I'm Not Ready For This Sort Of Thing

The pot whistles as the water comes to a boil, but Anna hushes it so it won't wake Adam. She pours the piping hot liquid into a white mug (the one that has the little chip on the edge by which she once minimally injured her bottom lip). Her bare feet hardly make a sound on the linoleum as she walks across the kitchen for the tea, a spoon, and her Honey Bear honey.

For now, she sits at her kitchen table, gently stirring and carefully sipping the soothing concoction. Adam's tee shirt covers her frame to about her thigh at which point the cool wooden chair then meets the inside of her knee and gives her legs goosebumps. She couldn't remember when she knew Adam wanted her, but she'd known it fairly confidently for some time. The sex which should have surprised them both, even scared them a little, had become such an inevitability in the backs of both their minds that the normal bout of pre-coital nausea she often experiences never afflicted her.

She wonders if it could ever really be that easy. But then she remembers that it really wasn't all that easy at all. There were tears and bad words and years, days, hours, minutes, and seconds. She wonders how anyone could fall out of love, fall out of waking up feeling good and full. It seems like something one would have to work to do, though she knew that even she had experienced the phenomenon.

Adam was awake the whole time. He heard the pot whistle. He heard her little feet pitter and pat on the linoleum. He heard the spoon spinning in the little white mug. He hated waking up without Savanna even though this would have been the first time he had ever awoken to her. However, he was comforted when he realized he was in her bed; he knew she couldn't have gone far and would certainly be back. She wasn't a dream. She wasn’t running. She wasn't gone.

He climbs out of the bed and performs a quick search for his clothes, picking up only his boxers and pulling them over his hips. He surveys her room. His stomach turns a little as he considers the consequences of turning the doorknob and walking out into Anna's living room, finding her sitting at her kitchen table at the other end. Does she regret it? A deep breath and...

"Good morning," he says, opening the door. She was un-startled. His body relaxes. This isn't a stranger, he reminds himself jovially. What am I even talking about? Why would it be? It's not like I'm in the habit of sleeping with strangers!... He shakes his head to himself.

"Hey," she says, looking up from her mug, smiling as she watches him saunter through her little living room and into her even littler kitchen-slash-diningroom area. "There's hot water on the stove. I'm sorry, I don't have much, but there's tea, some milk in the fridge. If you're hungry, there's cereal...oh, and uhh, I could give your shirt back," she stumbles.

"Don't worry about it," he assures.

With his back to her, he reaches over his head to open the cabinet, pulling out a green mug and then opening up the drawer with assorted utensils in search of a spoon. She watches. She watches the muscles in his arms and back stretch and contract and she feels how those same muscles had felt in her hands just a few hours earlier. Her eyes follow his spine up to his neck and she remembers the soft spot under his ear where he likes to be licked.

"Is there sugar?" he inquires, this time startling her.

"Uhh, under the coffee maker, in that little bowl," she points.

"Is there coffee?" he jokes, picking up the little spoon sticking out of the red sugar bowl.

She laughs, "No," in a defeated tone. "Shut-up! I didn't bring you here to mock my lack of house-keeping!"

"No, the house-keeping is quite good. Everything's nice and clean; it's so clean, there's nothing in here!"

"Just for that, I'm keeping the tee shirt and you're gonna have to give me a damn good reason as to why I should give you this tea bag," she teases, holding up the very last tea bag.

"I think you’ve got me there," he sighs. "I guess the good looks and the charm can only get me so far, right?" he kisses her on the forehead.

"Hmmm, almost..."

And he kisses her cheek, the tip of her nose, her mouth, slowly, and sits down beside her.

"Alright. Fine," she concedes and hands over the lonely tea bag.

"Thank you. That'll do fine in my sugar water," he presses the tea bag against the wall of the mug and watches the color change from clear to yellow to brown.

They sit quietly, each stirring and sipping as if in so sort of choreographed performance, each wondering if the other is thinking the same thoughts.

"How did your parents meet?" Savanna finally says.

Adam pauses as if searching his memory for the cute anecdote his parents surely him at one point about their meeting, falling in love, marrying, the whole nine.

"Yanno, I'm not really sure. I just know my dad was working at the paper at the time."

"They never told you?"

"Or maybe I just never asked," he laughs. "I think he was working at the paper and she was, maybe, like, the friend of a friend of a friend of his editor or something? They had mutual acquaintances? I know he was working at the paper. Either they never told me the story or the story just isn’t very interesting and I’ve since forgotten," he stutters as his hand wanders almost involuntarily to hers, grazing the skin that covers her pinky finger.

"Do they still love each other?" she asks, still stirring her honey into her tea, trying to achieve just the right level of sweetness.

"In some way, I think," Adam answers. "They like each other at least, but, Love? I'm not sure," he explains. "Do yours?"

"No. Love, even Like...even Tolerate, dissolved a long time ago. I remember; I watched," she confesses.

"I'm sorry," he sympathizes, his hand now all but holding hers. "Maybe that's just how it is with people. We're all so indecisive. We're all so picky and needy, but never all at the same time, never harmoniously with each other, so we always spar."

"How do you avoid it, then?" she asks calmly, hiding that his comment had caused a twinge of pain in the hollow of her chest.

"Don't fall in love with anyone you'd actually want to spend the rest of your life with."


**************************************************

Do you ever think about the Library at Alexandria?














"It seems like I should say 'as long as this is love...,' but it's not all that easy so maybe I should..." - Counting Crows Anna Begins

"Because people are so fickle. They fall in love at different angles, so really I could lose you just as quickly as I've gotten you. And that's the kind of thought that makes me nervous and worried if you'll really think I'm worth it, when the rush wears off and you're left with this busted person. But if you tell me you will I will do what I can to believe it..." - Kevin Devine People Are So Fickle

"There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane, he had to fly them. If he flew them, he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to, he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle." - Joseph Heller Catch 22

Wisdom

You still hear that voice
that betrays and berates
and you question your sanity
and curse the fates.
What solace you find
in these trivial traits,
with the guise of satisfaction
they surely create.

But there's no wisdom
in masks or charades,
and no wisdom
in poisons or blades.
The shock of the feeling
reminds you in fades
like the sun and the moon
in their daily trades.

You repeat those words
like incantations
because there are miracles
in recitation,
but that magic's not in syllables;
it's in the sensations;
it's in your blood;
it's in the vibrations.


*************************************************

I can't believe how inactive I've been. It's depressing. It's mostly because work is tiring me out. It's leaving me feeling quite uninspired which means that I either need a vacation or I need a change...or both.

In any event, I started writing this poem back in December / early January. It was only four lines up until about last week. Now it feels about right. It can actually be taken, at least by my count, in two totally contradictory ways. So, have a ball.

I am also trying to honor one of my 2011 goals by writing a new vignette. I just haven't decided whether it's not or even whether it's worthy of posting, but I'd really love to post anything that isn't a poem right now!







"I know there's no wisdom in razors and I know whatever I thought I'd found was really just a mask."

"I bite my tongue every time you come around 'cause blood in my mouth beats blood on the ground." Incubus Blood On The Ground