A tale: Torn between two blonds.

Nothing is going to happen, let me start out by saying that. I walked out of my apartment thinking the headlights where on in my car. They weren’t, it was a trick played by the sun setting, I looked into my headlights like a deer roused, I turned upwards towards the iridescent orange and pink glow of our holy star painting itself over the rooftops of duplex’s. I noticed Blond #1 sitting on her porch a story above the rest of us on little street. She sat there unaware and I didn’t look at her long enough for her to notice me, I was to nervous to be noticed, words would be required and my foolish heart displayed on my sleeve sometimes screamed.

Little street was a neighborhood, a random happening of heads that laid themselves to the left of Forest Park. The first house on little street acquired inhabitants that comprised of a dear friend Gregory Wordsworth and his roommate, a newspaper man. They both kept there rooms dark except for the glow of computer screens as they typed furious truth and fiction into the rebel night.

A block up on little street lived Blond #2 in a blue house with a red door with the seal of a griffin carved into it. My knuckles never wrapped on the griffin because she was involved with a bad tattooed, big side burned dullard. Blond #2 is moving in twenty days and all our sidewalk talks were left to be obscure as the smells of the paper mills that fill the humid air that night.

We all worked together (with the exception of the newspaper man) at a beer parlor named Yellow. It was tucked in one the corner’s of downtown, a place seldom seen by the tourist, catering to the local drunks and do nothings. Havana was an art community soaked in falsetto artist and refugees.

I was caught in limbo, in the middle of nothing and everything. Out my apartment door, away from my typewriters, pens and keyboards lay decisions and emotions I was not prepared to deal with. To the left lay Blond #1, from a town called Destine, a kind gentle women with the softest blue eye’s that where made to melt romantics hearts. She wasn’t for the chew and screw, this was a women you sat down with and read volumes of. To the right was the Midwest milk maid from Missouri with her cow brown eyes, also known as Blond #2. At work between me getting the drunks further into madness, we would chat and flirt with our eyes, laugh with our smiles and never make a single action from chaos to the bedroom in search of truth. It was hard to turn the two being torn between them. Her with her salt lake eyes on the clearest morning made oceans halt into large puddles or was I in the eyes of the milk made, dark as if been burnt before by fire.

Saturday night we all went out for drinks, Blond #1, Blond #2 and one of the mangers from work who is interested in all of the girls that we worked with but had taken a fancy to Blond #2 this evening. Since I arrived in this town I have had a feeling for Blond #1 and tonight my attention was focused to her. We sat at an after hours bar sipping on the round I just purchased while the bourbon appetizer I ordered for myself wasn’t sitting so well. My face was smiles and nervousness as I tried to talk over the chatter of the mindless bar clatter to get closer to the blue abyss and bliss of Blond #1. We where all interrupted by a palm rose peddling Trinidadian by way of Harlem singing the gospels of love, giving and the dance of midnight flesh. K.C. was his name, without the sunshine band as he said. K.C. swung advice about fishing for women with bait of carnal desires and how it won’t work with liquor (southern woman can out drink your Yankee blue jeans), but how to bait beauty was with honesty and intelligence. I gave him five dollars for his philosophy and palm leaf flower. I gave the flower to Blond #1 and the Manger gave his two Blond #2. K.C. was gone just like every momentary interesting person you have ever met. I decided to have another drink and sat a bit to think. The hours where slipping into morning so we decided to leave and let living to another day. I offered to give Blond#1 a ride home and we drove in silence with the night breeze calming our nervous energy, I wanted kisses and affection when she was still a mystery. I walked Blond #1 to her door and she sat two steps above me and then leaned down and gave me a hug, I was still hanging on the silence while thoughts exploded like silent fireworks inside my head. I turned and started walking down little street towards Gregory’s and the newspaper man’s house hoping they would have something to put me to sleep tonight. I passed under the over hang of Spanish moss and weeping willows to find Blond #2 out walking her dog, she still had that helium air to her, so light and I hanging like a stone of Jupiter’s gravity. A quick obscure conversation transpired that amounting to a hill of beans so I spilt and walked on to Gregory’s cursing myself into another senseless night.

Gregory let me in laughing because I was here again, like most nights talking about my cursed ways with women. He poured a healthy glass of bourbon and we enjoyed a smoke. I thanked him kindly for his companionship and sleep-aid’s and walked home to fall asleep alone inside the silence with the rest of the souls of little street.

Truth comes in dreams. I dream an episode of the blond’s to which I have never expressed to either of them how it is to have there thoughts roll around my head, and if I were to tell them they would surely run away. In my dream, Blond#2 stretched like taffy over the horizon all the way back to her milk farm in Missouri. She was gone in a plasma blaze as I tried to hold on to any part of her, my hands slipped threw the whistles being she was, gone and only an image, leaving the sky and pastures and cream for coffee. I decided to go for a walk in the ocean, past the manatees, sea urchins and mermaids I found an anchor in the shape for Blond #1 in the depths of the darkest waters having walked blindly uncharted, I wondered how I stumbled on it. I could only feel her presence and trust in my good senses that she was there attached to some giant ship using only her essence to pull her up, leave and only land where she was told. I wish to never wake from this dream and wonder the floors of the ocean endlessly, to breath beneath the waves.



~ by Aumbeche Rishi on January 7, 2007.

2 Responses to “A tale: Torn between two blonds.”

  1. awesome!

  2. ok, very awesome!

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