The Entrance

I opened my eyes this morning probably a little drunk on the morning gloom that comes from restless sleep and a slight hangover. I pulled the blinds, some ivory color tinted a sour brown, probably a malady of disuse, the sky is that ubiquitous shade of gray that makes everything seem a little more ambiguous that it really is. I hear a forlorn babie's cry in the next Fla. I look down on the asphalt shaded  a dark black from the early morning rain. Nothing is different even after she died. The kitchen is in a state of frenetic cleanliness the bottles are placed in such an alluring sundry display, the kind you see in an indie film, in which nothing seems real. Surely it is in disarray, but too perfect a disarray. Snaked in between the Grey Goose bottle is my tie, a dropper sits nearby. Nothing really strike me as out of the ordinary yet. I glance around the spartan kitchen. Nothing really nothing is there. The fridge is one of those that you know is from another era, it is the sick pea green color that you would imagine would go well with an orange shag carpet. I open it not really expecting to find anything useful. I wasn't surprised. Half a bottle of cognac and some really old saag paneer. I look around a bit more until I find some  coffee. Taking a small pan and the newly found coffee  I turn the somewhat greasy knob of the oven to light. It doesn't.  ( Probably just the pilot light). Fuck it. I clean up a little, throw some of the bottles into the recycling bin take the dropper and the spoon throwing away the needle and leave a note on the table. Fear is the highest intelligence. Nietzsche.
    The air outside is fetid. My skin is really starting to itch, so I walk to the nearby drug store and buy a tube of hydrocortisone. Outside A few shadowed faces emerge from last nights escapades mostly dressed in anticipation foreshadowing clouds. I unbutton the top buttons of my oxford cloth and squeeze a steady stream of hydrocortisone onto the palm of my hand, It is pleasantly cool on my hand and instantly relaxes the pricks and itches of my chest. My phone vibrates in my baggy corduroys, I answer without bothering to see who it is.

"Yeah"
" Hey Andrew where did you go?"
It's Mary.
" I have class this morning"
" During the summer?"
" Yeah, I am supposedly going to be successful and all"
There was a brief pause. The kind that was never there when we had been close a few months ago.
"Well, will you call me when you get out?"
I couldn't  completly lie to her but I really couldn't tell the truth either.
" If I have a chance, it's her birthday  today you know"
Another silence . It's a lingering and protracted silence a brief expanse of time to allow years of memeories to keep back. Yokio used to say it was the pain of clairvoyance. She was always able to say things in a way that made it seems like a very sturdy aphorism.
Her voice was shaky, " Please don't do this anymore"