Monday, July 4, 2011

How Can You (Meld A Broken Heart)

(Alternative Image for Aquarius, 2011)

Looking over my fire escape, I see a couple arguing below. The view is mostly of the top of their heads, hand and arm gestures are the only physical signs of distress as one moves closer and farther away from the other.
"What, NOO, I'm not leaving, I got my own things to do", says the man as he crosses the street.
"But we're not done here", says the woman as she points down to the ground where her feet rest.
"We're done talking."
"NO. No, we're not. You're coming back here." (points to the ground)(again)
(Man fishes through his pockets with as much grace as he can muster for his car keys)
"We'll,...we'll talk later."
"Oh, no, every time, it's always the same, with YOU."
"What does that mean!"
"Oh, I think you know exactly what that means..."
"You're never going to let it up. Now. Are. YOU."
(The man points his finger to the woman and grins, he appears to using his finger as a weapon, this weapon being a pistol of some sorts and he is pulling his thumb back to load the chamber with a round)
(The woman looks down to the ground, as if in surrender before she jolts both shoulders in a wave-like matter, letting the wave travel through to her arms before it leave through her fingers. She now has two pistols pointing to the man.)
"Whooo, now." (He's sweating in the high noon sun) "No need for that. We're just talking."
"Sooooo, now you F-E-E-L like talking."
"Do I have a choice?" the man says with a hint of sincerity.
"COME HERE NOW", the woman waves her two pistol fingers to the ground as if she was sticking up a bank.
(a pause)
(The man thinks...)
(another pause)
"NO!, not this time, you can't control me", says the man.
"HERE NOW!", she continues.
(not a word from the man)
(the man puts his pistol fingers to the ground then presents his chest with two arms ready for liftoff)
"You'll just have to shoot me."
(A bird flies just above them, it cries out before it drops a white drop of shit between the arguing couple)
(A long silence grows, they're both thinking of all the next steps, in every possible alternative universe. The tension is strung so tightly, I climb into my window and look with peering eyes, I am afraid.)
"Come'on. This is silly." says the man breaking the silence with his palms flipped skyward.
"How. Do. We. Forgive...." she says just before she turns to tears.
(All while keeping her pistol fingers towards him, there is a strain in holding them to him.)
(The Man slowly approaches the woman, hands still palm up, ready to give peace a chance.)
"I know, we've been through all of this, our neighbors think we're crazy, they're probably watching"
(With her words I close the blinds and continue to peer through the openings.)
"We're not crazy, we're not crazy like those nuts down there (points to the mental hospital in the distance), no, we're crazy for each other."
"But. but"
(The man is now inches before the woman, her pistols are dug into his chest)
"Shhh...." the man says as he uses his index finger to seal her lips.
(The two embrace each other, and hold still for a moment before gyrating their hips in unison, one moves forward, the other takes them in, then in reserve order, over and over in this odd Lynchian slow dance.)
(An hour passes, a few cars honk as they pass by, I return to my normal sitting arrangement on the escape, and somewhere in that time I picked my book back up and resume my business, with them still in that gyrating embrace, close to the middle of the road.)
I look yonder, the birds are chirping, the wind blows through my hair. I decide to whistle my favorite Al Green song.

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