The carpet - a mustard yellow. Comforting and vomit-coloured. We follow its coarse trail to the living room. A windowsill. Rainy and hazy. Room for two.
Paul and I moved from the hallway. Couples kept bumping into us, strangers kept ringing the doorbells, bottles of scotch and vodka brought in with european fragrances - spanish cherry or something. Baltic blackberry stains on hands exchanging glasses for bottles. The party was filling up. Books brought in, wet canvasses looking like limp mermaids. Not yet dripping with the whip of the tail but promising depths, promising the twist and turn of coral. Dead and inviting. Flash flash.
I tuck my hair behind my ear. Paul comes from an Irish family.
"Are you Lithuanian or something?"
"Me? No!"
"What are you?"
I'm a fish. I'm a tail.
"A tale"
"Sad story?"
"Ya"
"Here, it's a painting party. Let's find some colours"
I hold my wine glass almost empty now but smelling like raspberries and pieces of honeysuckle. The smell has promised to be a tiny thread of fire. It'll warm my thoughts and heart.
Paul doesn't hesitate. He picks up some crazy fuchsias and pinks. He surprises me and I like that.
I get some greens and golds. I like how his long hands hold the brush. No, don't look. You're asexual now Joce.
I'm asexual Joce.
I don't look at him. I feel his warmth permeating his corduroy pants and blue shirt. I mix the green with the gold so my pinky can be near his thumb.
His thumb is not permeating heat. It is just existing, a little stained with red and a little wrinkled.
He is painting the sky. A warm sky pregnant with blood oranges and peonies. Scented peonies. Carnations blooming under a fat sun. Carnations. Carnations have the word "carne" in them. They're so meaty, so full. So much. I think sex. I think perfume. Stop it.
I paint the fields, green and gold and lemony.
"Looks like snot"
Interruption. It is rather snot-like. I put green on his blue shirt. It looks like a beautiful waves. I add another on his arm. He doesn't even flinch but grabs my waist and digs his fingers in.
His nails are caught in my pastel skirt. Banging out the hurt.
"Ha! You thought you could hurt me back!"
I feel so triumphant.
He only just looks at me. Narrows his eyes and stands still.
"No, I only just wanted to grab hold of you"
*
"Mate, New York grabs you"
Adam's first friend on the naked shoulder of America. Some bloke from Ireland. Paul. Paul whose sister Martha died on the voyage here.
They agree to stick together. The waves brought them together so the asphalt can't separate them now.
Paul and I moved from the hallway. Couples kept bumping into us, strangers kept ringing the doorbells, bottles of scotch and vodka brought in with european fragrances - spanish cherry or something. Baltic blackberry stains on hands exchanging glasses for bottles. The party was filling up. Books brought in, wet canvasses looking like limp mermaids. Not yet dripping with the whip of the tail but promising depths, promising the twist and turn of coral. Dead and inviting. Flash flash.
I tuck my hair behind my ear. Paul comes from an Irish family.
"Are you Lithuanian or something?"
"Me? No!"
"What are you?"
I'm a fish. I'm a tail.
"A tale"
"Sad story?"
"Ya"
"Here, it's a painting party. Let's find some colours"
I hold my wine glass almost empty now but smelling like raspberries and pieces of honeysuckle. The smell has promised to be a tiny thread of fire. It'll warm my thoughts and heart.
Paul doesn't hesitate. He picks up some crazy fuchsias and pinks. He surprises me and I like that.
I get some greens and golds. I like how his long hands hold the brush. No, don't look. You're asexual now Joce.
I'm asexual Joce.
I don't look at him. I feel his warmth permeating his corduroy pants and blue shirt. I mix the green with the gold so my pinky can be near his thumb.
His thumb is not permeating heat. It is just existing, a little stained with red and a little wrinkled.
He is painting the sky. A warm sky pregnant with blood oranges and peonies. Scented peonies. Carnations blooming under a fat sun. Carnations. Carnations have the word "carne" in them. They're so meaty, so full. So much. I think sex. I think perfume. Stop it.
I paint the fields, green and gold and lemony.
"Looks like snot"
Interruption. It is rather snot-like. I put green on his blue shirt. It looks like a beautiful waves. I add another on his arm. He doesn't even flinch but grabs my waist and digs his fingers in.
His nails are caught in my pastel skirt. Banging out the hurt.
"Ha! You thought you could hurt me back!"
I feel so triumphant.
He only just looks at me. Narrows his eyes and stands still.
"No, I only just wanted to grab hold of you"
*
"Mate, New York grabs you"
Adam's first friend on the naked shoulder of America. Some bloke from Ireland. Paul. Paul whose sister Martha died on the voyage here.
They agree to stick together. The waves brought them together so the asphalt can't separate them now.
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