(Gasoline and Perfume cont., page 2)

The city pulses.  A deep throbbing industrial beat that batters at coherence.  Alcohol just tops it off, pushing me one more shuffling staggering step closer to the edge.  But, she has to see this.  I have to see it.  That it really does work sometimes.  There is happiness to be found in the moment. In experience.  Action.  The doing of life.  There has to be.  Otherwise, how is any of this worth it?

We stumble through the cold, her hand warming mine, my pulse matching hers as a subtle warmth spreads.  She giggles.  “Where’re we going?”

“Not sure.  But somewhere,” I glance back and grin. “To do something.”

Ghuehwurm023 ©2004 Ingrid Swillens
She laughs out loud at that.  “Reassuring.  Very.”

A doorway, warmth spilling out on vibrant strains of music.  I veer in.

Darkness.  Tiny pools of light scattered among dark tables, dark faces turned toward the dim stage lined by votive candles burning low.  Piano, violin, guitar and trumpet vie for control of a loose, haunting music.  We drop into a couple of empty seats.

“What is this place?”  Her eyes wander over the audience.  The intensity of their concentration matching that of the music pouring from the musicians.  “The music is beautiful.”  She turns toward me.  “And the people here… they’re beautiful too.”

I agree.  The passion that flows is not easy to take.  Ambrosia for the senses.  Grand ideas.  This is beyond that.  This is divine.  Here something exists that has no definition.  For all I know, it has come into being only for us; right now, right here.  The light diffuses in the heat, giving everyone a copper sheen.  No one is any more than the next, all beauty and sublime grace.  The tilt of their heads, eyes half closed, lips parted and moist.  

I look at her.  Age gone, despair gone.  The charged atmosphere filling her with a light that takes her beyond where she thinks she is.  Her beauty is enhanced and I realize I want her.  I want to show her that there is happiness in the now.  I want her to show me.

She turns to the band.  The piano stomps out a chromatic swing while the guitar flashes blue tinged flamenco.  Violin weeps out over and through the chords, pulling out notes into a mourning wail.  The trumpet softly rasps under it all, a scat chant calling all to listen.  So many musics combined, it sings out a universal praise of humanity.  It shivers with restrained potential and spills out over into bliss.  Seduction, arousal and climax over and over and over.  I begin to sweat, hands shaking I find myself being led out of the light.  

A dark alcove.  I peer into those ageless eyes and see a fire.  Desire.  I reach for her.  Our mouths collide all tongues and teeth and hungry lips as the music rains down on us, the notes amber and scented wine.  Her breath cinnamon hot, spiced sweat as I find her neck, follow the elegant curves.

The world fades and all we are is the moment.  The music leads us as we grope in the dark, clothes and fingers tangled.  Slick skin and straining muscles.  Her body glides on mine, obliterating everything.  We burst through the ceiling that was never there and spin round and round each other, touching and tasting and feeling for the first time in forever.  I am in her and am her.  I let her in and feel that connection, that spark, that tickle deep down in the soul that is so shocking in its rarity.  Its depth and completeness.  The overwhelming vulnerability and temporary yet utter trust.  Here is my body it is yours, ours, mine.

Her breath ragged in my ear. I pull her into me, through me as her muscles contract and release.  A flowing liquid rhythm pushing me over into ecstasy.  I come into her, shivering and alive and know that I have kissed the face of god and lain naked in the arms of heaven.  In her.  

We tumble to the floor as the music ends.  Silence.  

The trumpet sounds a muted tone that stretches out into forever and doubles back, echoed by the violin.  Piano and guitar sketch chords that trail glitterstars.  I lead her back to the table.

Quiet, hushed.  Her eyes downcast.  A smirk plays at the corner of her mouth.  “Well…” She gazes at me, bewilderment and confusion. “I don’t know what just happened.”

I light a cigarette, passing it to her.  Put another to my lips. Watch the flame dance, paper curling back as the tobacco catches.  “Forgot to think.”  Exhale a pale blue stream.  “Thank you.  I thought I had forgotten what life felt like.”

She shoots me a devils grin.  “Living for the moment, eh?”  Looks up at the stage.  “The music reminded me that there is more than just getting by, more than following dreams.  There is being.  Ya know?”

“Yeah.  Let life get in the way and then you start missing it.”

“Rushing to catch up and never quite getting there.”

I run with it, realizing a truth, riffing on a tangent: “All these choices we make. Everything - the good things and the things that leave us nauseous and looking for the razor blade – all these things add up to who we are.  Take any of that out, deny any of it and you become something less.  You become gray, a nonperson.”  Heavy drag of the cigarette.  Maybe this is part of her answer.  “You don’t have to be proud of it all, but don’t deny it.”

“Why not?”

That stops me for a moment.  A hell of a lot of people are just fine with being gray.  They’re happy.  I light another cigarette.  They maybe even know that they aren’t real and are just fine with it.  Can that be?  Jesus.  Fuck.  “Because then it isn’t worth it.  Then all that suicide bullshit makes sense.  Then just fuck it all.  Fuck yourself and everyone that loves you.  Psychological, emotional suicide.  That spark, the fire, was never there in the first place.”

“Something divine.  Being human.  Really truly living.”  She looks away, sighs.  “Perhaps.”  Meek, little girl semi acknowledgement.

I shake my head.  “Damn, we are seriously piss poor philosophers.  Always talking about things we’ll never know and trying to prove the obvious.”

We both laugh, the light back in her eyes. I notice something. “Why do you wear that ring around your neck?” A perfect whitegold circle on a black cord knotted so that it lies flat against the base of her throat. She pauses to consider, a finger caressing the ring.

“I gave it to a friend a long time ago.” She gets a small smile at the corner of her lips, “A long time ago… but, it somehow ended back with me. Why do I wear it?” She gives me that mischievous look again. “I wear it because it reminds me that promises get broken. And that others are kept and that there is never really any relation in the reasoning of the two.”

I see a man behind the bar, tucked back under a staircase that rises into the smoke.  I look at her.  She really is beautiful.  “I’ll be right back.”

I return with a couple of dark green bottles.  The labels say cider, but the pale liquid tastes like tequila.  She waves a finger, eyes watering from the fiery liquor.

“Jesus, damn.”  She sputters.  “I have a question for you.  Something that I have been thinking on since I met you.”

I look at her sideways. “Yes?”

“Why do you work in a factory?” Eyes drill in.  I can see her assessing, weighing me against some scale of blue and white that I’m not privy to.

I shrug. “Had a kid at eighteen.  Decided not to be another statistic the county could use and got a job.”  I smile.  “No, it’s not my passion.  But, I get to see a tang… a tangig…damn.”  I giggle, the alcohol biting me in the ass.  Finally.  “Instant gratification.  I see what I made at the end of the day.  A real thing to take pride in.  Besides,” I grin. “I’m not one for a shirt and tie.”

She just looks at me, taking a long drag from her cigarette.  “Oh.  You’re smart enough to be something bigger.”  She shrugs it off.  “Clichéd answer though.  Maybe-.”

“Maybe you should listen.”  What the hell? Bottle slams down on the table, the liquid swirling violent like my insides.  “I said it isn’t my passion.”

“What is your passion?”  Lips tight, eyes narrow.  Dangerous.

Please, please don’t take away what happened.  You gave me the world. You gave me life.  Please don’t do this. But, I’m not mad anymore.  I’m silent.  Fuck.  How do you explain that life is your passion?  Work is work and mine doesn’t consume me like most.  I have time to live.  Or at least chasing down life for the brief moments like tonight when I can feel it, feel everything.  Or maybe I’m just bullshitting myself.  And the absurd, hysterically ironic thing?  None of it really matters.  All this philosophy is only so much bullshit.  Actions speak louder than words and both are so far above thought and ideas… jesus.  Fuck it.  My head pounds.

She laughs. “You look lost.”

“I feel kinda lost…” My head spins. The smoke and music and conversation only emphasize the scent that has been driving me crazy all night. And with her sitting so close and the room so hot and the air so heavy, it is overpowering. I put my head in my hands and let out a little moan.

“Maybe we should go.” Concern creeps into her voice. ‘Oh, the poor little boy can’t handle it’.

Fuck. “Yeah…yeah, that might not be a bad idea.” I feel my thoughts slur even before they become words.

Out into the cold night. The scent washes me once more. Gasoline and perfume. We climb back into the Toyota and speed down the streets. Autumn storm turns winter.  Angry lake tears at the breakwalls.

* * * * *

My building looks so small hidden among the towers and campus buildings along Harrison and Halsted. She pulls up, and helps me out. I stagger through the gate and up the stairs, fumbling for my keys. All coherence gone.  A jumble of half-formed memories.  And that damn scent driving me crazy crazy crazy.

I open the door, leaving the keys to fend for themselves in the dirty hallway.  Half drag her in after me. Long brown and gold hair matted from the rain and dark and fog. The phone rings.

“Please wait.” But she’s already back through the door, taking the scent and the light with her.

I grab up the phone. “Fuck you.” Slam it back down, missing the base by a good foot. I turn and lurch through the door, trying to see her through the dusty dark. Back down the stairs. I finally catch her at the gate.

Dame Blue ©2004 Ingrid Swillens

The rain comes hard. Lightning streaks the sky above the antennas and radio towers, bringing the whole street into glaring clarity. The furtive movement of the night inhabitants.

She spins as I grab her arm. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The thunder punctuates her whispered words.

I regain a moment of clear thought. Run past her to open the car door. She looks at me with that smile. Her scent blasts my mind once more.

“Thanks.” I close the door and turn back towards my apartment.

Through the gate and up the stairs. I rescue my keys as I place the abused phone back on the hook. I hear a knock. It takes a moment to register and comes again. Taptaptap. I hope and pray and hope.  The door opens without me realizing I’m going through the motions, my numbed brain on auto.

Tiny laugh lines train the rain to follow their curves off her face. Without a word, she leans into me and our lips meet. A fire runs through me. Her scent. An angel. A goddess. A strong woman.

She puts her arms around me and speaks into my chest, ”I’ve never had anyone do that for me before. Thank you.”

I grope for words, my mind failing me. ”You deserve so much…”

She lets a low, quiet sob, slip through her lips. ”I can’t drive anymore. I don’t want to drive anymore. Please don’t make me. You reminded me that life is here; you just have to live it.  Really live it full on and throw yourself into it without too much thought.  That’s the only way to catch that little patch of divine set aside for you.”

I can’t answer. The only moment in my life when I can feel, actually feel the physical passage of time as my neurons fail to fire, fail to make the connection with my mouth. The only thing I can do is silently stroke her hair.

“Promise me you’ll call… promise.” She looks up into my eyes. Tears blend so perfect with the rain and pain and anguish. She turns and disappears.

* * * * *

I lift the phone, dial a number.  It rings.  I know there won’t be an answer.  A click and a long tone.

“Hi.  It’s me.”  My voice breaks.  I pause, listen to the crackling silence.  “You just left and I didn’t want you to.” I light a cigarette.  “So, when you get this, please come back.”