You
never noticed how calming, refreshing and comforting it was to wake up with a
back in front of you or a small body curled up under your armpit; a head
resting against your naked nipple; the fabric of your oversized shirt or the
small, cotton, always available tank top that girls of partying and modern days
packed in their purses; as common as tampons, make-up, and cell phone chargers.
When you woke up by yourself you were more spread, yes; but it was only so you
could feel as if there was nothing you couldn’t touch or didn’t control in your
domain; that you could stretch yourself thin as you did over your bed;
occupying yourself with enough things to where you tricked your mind into
thinking that you needed more space than you really did; that nothing of yours
could be shared or understood by another human being. Only when you woke up
with another person in sight; another body to occupy the space and take the
burden off your stretching mind; you could sit there; smiling to yourself and
tracing your hand over the upper back tattoo that you had not noticed the first
time around; a rose bursting with leaf pads to its right and left; not colored
in because of lack of money but, now, after years of procrastination; an
expression of artistic integrity and old times. Only here could you say that it
was easier this way; to have someone to share the space of life with you.
Robert laid with both eyes open; as
wide awake as he could be after a long session of passion, sweat, and careless
love that could only be experienced when two souls, not looking forward to
anything and delaying the questions to the next day, met and decided to lay
down together. It had not been too careless though; as he had remembered pulling
out and the whole ordeal; which, remembering in and of itself, was something to
proud of when drinks were involved. She was still sleeping and, as he traced
his hand back and forth along his back; not too rough so as not to wake her; he
envied that she could sleep so soundly and cursed his working schedule for
making nine o’clock seem like sleeping in.
As if in a trance, Robert withdrew
his hand; his bachelor mind coming back to him and yelling at him to slow down
and remember that someone could still come off as a creep after sex; reminding
him of the annoying, loud, call to pray mosque alarm clock that his father had
gotten him after a trip to Kuwait. He wanted to ignore the voice but, as with
many young, commitment drudging men of his generation, it was easier to have
options and write off the settling habits of generations before him than
actually give any of those opinions the proper time or analysis; to even think
that it would be something he would want. As with anything there was too that
prejudice of over thinking and analyzing that came with his profession. In this
case, his want to remove himself from that prejudice, helped him to appreciate
the night for the good time that it was; to remove his hand from her smooth
back and wander to make coffee in the kitchen.
The light clawed itself against the
closed, beige shutters that Robert had not opened within the last week; trying
to creep in and replace the artificial light that Robert had a bad habit of
leaving on. Right now, though, he did not need or want any light; as his eyes
were still adjusting and his head was resting; fearing that light would trigger
the little neurons and dehydration cells that were stuck at grand central
station; waiting to go to work and make themselves known. The cool water from his refrigerator would
keep them at bay for a little while; hitting his lips and reminding him of a
morning summer jog on a boardwalk and the salty, steady breeze that one never
got used to and always wanted if they lived in the desert. His decently cleaned
plastic cup rested in his hand and prompted him to look up; exalted and reminiscent
of his conquest last night; urging him to pick up his phone and post something
obnoxious that his buddies would high five him for and his mom would scorn him
for. A common consequence, though, of any memory laden night was that there was
always a dead phone at the end of it and the black, addicting black square on
his fake granite counter top next to unopened mail was no exception.
For a moment he felt disconnected
and isolated; instinctively pressing the middle, on button; hoping for the
screen to light up, his finger to slide across and to see something that
pointed to someone caring about him. After plugging it in, though, he appreciated
seeing the environment around him; wanting to take in the weekend morning that
he so often looked forward too but did not appreciate. He wished for a second
that the phone wouldn’t turn back on with text messages from Kevin, Derek or
Ben; asking him where in Scottsdale they were going to meet up for the evening.
He wished to be caught only in the past few hours; reliving the after morning
feeling of conquest, sipping on freshly brewed coffee, enjoying conversation
with an interesting woman, contemplating the thought of brunch in his head. It
was all perfect because it was simple and he knew what to do; there was nothing
open ended or foreign about it because that was never how it was when you were
enjoying yourself. The cruel part about it was that you knew how perfect it was
when it was going on and, unless you could pause the moment, it would go away
as quickly as it had come.
