Monday, July 13, 2009
Taking an X-Ray
She stretches and yawns, and the morning does likewise. The square of sunlight coming through the window looks very logical and precise, like God is about to take an x-ray of her ass, and has begun to inch up the length of her frame. Over the course of the night, she had twisted and coiled the sheets around herself and finally came to rest in such a position that she is now scarcely covered by any of them, though she is somewhat bound by them. She does that every night. Her pajamas are makeshift. She sleeps in a ratty old Bad Religion t-shirt and some track shorts. As she lays on her side, I’m admiring the right leg of her shorts, which has ridden up, exposing the entirety of her right flank and a great deal of her panties. She is still very asleep and completely oblivious. Right now, I’m quietly listening to music through headphones. I’m listening to forget myself and become transparent in the moment. For this purpose, I like the music to be somewhat vapid and shallow, but with sufficient ennui and emotional complexity that it does not offend the palate. Joy Division is ideal. I like it to remind me of what I aspire to be, but never will: smooth, clean, refined, and debonair. I’m watching her with envy. I can never be that content. I can never be that beautiful. I’m an ugly man. Whenever I touch her, I ruin her a little bit. Even if she enjoys it, a small amount of my ugliness lingers with her. It makes me feel shameful, and I want to apologize for myself. I’ll continue to sit here for a while. The gym doesn’t open for another 40 minutes.