to ask you something."

"Sorry?"

"I just want to ask you something."

"Yes? What's that?"

"I have this new backpack. Would you be interested in buying it? I need the money for food. I haven't had a proper meal in a while."

"That's a nice backpack you have there, but I have already more than I need."

"What about some cash? Don't make me pull out what's inside the backpack."

Silence.

"I don't think you wanna do that..."

"No? Why? Don't tell me what to do or not to do."

"There's a police car coming down the road," I had nothing better to say.

A police car passed by. Serendipity. Got the money. Got the card. The police car was gone. The knife was out.

"You have cash now!"

"Yes I do, I have cash and legs."

I started pedaling.

"Enjoy your dinner!"

The pink elephants flying around my tiny apartment could not care less about what happened. I could not help it but laugh. In any case, they help me when it is time to sleep...

shining tiny eyes

He always liked when he could not tell if she had her shining tiny eyes open or not.

His lips whispered something only an inch away from her lips.

"Look me in the eyes," silence. "Actually... do not... it is impossible to look me in the eyes... you will always be choosing one... just one..."

They stayed on the edge of a delicious uncertain abyss for an everlasting instant.

They enjoyed a white silence, before...
They dived into a sea of sweet doubts, before...
They, for the first time, felt one, before...

They kissed each other, clumsily.
But conscious.
They joined their hands, smoothly.
But firmly.
They trusted each other, blindly.
Hope.

They closed their eyes before opening them again.
They let themselves fall into the pleasant unknown...

And then, then finally, the light...

Words

- I need you to give me some space, to step out of the picture.

He nodded. He stared at her. Silent smile. "What do I do when your words ask me something but your eyes ask me the opposite?"

In any case, it might only be in his mind... Sandcastles and hope...

Whips

Something is wrong when you wake up with a hungover as a consequence of the embrace of a lonely night in your porch.

Something is wrong when you have breakfast in the same bowl over and over again even if it does not belong to the one you thought.

Something is wrong when you sit alone in a dark theater on a Saturday morning surrounded by parents and children to enjoy the adventures of one of the heroes of your childhood.

Something is wrong when the hero says: "There were a few, but they all had the same problem... They weren't you." And you look at the empty sit on your left.

Something is wrong when you go back to the future and wonder.

Is there something wrong? It is not, and that is why you draw a smile as you ride away from the theater under the raising sun.

(9)(12)(21) and halves

I woke up in the nude in the middle of the night. My body was covered in sweat. He was there, my other half, naked, sat in the white leather armchair, staring at me. We both knew what was going to happen. We walked together to the bridge. We did not say anything. My feet were hurting, bleeding by the time we got there. I looked at him. He looked at me. I dived into him. He dived into me. I cried. He cried. We both knew what was going to happen. I promised him not to look back once he was gone. I held his hand as he was standing on the railing in front of the most beautiful of the dawns. The last one. A linen cloth in which blues, reds, oranges, yellows and purples fortuitously sprinkled an exhausted igneous Sun. The bay was uncomfortably calm. The distant siren of a fishing boat. I hesitantly let his hand go. We enjoyed an everlasting white silence before. We drowned in a sea of bittersweet doubts before.

He jumped. I closed my eyes and walked away.

As I was getting away my stomach melted and I climbed up the railing and I saw him drowning and my heart took over my self and I jumped and I opened my eyes and I cried and I felt the impact with the water as if ninety one thousand two hundred and twelve pins were piercing my body at once and i swam towards him and I grab him and I swam and I swam and I swam and I cried and I swam and I made it to the shore.

I was exhausted. He was unconscious.

"Sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," he softly mumbled as he opened his eyes.

"I couldn't let you go."

"Yes... you did. Yes... you did."

And only then we were one again and I was talking to myself. (❦)

Magnetics Fields

He walked her to her car after an everlasting evening that none of them wanted to end. He kissed her goodbye. She got in the car and started it. She could not leave. The window was open. He kissed her goodbye. He knelt down. He kissed her goodbye. Both knew that had to stop. She needed it to stop. He understood but was not ready to let it happen. Neither she was. She stepped out of the car. They sat on the curb. They smoked a clove cigarette. He kissed her goodbye. They stood up. He kissed her goodbye. She got in the car again and raised the window. He asked her to lower it. He kissed her goodbye. He walked backwards while staring at the beautiful image of her fading. He stumbled. He kissed her goodbye. She started the car and left the parking spot in reverse. He kissed her goodbye. She drove away. He started walking to his bike. She stopped at a stop sign and did not start again. He walked towards her. He kissed her goodbye. She turned right. He run after her. He kissed her goodbye. He started walking away. She drove but the light was red. He turned one more time and saw her stopped. He run towards her and got in the car. He kissed her goodbye. He asked her for a ride to his bike one block away. He kissed, embraced, caressed her goodbye.

She kissed, embraced, caressed him goodbye.

They still crossed their paths one more time a few seconds later. She was driving. He was riding. They did not stop but they could feel the pull.

"What was that?" He repeatedly mumbled once home. The night was gorgeous and calm. At his porch, sitting on the old creaking swing that kept missing her, under the Christmas lights, he thought he had never been as certain about something as uncertain.