Daily Journal Prompt #227

photo by Henri Cartier-Bresson

August 21, 2012: We wanted it to be something else.

One Reply to “Daily Journal Prompt #227”

  1. I wanted it to be something else, me and Rob, wanted it to be something more than it was. He was on the rebound, see. A girl called Sal and his heart was broken – aren’t they always? And I was just there, you know. He called me up and asked if we could maybe go for a drink someplace. He needed someone to talk to and he thought I was good at that sort of thing.

    I don’t know, but maybe we drank a little too much. Or maybe I made things happen that shouldn’t have. I held his hand and stroked his fingers and I said he was worth something. And he kissed me when he shouldn’t have, only he wasn’t kissing me really, not in his head. In his head it was Sal he was kissing and a part of me knew that.

    Like when you see someone you know and then you half shut your eyes and they could be anyone then? Well that’s maybe what it was for Rob that night and with his eyes half closed I could be a Sal. Shit, I could be anyone he wanted me to be. We went back to my place and we drank a whole lot more, and we listened to music that made us cry and made us laugh, and we danced a little, holding close to each other as though we was the only two people left in the whole world. And like that the night drifted into morning and we fell into bed together. He was asleep ahead of me and I dared to kiss him then, really kiss him, tasting bourbon and salt tears on his lips and his tongue.

    It was stupid. I know that. He was on the rebound for chrissakes. There’s rules about that. He woke late the next day not knowing where he was and I was still Sal at first, till he found his bearings. He said his head hurt like fuck and he was sorry for everything and maybe he should go. It got messy then. Kissing for real, soft at first and the hard and hot and wet, and tearing off each other’s clothes and a breathless fumbling and fucking.

    He was a good fuck – good for me, at least. And after, when we was laying back and catching our breath and the room had stopped spinning and the sunlight burnished a memory, well then it was something else. Then it was what it was and not what we hoped it would be, what I hoped it would be. Like that moment in the Garden and Adam and Eve are suddenly aware they are naked and what was natural before is suddenly a source of shame; that’s what i think it was for me and Rob.

    He said he was sorry and it wasn’t meant to be like that and he was real sorry. And he swore and sucked in air and ran his fingers through his hair. And he said again he should go. He’d call me, he said. And thanks, he added, gesturing to the empty bourbon bottle and the record still spinning on the turntable and the unmade bed.

    It is what it is, I told him. And I shrugged and I saw him to the door just so he’d maybe kiss me again – and if he did or if he didn’t he’d maybe hear my heart and he’d hear it breaking and for pity’s sake he’d maybe stay. See, I was the one as wanted it to be more than it was. He was fucked up, but no more than anyone is and certainly not so fucked up as I was.

    And after he’d gone I got to thinking and I reckon as hearts aint really hearts unless they is broke or breaking.

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