Ersatz
I lie there upon dirt and rocks and rubbish, looking at the sky. The discomfort of all that against my back feels strangely reassuring.
The sky is a half-hearted shade of blue, the sun hiding behind thin clouds. I mouth: "pathetic" at the sky and thought, why don't you try harder?
I must be frowning deep, because I can feel the drips of sweat altering their course, going down my nose instead of gather at my eyebrows. The beads tasted strangely sweet. All the saccharine they put in cheap chap sticks these days....
I take a deep breath and feel the heavy of sadness in my lungs. I exhale, and it moves towards my face, creeps up behind my eyes, forwarning me of impending tears.
I close my eyes and try to rest.
I try to rest. Just as my breathing started to ease, I feel a shadow over me.
I open my left eye, squinting. A man. Is standing over me. The sun is right behind his head and I can not make out what he looks like. I look away from the light, towards the ground, and see that he is wearing a white vest and fleece trousers. I am still squinting, with my one left eye. He is still motionless, we are both speechless, his arms hanging down his sides. I look at his shoes. He does not seem to be wearing any.
I try to shift my head a little so I can get a better angle to look at his face, but it is too uncomfortable to move my head over all that rubble beneath me. I will have to get up, if I want to see his face. It is not normal that someone stands over me, dressed like he does, in a place like this. I want to know what the hell is going on. But I am too tired to move. Under normal circumstances I would have been concerned, scared even. But today, I am neither. I can't give a flying FUCK! The thought of this makes my heart beat a little faster. Maybe I am not as dead as I think I am, afterall. I close my eye. FUCK IT.
"You are not dead, you just feel that way. Just now."
The voice comes from my left. I shifted my head slightly and open my left eye. The man is now lying next to me. He just spoke.
"What?" I mutter, somewhat pointlessly, at him. He is not answering.
How come I did not hear him move? I did not even hear him lie down next to me. Have I gone deaf? Have I gone to hell? His face is about two feet away from mine. I now have a clear-ish view of the right side of his face. A non-descript face. He looks clean; I detect no off-putting odour from his direction. He looks as if he hasn't shaved in months, but his hair is quite short. Still, no response from this stranger. Minutes seem to pass by. Then he raises his arms, slowly, and examines his fingers. His hands look clean, too. For a split second, I am moved by the sight of this. I feel a sudden, inexplicable urge to fuck him.
He gives out a restrained laugh, his teeth clean. "Unprotected sex with a stranger in the wilderness! Not sure that's a good way to go!" Then he drops his hands and places them on his stomach. He seems to be smiling now.
"What?" I mutter again, this time, mostly to myself. I have heard that before. I know that voice...
****************
Around this time last year, I still had Judy. Now, I only have myself and not much more.
It was her birthday. I bought her a brand new Audi TT (I had the four rings of the logo covered in Swarovski crystals), in deepest shiniest purple, of course. She wanted me to cook her dinner, and then head out to Yuen Long to see an arthouse film. I don't mind the cooking but I hate going to cinemas. I hate the darkness, the quietness, the stillness, the need to concentrate, sitting amongst strangers who smell. We were living in Stanley at the time, and Yuen Long seemed like miles away. She was eager to take her new car for a spin. It was her birthday. I obliged.
Some Finnish art film called Broken Windows? Break the Window? or was it Breaking Wind? I can't recall. We had a bottle of champagne with dinner. I tried to put my hand up her skirt a few times but neither that nor the booze seemed to affect her in any way.
The cinema was hidden behind a bus depot, next to a few sad stalls of Dai Pai Dongs, smelling foul of tripe and cheap fat. The cinema didn't smell,though. I was disappointed at this because I was wrong.
The film was about a man who hit some kind of existential wall and was going mental without realizing it himself. He was roaming around town having sex with strangers. Men, women, tramps, waiters, hookers, school children. It was boring the pants off me and I started texting Paul on the phone, when all that sex in dark alley ways was going on. Judy was too engrossed in the film to tell me off. Paul and I were exchanging jokes about poofs and tits and piss and the woman he was with. We were arranging where to meet afterwards. I loved Judy, but I could not stand being alone with her in public places for prolonged periods of time.
As the film was nearing its end, a man sitting behind us shouted out these words:
"Unprotected sex with a stranger in the wilderness! Not sure that's a good way to go!"
Several heads, including mine, but not Judy's, turned round to look at him. This man was sitting by himself, had plenty of hair, and his teeth gleamed in the dark.
A warm flow of mild rage rised in my chest, and I wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up. But I was scared of him. I didn't want him to ambush me outside the cinema, or piss on Judy's new tyres, or worse still rip those crystals off the damn car. My eyes met his, though. And his eyes were smiling.
And here we are again, my eyes meeting his. Something is telling me to look at his face. I am looking at his face, for sure, but that something is telling me to look at his face some more.
I do not want to move closer to him, the situation being unusual as it is. Not because I fear he might suddenly transform into some demonic creature and rip my head off or spew acidic green slime over my eye balls. I may be miles off from any normal context for human social interaction, but years of having excelled in functioning in such context has left a deep imprint upon me. Something is telling me I should look at his face some more, but not move closer to him. I know I should, but I am not moving closer. I can't.
Involuntarily I squint again, and his face comes into a sharper focus. He has a strangely human face. Strange because it seems so unusual and so perfectly ordinary at the same time. Reminds me of the kind of face that supposedly beautiful people have. Perfect proportions, beautiful bone structure, bright eyes that smile naturally. What has he got to be so smug about. Why is he looking so perfect.
"What are you smiling about?" Those words came out gentler than I had expected.
"Nothing in particular. I am just smiling as I look at you." Those words came out less creepy than they should be. His head tilted slightly, his eyes looking into mine.
"What do you want. I don't have any money. I don't have nothing."
He laughs, as if he is really glad I said that. "I know".
"What do you have?" Those words came out of my mouth, I'm not sure what I mean by them.
"I don't have much, as you can see."
"I could eat something." I put my left hand on my stomach. I look at my watch. It has been 27 hours since I last ate. "I could do with a drink, too". 10 hours since I last drank. My lips are cracked. I lick them and tasted blood.
He shows me a loaf of bread, and a plastic bottle of water.
"Hey! Where'd you get that from?"
"Eat now, regain your strength."
The bread is a medium sized rustic loaf. It is still warm as he handed me a large chunk that he ripped off. I eat it, and it smells fresh and mildly acidic.
"Sourdough," I said "right?"
He laughs again. This time, I laugh with him. He takes a sip from the bottle, then hands it to me. I drink from it. I laugh some more.
When was the last time I feel like this? Genuinely laughing whilst eating and drinking in the company of another stranger? I vaguely remember the last party I went to, before my downfall. Perhaps I should say, one of the last parties. Just like all the others. I drank, I smoked, I ate, I mingled, I flirted, I did all the things I do at parties. I faked laughing, too. Strangers.
I let out a long sigh, and tears are welling up in my eyes. I feel so fucking sorry for myself. Right now, I do. For some strange reason I feel like fessing up to this guy. I feel like telling him how fucking sorry I am feeling for myself right now.
I turn to look at him, still chewing the bread.
He smiles at me.
"Let's go." He said.
"Okay." I replied
We get up. He smiles at me some more, and I smile back.
I'm happy, and I don't know why.
----------THE END--------------
The sky is a half-hearted shade of blue, the sun hiding behind thin clouds. I mouth: "pathetic" at the sky and thought, why don't you try harder?
I must be frowning deep, because I can feel the drips of sweat altering their course, going down my nose instead of gather at my eyebrows. The beads tasted strangely sweet. All the saccharine they put in cheap chap sticks these days....
I take a deep breath and feel the heavy of sadness in my lungs. I exhale, and it moves towards my face, creeps up behind my eyes, forwarning me of impending tears.
I close my eyes and try to rest.
I try to rest. Just as my breathing started to ease, I feel a shadow over me.
I open my left eye, squinting. A man. Is standing over me. The sun is right behind his head and I can not make out what he looks like. I look away from the light, towards the ground, and see that he is wearing a white vest and fleece trousers. I am still squinting, with my one left eye. He is still motionless, we are both speechless, his arms hanging down his sides. I look at his shoes. He does not seem to be wearing any.
I try to shift my head a little so I can get a better angle to look at his face, but it is too uncomfortable to move my head over all that rubble beneath me. I will have to get up, if I want to see his face. It is not normal that someone stands over me, dressed like he does, in a place like this. I want to know what the hell is going on. But I am too tired to move. Under normal circumstances I would have been concerned, scared even. But today, I am neither. I can't give a flying FUCK! The thought of this makes my heart beat a little faster. Maybe I am not as dead as I think I am, afterall. I close my eye. FUCK IT.
"You are not dead, you just feel that way. Just now."
The voice comes from my left. I shifted my head slightly and open my left eye. The man is now lying next to me. He just spoke.
"What?" I mutter, somewhat pointlessly, at him. He is not answering.
How come I did not hear him move? I did not even hear him lie down next to me. Have I gone deaf? Have I gone to hell? His face is about two feet away from mine. I now have a clear-ish view of the right side of his face. A non-descript face. He looks clean; I detect no off-putting odour from his direction. He looks as if he hasn't shaved in months, but his hair is quite short. Still, no response from this stranger. Minutes seem to pass by. Then he raises his arms, slowly, and examines his fingers. His hands look clean, too. For a split second, I am moved by the sight of this. I feel a sudden, inexplicable urge to fuck him.
He gives out a restrained laugh, his teeth clean. "Unprotected sex with a stranger in the wilderness! Not sure that's a good way to go!" Then he drops his hands and places them on his stomach. He seems to be smiling now.
"What?" I mutter again, this time, mostly to myself. I have heard that before. I know that voice...
****************
Around this time last year, I still had Judy. Now, I only have myself and not much more.
It was her birthday. I bought her a brand new Audi TT (I had the four rings of the logo covered in Swarovski crystals), in deepest shiniest purple, of course. She wanted me to cook her dinner, and then head out to Yuen Long to see an arthouse film. I don't mind the cooking but I hate going to cinemas. I hate the darkness, the quietness, the stillness, the need to concentrate, sitting amongst strangers who smell. We were living in Stanley at the time, and Yuen Long seemed like miles away. She was eager to take her new car for a spin. It was her birthday. I obliged.
Some Finnish art film called Broken Windows? Break the Window? or was it Breaking Wind? I can't recall. We had a bottle of champagne with dinner. I tried to put my hand up her skirt a few times but neither that nor the booze seemed to affect her in any way.
The cinema was hidden behind a bus depot, next to a few sad stalls of Dai Pai Dongs, smelling foul of tripe and cheap fat. The cinema didn't smell,though. I was disappointed at this because I was wrong.
The film was about a man who hit some kind of existential wall and was going mental without realizing it himself. He was roaming around town having sex with strangers. Men, women, tramps, waiters, hookers, school children. It was boring the pants off me and I started texting Paul on the phone, when all that sex in dark alley ways was going on. Judy was too engrossed in the film to tell me off. Paul and I were exchanging jokes about poofs and tits and piss and the woman he was with. We were arranging where to meet afterwards. I loved Judy, but I could not stand being alone with her in public places for prolonged periods of time.
As the film was nearing its end, a man sitting behind us shouted out these words:
"Unprotected sex with a stranger in the wilderness! Not sure that's a good way to go!"
Several heads, including mine, but not Judy's, turned round to look at him. This man was sitting by himself, had plenty of hair, and his teeth gleamed in the dark.
A warm flow of mild rage rised in my chest, and I wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up. But I was scared of him. I didn't want him to ambush me outside the cinema, or piss on Judy's new tyres, or worse still rip those crystals off the damn car. My eyes met his, though. And his eyes were smiling.
And here we are again, my eyes meeting his. Something is telling me to look at his face. I am looking at his face, for sure, but that something is telling me to look at his face some more.
I do not want to move closer to him, the situation being unusual as it is. Not because I fear he might suddenly transform into some demonic creature and rip my head off or spew acidic green slime over my eye balls. I may be miles off from any normal context for human social interaction, but years of having excelled in functioning in such context has left a deep imprint upon me. Something is telling me I should look at his face some more, but not move closer to him. I know I should, but I am not moving closer. I can't.
Involuntarily I squint again, and his face comes into a sharper focus. He has a strangely human face. Strange because it seems so unusual and so perfectly ordinary at the same time. Reminds me of the kind of face that supposedly beautiful people have. Perfect proportions, beautiful bone structure, bright eyes that smile naturally. What has he got to be so smug about. Why is he looking so perfect.
"What are you smiling about?" Those words came out gentler than I had expected.
"Nothing in particular. I am just smiling as I look at you." Those words came out less creepy than they should be. His head tilted slightly, his eyes looking into mine.
"What do you want. I don't have any money. I don't have nothing."
He laughs, as if he is really glad I said that. "I know".
"What do you have?" Those words came out of my mouth, I'm not sure what I mean by them.
"I don't have much, as you can see."
"I could eat something." I put my left hand on my stomach. I look at my watch. It has been 27 hours since I last ate. "I could do with a drink, too". 10 hours since I last drank. My lips are cracked. I lick them and tasted blood.
He shows me a loaf of bread, and a plastic bottle of water.
"Hey! Where'd you get that from?"
"Eat now, regain your strength."
The bread is a medium sized rustic loaf. It is still warm as he handed me a large chunk that he ripped off. I eat it, and it smells fresh and mildly acidic.
"Sourdough," I said "right?"
He laughs again. This time, I laugh with him. He takes a sip from the bottle, then hands it to me. I drink from it. I laugh some more.
When was the last time I feel like this? Genuinely laughing whilst eating and drinking in the company of another stranger? I vaguely remember the last party I went to, before my downfall. Perhaps I should say, one of the last parties. Just like all the others. I drank, I smoked, I ate, I mingled, I flirted, I did all the things I do at parties. I faked laughing, too. Strangers.
I let out a long sigh, and tears are welling up in my eyes. I feel so fucking sorry for myself. Right now, I do. For some strange reason I feel like fessing up to this guy. I feel like telling him how fucking sorry I am feeling for myself right now.
I turn to look at him, still chewing the bread.
He smiles at me.
"Let's go." He said.
"Okay." I replied
We get up. He smiles at me some more, and I smile back.
I'm happy, and I don't know why.
----------THE END--------------
posted by Pierre at 10:58 PM
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