February 22, 2004

Running Late

Yesterday at 6 o’clock in the evening I rushed outside with two bananas in my hand. I waited until 6pm just to be sure I’ll be late for my 6:30 meeting with Heather — the walk from my house to the university usually takes a good 45 minutes.

Once I got on the street, I put the bananas in my left pocket, straightened my coat, and started running like a madman. I ran and ran until something inside me hurt, and when I slowed down the dusk was sublime, and the sky endless and silver.

I smiled, unbuttoned my coat, and let the gusts of wind lift me up in the air. The evening was pleasant and reminded me of the times I drifted alone through the snow as a child — the skies then were also silver and endless. I felt so happy I wanted to die.

“I’m growing all nostalgic,” I told Heather on our way to the cinema. She was also late and didn’t want either of my bananas.

“I think that Brian is trying to kill me,” I told her with a crazy-ass smile on my face.

She convinced me that I was silly and I continued eating my banana.

Movie

Heather watches movies in the same squirmy way I watch them: the slightest wisps of violence contorts my body and makes me avert my eyes, and since I wasn’t watching the screen I watched Heather doing the same.

The Cooler was raw at times, and Heather found it depressing. She always wants to be happy, so we stopped at Jane Bond and I told her about Sodom, de Sade, and the most disgusting movie ever made.

Jane Bond serves martinis, we figured, because it is Jane Bond. The drinks came and we spent the next two hours in argument until my voice grew shrill. She called me subversive.

“You should work within the system,” she said.

“I must create [my own] system,” I wanted to scream, quoting Blake, “or be enslaved by another man’s!” but I remembered she thought Blake was mad.

To revenge myself upon her, I ate the fruits in her martini, and we continued talking about the body, nudity, and murder.

“I want Brian to kill me,” I said. “It would do us both good.”

I went on to tell her that I wanted to help Brian resolve the tension inside his own head, and this might be the easiest way to reach some resolution.

Jeff

On our way out of Jane Bond we ran into Jeff who did not run into his friends, so we took him with us to the Huether. Jeff was quiet and hungry.

“This is my body,” I offered.

Jeff didn’t want transubstantiation, only tea.

“How do I get Brian to kill me?” I asked him. “I crave an intimate connection between the two of us, and murder might just be it.”

“You could just ask him,” Heather suggested.

“That’s too easy.”

I bought them candy, and when Jeff unwrapped his it looked like a fragile and delicate orifice, a bleeding anus opening into some unknown depth. He didn’t want to eat it, so I did.

When Jeff left for work, I was sorry to see him go. I grew restless, and threw paper and coffee beans at Heather, until the waitresses were vexed and we had to run out into the street.

We were walking back towards the university, talking about loneliness and despair, when I offered her my second banana.

“I want to simplify my life,” I said.

Late at night when I got home, I slowly pealed the banana Heather didn’t want and ate it hungrily all the while craving something different.