It hadn't felt like this, last time.
What were the words used? "shadowless?" "antediluvian?"
He still loved her. & therein therein. He had travelled so far without saying a single thing. So easy—what passed for revelation. Borders over kilometers, the queasily florid hotel bar or the calm night wrapped across insipid neon, gold tooth or flip of hair. All it ever, really took was a sincere nod, an ear's quiver. The application then glanced over, stalking that important hasty "can you start now?" & why yes & yes you did. Milk parting crisp amber like a smile frozen in memory. The pure gush of self & stain, measured depths & the warmth that tumbled after, of necessity. Stoned shoulders. Naked thought. The eyes doomed as ice cubes.
Who did the asking? If, was, anything asked? He had lost track, felt absent from the equations. On the street haunted by the math of crowds, clutching hypoteni for their blind self-assurance. He was most assured by absence, by the gravity which builds from it.
And these who intersected him, who overlooked his angles, were comforted as much by his departure as his entrance. Absence it seemed then, more reliable than word.
Jerry Garcia�s guitar stretches �China Cat Sunflower� to the limits of tolerance as I wait for the bathroom. Al is the occupant, putting the finishing touches on his makeup. I�m nineteen, have just got off work, & have absolutely no experience with Halloween. I have grown up with a Christian understanding of Halloween as an illicit celebration of evil spirits, & although by this time I have, god no pun intended knows, turned my back on much of this Christian upbringing, I'm not yet sure that I'm willing to celebrate a pagan holiday. I have no plans, do not consider costumes. I live in a sterile three-bedroom apartment that is built straight up, & as Al steps out onto the stair landing in full costume, I begin to feel left out.
My old dorm buddies, Lee, Sarge, & Dylan, who I still hang out with extensively, have moved into a much larger, but even more sterile, apartment south of town. I give them a call. They are supportive but skeptical of my Halloween non-partisanship. Come hang out with us, they insist, & I know I will. I ask, as nonchalantly as possible, if Sarah will be there. Yes, they say, unsuspecting. Get together a costume, they say. Whatever, throw something together, & I realize I will. It is 7 pm, & I have never put together a Halloween costume.
I am drinking a Labatt's Blue & Dylan bursts out of his bedroom as Neil Diamond, "Coming to America" blaring from the speakers behind him. He is probably seven inches shorter than Neil Diamond & much more rotund & none of this matters in the face of his pure bravado. We all laugh appreciatively & Sarah & I share a knowing look across the living room. Sarah has been hanging out with us a lot lately. She is Dylan's co-worker. He is in love with her & everyone knows this. Sarah & I are falling for each other & Dylan has no idea. We have mastered the art of conversational subtext, couch vast sums of understanding within pauses & seemingly innocuous statements, play subtle games of inflection & body language. Six years later, Dylan, having been ordained over the Internet, will perform Sarah's wedding ceremony. The wedding will be in Chicago & I will not be invited. But of course we do not know this. At this point we know only our games, that at least two friendships are at stake in these games, & we are not yet sure if we want to win, or what winning means.
