The Death of the Dregs
def: a small amount of residue
The Lover's
Posted by b on 2:40 PM
Her hair rested on her shoulders, thrown on her like reddish-black ribbons, her perfect little shoulders and her perfect body forced against his. He couldn't see anything but her perfect oval eyes. He grabbed at her waist and pushed it against his own. He was lost in her smell. It smelt like fruit. It smelt like life. He felt dizzy and reminded himself he was in an airport. They drank coffee there. He looked around at the huge terminal. He was surrounded by blue and gray. She was wearing pink shirts. Hot pink. They were tight. They were in love. He couldn't believe his eyes. She couldn't believe how astounding he was. All you need to know about him was that he was happy. She couldn't believe what she held in her arms. So she said. He was a complete statue of a man that bore no resemblance to Michelangelo, her Thinker, kissing her, loving her, melting her. Broken English never sounded so beautiful.
They stopped. They looked at each other. He picked up his bag. They walked to the carousel. She helped him carry his load out to the street. From there they hailed a taxi. They took it downtown, towards the Museums, towards people. They got to the hotel. They both knew it was wrong. The cab let them out. They walked up to the counter, made the reservations. Stayed in room 3-02. Bonjour, her first words echoed in the back of his mind. They climbed the stairs, for there was no elevator. It was a shitty hotel in a nice part of town. They didn't care about the dust. They didn’t even notice the smell. They were together, alone. All they did was lie on the bed. The shadows danced all around them and all they did was lie there. The window on the one side of the room let in some moonlight. They were happy, so much happier than either of them had ever been before. If they had ever wished, ever hoped, for something, this was it. They were together. They could've died in their sleep. They would have lived through the memory. She fell asleep that way, resting against the pillow. Her eyes were shut. He looked at her. Slowly he raised a hand to her face. Gently, he brushed the hair from her head, pushing it to the side. She breathed slightly. He moved. Looking up at the ceiling, wishing he could see the French sky, realizing it was nothing different from the sky he had at home. He turned and held her, he held her so tight he thought she might wake up. She didn't. She lay there, so tired from the day before. Alluding her boyfriend. Making sure he didn't find out where she would be that night, making sure he would be alone, telling him in French she was with a friend. Not at some dusty hotel room in Paris, waiting for her lover, waiting to be saved from a life she didn't want. He showed up, announced and invited, loved until the very last breath.
They woke up. The sun burned them as they lay in bed. The blankets were tossed to the side as their naked bodies ascended from the bed. They stood by the sink. He stood in front, looking at the mirror, wondering. How had he arrived? What had he done to get here? It was no easy task. How many lives had he ruined in the balance? How many things did he do wrong? She hugged him around the waist, his thoughts dissipated. He didn't care because he was with her. So he stood there. Looking in the mirror, caressing her body with his hands, feeling the perfection, wishing she spoke no English, never knowing that what he wanted was unattainable.
They walked out, the sunlight greeting them unpleasantly.
They both winced at the sight. They were at some perfect little corner bakery. She did the ordering. Somehow, he was turned on because she was ordering for him. He didn't speak French. He couldn’t tell an egg from a salad. He probably would have eaten anything. They sat outside at the cafe, drinking coffee, staring. Not knowing what to say, neither one wanting to speak. He paid in American dollars, she laughed. The laugh. It was beautiful. Like listening to a symphony of a million instruments. Beautiful. They got up from the table. Across the street was the University where she had been for a year, studying English. He wanted to visit, see what it was like because he thought he might live there.
Did she want him? She said she did. As they crossed the street, clouds passed overhead and there was no sun. She shivered in the shadows and he glanced skyward. They were walking and that wonderful sky was the last thing they would ever see. They saw nothing else, there was no flashback, no review on what they had lived. She shivered and the world froze. She knew, at that moment, that she must look strange. He looked upward, he saw the clouds pass over the sun, saw the bleak nature of what he had done, realized in a sickening instant on what he had left behind, half-way wishing he had stayed. Then the car hit. It was a black car, a large car large enough to throw them over the top of it. Then they landed, a few feet behind it. The screeching of the black car's brakes was the last thing they heard. They landed on top of each other. They lay there, lazily. They both loved it. So they held hands, blood issuing forth from both their lips.
Lying, they told each other it would be ok. People rushed around them, in a circle. They loved them. They looked down, amazed. They moved closer, their bones all broken. They looked at each other, the blood burning their eyes. They moved their lips together, the blood dripping and dripping, the pain crippling them, killing them. They knew they would die, they knew they were gone. They loved it and they loved it.
They stopped. They looked at each other. He picked up his bag. They walked to the carousel. She helped him carry his load out to the street. From there they hailed a taxi. They took it downtown, towards the Museums, towards people. They got to the hotel. They both knew it was wrong. The cab let them out. They walked up to the counter, made the reservations. Stayed in room 3-02. Bonjour, her first words echoed in the back of his mind. They climbed the stairs, for there was no elevator. It was a shitty hotel in a nice part of town. They didn't care about the dust. They didn’t even notice the smell. They were together, alone. All they did was lie on the bed. The shadows danced all around them and all they did was lie there. The window on the one side of the room let in some moonlight. They were happy, so much happier than either of them had ever been before. If they had ever wished, ever hoped, for something, this was it. They were together. They could've died in their sleep. They would have lived through the memory. She fell asleep that way, resting against the pillow. Her eyes were shut. He looked at her. Slowly he raised a hand to her face. Gently, he brushed the hair from her head, pushing it to the side. She breathed slightly. He moved. Looking up at the ceiling, wishing he could see the French sky, realizing it was nothing different from the sky he had at home. He turned and held her, he held her so tight he thought she might wake up. She didn't. She lay there, so tired from the day before. Alluding her boyfriend. Making sure he didn't find out where she would be that night, making sure he would be alone, telling him in French she was with a friend. Not at some dusty hotel room in Paris, waiting for her lover, waiting to be saved from a life she didn't want. He showed up, announced and invited, loved until the very last breath.
They woke up. The sun burned them as they lay in bed. The blankets were tossed to the side as their naked bodies ascended from the bed. They stood by the sink. He stood in front, looking at the mirror, wondering. How had he arrived? What had he done to get here? It was no easy task. How many lives had he ruined in the balance? How many things did he do wrong? She hugged him around the waist, his thoughts dissipated. He didn't care because he was with her. So he stood there. Looking in the mirror, caressing her body with his hands, feeling the perfection, wishing she spoke no English, never knowing that what he wanted was unattainable.
They walked out, the sunlight greeting them unpleasantly.
They both winced at the sight. They were at some perfect little corner bakery. She did the ordering. Somehow, he was turned on because she was ordering for him. He didn't speak French. He couldn’t tell an egg from a salad. He probably would have eaten anything. They sat outside at the cafe, drinking coffee, staring. Not knowing what to say, neither one wanting to speak. He paid in American dollars, she laughed. The laugh. It was beautiful. Like listening to a symphony of a million instruments. Beautiful. They got up from the table. Across the street was the University where she had been for a year, studying English. He wanted to visit, see what it was like because he thought he might live there.
Did she want him? She said she did. As they crossed the street, clouds passed overhead and there was no sun. She shivered in the shadows and he glanced skyward. They were walking and that wonderful sky was the last thing they would ever see. They saw nothing else, there was no flashback, no review on what they had lived. She shivered and the world froze. She knew, at that moment, that she must look strange. He looked upward, he saw the clouds pass over the sun, saw the bleak nature of what he had done, realized in a sickening instant on what he had left behind, half-way wishing he had stayed. Then the car hit. It was a black car, a large car large enough to throw them over the top of it. Then they landed, a few feet behind it. The screeching of the black car's brakes was the last thing they heard. They landed on top of each other. They lay there, lazily. They both loved it. So they held hands, blood issuing forth from both their lips.
Lying, they told each other it would be ok. People rushed around them, in a circle. They loved them. They looked down, amazed. They moved closer, their bones all broken. They looked at each other, the blood burning their eyes. They moved their lips together, the blood dripping and dripping, the pain crippling them, killing them. They knew they would die, they knew they were gone. They loved it and they loved it.