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fractu/re/frac/ture
Dec. 1st, 2001 10:14 amj and i started love and death on long island, but did not finish. we were falling asleep already. and i climbed into bed and a couple hours later sleeping, the phone rings.
it's area code 206. seattle calling. it's jr.
i shake a little the whole time. startled from sleep i am always like this, a little fish-out-of-water, a little trembly in the chill outside the bed. it's cold in the kitchen where i sit on the high chair, leaning against the fridge hum. he tells me about the view of the bay from his deck. he says he misses me terribly. it's almost five years now that i've lived on the east coast. five bad years, he says. well, i say; i miss you, too. he fought with a past girlfriend who was upset that he spoke of me so often. & he thinks of me whenever he gets into a relationship. i can't seem to say anything. i can't really tell if he's drunk or not, he's talking about whisky, or irish friends from work. his voice bright and calm. he says, call me. really. we hang up. i climb shivering into bed.
fifteen minutes later it rings again. we talk again. he hopes i know he's not bullshitting me. that it really is like this, i'm the top of his list. my voice catches in my throat. i love you, jesse, i miss you, he says. we hang up again after more goodbyes, more things i can't seem to say.
an hour later, by now i'm really shaking, fractured sleep has fled elsewhere. it rings and again into the cold kitchen to listen to his voice. no, really, he says. call me. i miss you. i miss you, over and over again. i say yes, we'll have to visit over christmas. he says he can finally talk to me without nervousness. i say i thought i was the only one, laughing. he says he thinks about last summer in bellevue a lot.
oh if only you knew
and when he says goodbye number three? he says i miss the girl which is of course el oso which is of course soul coughing which we love. but he says it so swiftly i can't tell if he means the reference or not.
i sleep finally hours later, restless. i keep passing my palms over my eyes, nervous fingers. checking to see if my own self is still there. this voice in the night that unsettles my six or seven years of building up resistance, immunity. after all this time it's still him.
[& once, between calls 2 & 3, it rang and i answered it only to hear the hum of seattle through his coat pocket. voices, indistinctly. hang up, i said, futilely. my voice caught in his pocket, warm there like a hand.]
just say the word, i have to see you he says. but my words catch. i can't seem to tell him it's like a drug & there is no way i can stay away.
it's area code 206. seattle calling. it's jr.
i shake a little the whole time. startled from sleep i am always like this, a little fish-out-of-water, a little trembly in the chill outside the bed. it's cold in the kitchen where i sit on the high chair, leaning against the fridge hum. he tells me about the view of the bay from his deck. he says he misses me terribly. it's almost five years now that i've lived on the east coast. five bad years, he says. well, i say; i miss you, too. he fought with a past girlfriend who was upset that he spoke of me so often. & he thinks of me whenever he gets into a relationship. i can't seem to say anything. i can't really tell if he's drunk or not, he's talking about whisky, or irish friends from work. his voice bright and calm. he says, call me. really. we hang up. i climb shivering into bed.
fifteen minutes later it rings again. we talk again. he hopes i know he's not bullshitting me. that it really is like this, i'm the top of his list. my voice catches in my throat. i love you, jesse, i miss you, he says. we hang up again after more goodbyes, more things i can't seem to say.
an hour later, by now i'm really shaking, fractured sleep has fled elsewhere. it rings and again into the cold kitchen to listen to his voice. no, really, he says. call me. i miss you. i miss you, over and over again. i say yes, we'll have to visit over christmas. he says he can finally talk to me without nervousness. i say i thought i was the only one, laughing. he says he thinks about last summer in bellevue a lot.
oh if only you knew
and when he says goodbye number three? he says i miss the girl which is of course el oso which is of course soul coughing which we love. but he says it so swiftly i can't tell if he means the reference or not.
i sleep finally hours later, restless. i keep passing my palms over my eyes, nervous fingers. checking to see if my own self is still there. this voice in the night that unsettles my six or seven years of building up resistance, immunity. after all this time it's still him.
[& once, between calls 2 & 3, it rang and i answered it only to hear the hum of seattle through his coat pocket. voices, indistinctly. hang up, i said, futilely. my voice caught in his pocket, warm there like a hand.]
just say the word, i have to see you he says. but my words catch. i can't seem to tell him it's like a drug & there is no way i can stay away.
