Absaloon

We were walking down West 32nd Street in a remote city that people see in photographs. Our life was a picture perfect photograph. We were walking. She was smiling, talking, laughing. Her hands would lightly brush against my back. She would look at me and I would look at her.

Nothing seemed wrong. Everything was right. Everything was in place.

This is the epitome of perfect love.

“So, that new movie it finally came out, you wanna see it?”

“Yeah.” I said.

Our bland way of living is beautiful.

She looked at me with her long auburn hair. Her eyelashes perfectly curled. She had this 1960’s vintage beauty queen essence about her. “We can go later, if you want.” She said. “If you don’t mind, I just want to keep walking.”

Anything she said was okay with me. “Okay. Whatever.” I said trying to hide my excitement. “Where’re we walking?”

Her mouth curved to smile. She wore old frayed jean cut-offs, and was drowning inside her large ironically attractive floral sweater. “The end.” She said. “Like, you know the end to most things. We’re walking to the end.”

I never understood what she was talking about. But, I still loved her. “Yeah. Okay.” I mindlessly shook my head then grabbed her ass.

She gave me that smile she smiles only when I touch her.

“Glad we got high before this.” she said. “That talking bird that usually is on your shoulder isn’t there.” She laughed. “I swear he never shuts up.” Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she swung her hips back and forth. “And for this to work, I need silence.”

I still didn’t understand. “Yeah, that damn bird.” I said.

I would ask questions, but questions never serve me sex. They only serve me a night of loneliness and despair curled up on my beat up couch playing with myself.

Those nights always ended up at the bottom of a Doritos bag.

We continued to walk down the city streets.

“Remember that tattoo I got last week?”

I did remember. She got a tattoo inside of her bottom lip that read, Sal-oo.

I didn’t understand once again. But, I took her as I saw her.

“The bird told me those words were proper.” She said. “Absalon said he liked it.”

The bird’s name is Absalon. Sometimes she ignores me and just talks to the bird. They’re like best friends. They paint each other’s nails and I just sit there with nail polish on my shoulder. I never tire of her chirping to the bird that was on my shoulder, but wasn’t.

“I love you.” I said, thinking about those nights.

Her eyes weren’t even on me.

She laughed. “That bat said I should throw you in that trash can when I’m finished.”

I laughed too.

She was endearing.

This is what I loved about her. Some people hate that flighty personality, for me, it’s that crazy change that keeps me going.

“The rat’s cocoon sits under the oak tree.” She said. “My mother always said oak trees are reserved for homosexuals and those suffering under a donkey spell.”

I loved her sense of humor.

I love everything about her.

“Are we almost to the end?” I asked.

“Almost, the feeling isn’t right.” She said. “Give me some time, and the feeling will come.”

She always said this during sex.

What does that say about me?

I’m a patient mother fucker who loves a girl more than himself. I gave myself up a long time ago.

We kept walking until she felt the feeling she needed to feel for the end to come. We were in Times Square on a Saturday night. Taxi’s zoomed by, people zoomed by, lights and lights zoomed by.

We were the only still objects there that night.

She looked at me smiling, taking my hand. “Absalon is on the other side.” She said. “I want you to meet him there.”

I smiled back at her, brushing strands of hair from her face. Her eyes bright and she smiled that smile she only smiled when I touched her.

That was the last thing I saw before she pushed me into traffic.

Words whispered into my ear, “Let’s get tex-mex.”

I fucking hate tex-mex.