With a J
It was too warm in her apartment, which only added to my discomfort. She watched me with a puzzled look from the other end of the sofa.
"You're nineteen. I'm well over twice your age. I mean, I'm flattered, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't attracted to you, but it isn't fair to you. A young, beautiful, creative woman like you should be dating people in her own circle, people without so much baggage. You don't know what you want to do with your life, and I've already lived mine."
She sighed deeply and closed her eyes. The candles guttered on the table behind her. "But I'm an adult, and I've told you a dozen times that none of that matters to me—"
"I know!" I cut her off. "But I have to do what is right, and this is what I have to do." I started to feel dizzy, only partly from the heat, and closed my own eyes. Suddenly I had trouble remembering her name.
"Well, then," came her voice, "it sounds like you've made up your mind, Mister Sense of Responsibility. I guess I can go ahead and take off my clothes without it changing your mind."
There was a rustling of fabric and movement on the couch. I started to say something and tried to open my eyes. I felt my arms and legs growing heavy, my breathing became labored, and gravity returned. By the time I got them open, I was staring through dim light at the slow turning of the ceiling fan over my bed. A thick layer of gray dust coated the leading edge of each blade.
"God damn it," I muttered to the cats. "I can't even catch a break in my dreams?!"
My melancholy stillness was shattered by the buzzing whine of my alarm clock, growing louder each moment. The covers were tossed aside, scattering cats, and I swung my legs over the edge and stood up. Or rather, tried to stand up. My calves were suddenly gripped in tremendous cramps, a Charley horse in each leg simultaneously. I reflexively straightened them out, throwing off my balance and pitching me headfirst onto the hardwood floor.
"Fuck!" I shouted, loud enough that the neighbors no longer needed to wait for their own alarm clock. "Thwack!" was the floor's response as I hit. "Tweet!" went the invisible cartoon birds circling my head. "Eeeeeeeeee!" said the aggressively loud clock radio toward which I was now staggering, alternately clutching my temple and my legs. "Click" was the switch as I shut the damned thing off.
I flopped heavily back on the bed and watched the blades whirl as I waited for the pain to subside. "What was her name again? Something with a J, Eastern European, I think. We met at a museum, and went to a cheesy carnival. She had a laugh like church bells in the distance. Something with a J..."
[February 22, 2007]
