I woke up ten minutes later than usual, and didn’t bother to climb out of bed until another hour had passed. The minutes ticking had no meaning to me. I had nothing needing to be conquered. The sweater I’d worn for the past three days was cramped up in a stale pile of cigarettes and reeked of the Irish Pub. I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten home last night, but I was sure I’d seen Felix on the street somewhere along the way. As I pulled on the sweater, I clasped my broken watch on my left wrist, and I scrounged around for some quarters to buy a bagel down the street. The watch was a waste of time since it no longer ticked, but then again I didn’t have much use for seconds and minutes anyway. It wasn’t like I ever had any engagements. I figured I should wait until at least noon before I downed my first brew, so I took my time getting my bagel. I saw Jacen Vaughn on my way, and I desperately wished I had something to say. Any sort of conversation would have been fine. I even would have been happy to chat with Yung Li. I was beginning to feel like I was invisible. I decided I’d spend my extra change on a bus ride. It was getting too chilly to walk. As I paid my change, I found an empty seat next to the window. I recalled a conversation I’d heard the other day. A girl I had never seen before was asking directions.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
magdalene
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"What a beautiful day," Margaux thought. It was never clear around there and so Margaux had taken advantage of the day and was sitting on a bench outside of L'Royale, listening. In the distance some kid had pulled the fire alarm and was now screaming laughing down the street. Sirens blared in the distance. But past that, there was something else Marguax heard. Pit pot pit pot pit pot. Recognizable footsteps. Magdalene, Margaux's cousin.
ReplyDelete"I see you decided to get out of bed this morning. The pub having a two for one special?" Marguax asked. She may have been hypocritical, but Margaux could not tolerate waste.
"Oh, my favorite cousin. No I was just coming to visit. I've been thinking about a lot of things lately. Do you remember the recipe of my mom's shortbread?" Magdalene pleaded.
They had grown up together. Magdalene's mother was the sister of Margaux's absent father. They were not related to the La Tiolais' and therefore not related to Margaux, in her eyes. Magdalene was the poor, dirty cousin growing up that Margaux was forced to play with, yet her mother always reminded her how much better they had it, that Marguax should not end up like Magdalene. Despite this, they had had a special bond. They only had each other after all, and there was a striking resemblance. Their auburn hair was identical. People used to call them the "Jupiter twins". But that was a long time ago, and after the falling out, things never really were what they used to be.
"No," Marguax replied shortly. She cursed the weather for having brought her to this meeting.
"Oh, well, I..." Magdalene said.
"Listen, I've got to get back to work. Here's some money for a beer," Margaux retorted.
Magdalene took it reluctantly as Margaux stepped back inside L'Royale. Magdalene stood there for 20 minutes then her heavy footsteps took over and she plodded her way down to the pub.
I'm taking Jojo to that abandoned lot today, the one over by Lu's garage. I promise myself I can get a hot milk at the coffee shop if I go out. I like the ones with almond syrup, but no whipped cream. I hate whipped cream. Anyway, the flipping lot is a let down. This Lu guy must toss all of his reject parts there, and after I decide I don't want to have to take Jojo to get a tetanus shot, we leave.
ReplyDeleteAs soon as we turn onto Pulaski Jojo pulls on his leash. My drink sloshes onto the flannel jacket I've worn the last four days. I think the laundromat should give me a discount for using all of my hot water, but so far my arguments have been unsuccessful.
I guess I wasn't watching where I was walking. I am jolted out of my thoughts when a rude man, cursing worse than my uncle after six rounds of whiskey, runs right into Jojo. Neither Jojo nor the slightly overweight man seem to have noticed, though, so I take a step backward to survey all the people milling around. I don't go out much, but this is ridiculous. I ask the frizzy-haired woman next to me if she knows what is going on. The only response I get is the overwhelming stench of alcohol and cigarettes burned too long. Don't ask me how I know what too long is. But the stench reminds me of home. Warm tears trickle down my numb face as I rush back to my flat, unsure whether they're from the cold or the place I'm running from.