FIRE FIRE
August 22nd 2008 00:41
I fell in love with a girl on fire. She had long legs and long hair and her lips were shaped in a way that asked me to look closer, lean in closer. She had a man, and he’d be there, silent, watching me, eyeing me over. I tried telling her that I’d fallen in love with her. I was going to say, I’ve fallen in love with you. I had an emergency piece of paper crumpled in my pocket to remind me of what I was going to say; sometimes my memory swaggers away like the dumb arsehole it is. The crumpled paper said, I’ve fallen in love with you. It was written with blue ink. The paper wasn’t mine. The pen wasn’t mine. I was going to lift her up and kiss her in a way that was hopefully better than the way her boyfriend kissed her.
I went and saw this girl, this girl I’d fallen in love with. This girl with the personality and the lips, this girl who’d send hail storms all over the planet, all over my house, my room, my head, tearing pieces of me off, blood and bone and heart splattered everywhere. I went and saw her, and she was standing there, her man watching me, eyeing me, and I was ready. I was ready to tell it all. But before I could, she leant towards me, hushing her voice. She said, Tonight, Dean, tonight, I’m going away. She looked at her man and smiled. She said, I’m going away with my love. She walked towards him, and I stood there in the corner by myself. My shoulders relaxed, my neck loosened. I smiled. I thought, Phew. I’d just saved a shitload of money.
And then I’d fall in love with someone else.
Vicki and I went to her friend’s apartment. His name was Channel.
“What, like the perfume?”
“No, you dick. That’s pronounced shannel.”
Channel liked cones. He tried to smoke at least one cone a day. He was holding this 1.5 litre bottle of water when I saw him. He told me that he went to the doctor the other day because he’d been coughing brown blood. He wondered if it was because of all the cones he’d been smoking. He wondered if he had cancer or hep C. The doctor told him that he had a fever and all he had to do was drink more water. He said, Alright.
“Let’s burn all my things.”
I glanced at Vicki. We’d come there that day to help Channel or whatever the hell his name was burn all of his things. So that’s what we did. We put all of his things in two cars and drove to the beach and we burnt them all. We chucked coal and petrol or whatever it was all over his things. His clothes, some chairs, his books, his magazines, his DVDs, two stereos, bags of rubbish, business cards, coupons, masks, underwear, business shirts, business pants, jeans, long sleeve shirts, jackets, jewellery, socks.
It was night time. We stood there, watching everything burn, orange and dark light, little pops that yelped like exploding popcorn.
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Comment by Anonymous
You live a very interesting life, filled with very interesting characters. A perfect world for a writer to be a part of.
I`ve missed your words and have enjoyed the journey once again
Be well
Ash
Comment by Ash
Flashes of memories
Comment by Always Eighteen
Always Eighteen
Really really good to hear from you again. I'm browsing through your travels now - shit, you're in Ireland??? How is it? How long are you there for??