In the long run we've found, silent films are full of sound
You’ve heard it all before: death comes for us all, every moment could be your last, nothing is certain but death and taxes, or, my personal favorite, a la Kevin Spacey, “ each day is the first day of the rest of your life, all less for one…the day you die”. Blah, blah, blah, It’s true though. You never really know when you’re going to die. Sometimes it seems as if death were looking right at you, And other times you have to wonder if maybe you just didn’t notice. But, perhaps it’s too easy for me to talk about from this place. At any rate, I’ll save you my verbal dissection, and get on with my story.
The alarms ringing. I couldn’t say for how long, though. My forty-nine ninety-nine, LCD lit piece of shit, with the ceiling projector, so you can see the time without having to get up, is on the floor, probably, under a pile of today’s wardrobe. I throw my arm over the edge of the mattress, limp, and unplug the goddam cord. I lay there half awake and wonder. Why the hell am I getting up anyway?
I pull the toothbrush out of my mouth. I pause for a moment, to get a good look at myself in the ever-smeared vanity. Then, I start thinking. What the hell is it that always gets vanities all smeared up in the first place? Seriously, It’s not dirt, it’s not fingerprints, it’s that fucked up smear that’s always there. I’ll bet it’s my good-for-nothing roommate. Him and his salon quality, volumizing, greasy-assed hair “treatment” of his, all over my goddam mirror. I’ll bet that’s what it is. A hundred bucks. God I need a shave… later. Instead I opt just to pop some ripened zits, three this morning, bleeders too. I wipe the puss off the mirror with the palm of my hand and spit out my toothpaste.
On the way back from the bathroom, I run into my roommate in the hall to my room. It looks like he’s on his way to class, or someplace. Walking past, he shouts something at me; he’s always shouting something at me, asshole. As I walk by his room, I notice his girlfriend, still in bed, check me out. She turns her head away, but I saw her; she’s probably even embarrassed. If I had a girlfriend, she sure as hell wouldn’t be the kind of girl that checks out my roommate. That’s for dam sure. She’s pretty cute though; I bet she’d sleep with me. In my room I throw on some clean clothes, relatively. I pick up my favorite hoodie, and underneath, I find my over-priced, monotone, shit box of an alarm clock. I give it a kick and notice a post-it not on top. “Test Monday”. Crap. I throw on my hoodie and take off.
I’m probably late. I only live a block off campus, so I don’t let it bother me. I haven’t studied, but I’m not worried. I’m smart. I don’t mean I’m smart in a, I’m better than everybody, kind of way. But I’m definitely smart enough to not have to worry about this test. College is a breeze. I walk into class. I’m late. It looks as if the T.A. has just finished handing out the tests. I look over to see my best friend, sitting in the back row, where we always sit. I take my seat. Professor Glass is heading back towards me; he must have seen me come in. The prof’s a nice guy, almost too nice, you know. People take advantage, they’ll lie right to his face; I’ve seen it happen. I look over at Hanna’s test. Christ, she’s almost done. I take a look around me; everyone looks done. But I’m not that late…the T.A. just finished handing back the tests. Fuck! “It’s been a while; I’d thought the worst”. Glass is now staring across from me. That’s cool; I can do this shit. I was born to do this. Back-story: I was sick for, oh, let’s say a week? No need for costumes or fake voices, I’m exhausted and look like shit, I’ll be fine. I reply “ Nope, still here. I just spent the last week surfing, in Prague [smile]. Just kidding. I’ve been sick as a dog”. He’s still staring at me; this goes on for thirty seconds at least. Did I brush my teeth this morning? “You look like it,” he finally says, smiling. Thanks. I’d like to thank the academy. “You didn’t let anyone know, did you?” he says, quicker than before. I start mumbling a reply of some sort, just as Hanna jumps in. “He couldn’t do much of anything for himself. I called your office, though. I talked to one of your T.A.’s”. He gives out a sort of half chuckle-smile that all men, but especially unhappily divorced, middle-aged, balding, professors of industrial psychology make, when attractive women acknowledge their existence. “ Come see me after class, and we’ll schedule a make-up,” He says walking back to the front of the class. ”Great!” Great. Well class isn’t quite over yet, and I don’t have a test to mark. What to do? Do the same thing you’d do even if you had shit to do…draw. I attempt to draw a picture of Hanna, with the good professor, literally, wrapped around her finger. Instead I start to notice just how gorgeous Hanna is. She really is. Now, most girls I’d consider pretty, or cute, and in a crowd, you’re more than likely to find a couple “hotties” as well. But gorgeous, that’s rare. I guess at this point I’m staring, and my pencil hasn’t touched my paper for at least five minutes, but she hasn’t seemed to notice. I overhear Glass give his standard wrap-up speech, and I bolt for the door.
I’ve been waiting outside now for a solid ten minutes. I’m not bored. I notice Hanna opening the door. I’m ripe with verbal assault. “My god, I knew women were naturally slow, but, I thought that only meant mentally”. She stops in her place and stares at me a moment, mouth agape, and then, that wry smile that I know so well, starts creeping up the left side of her face. She answers, “Oh I’m not slow, I saw you run out and hoped that if I waited long enough, you’d follow somebody else home today”. “Well, I guess you can’t win ‘em all”. We start walking towards the doors and enter into a, flawless, style of witty banter, all our own. As we step out through the doors Hanna stops to ask, “ so you coming up with me”? “Chure”. We continue, in our own way, towards the residence. “Hey, I caught Ibbie’s girlfriend checking me out today. She turned away but I caught her”. “That hussy” she replied. “Wait; were you walking around naked again”? “What’s your point…”? She never sees the big picture. At one of the many locked chambers in this super jail for students, Hanna looks up at me and asks, “weren’t you supposed to schedule a re-test after class today”? ”Shmeh” I reply, hiding all signs of anxiety. She laughs for a second, then pulls out a piece of paper folded once, lengthwise, and says “ so I guess you won’t be needing this then”. She hands me the sheet, which I open to read only. “Friday room 318, 9:00”. To which I reply in my most grateful voice “ Nine O’clock”! “You’re welcome, ass”. We’re now in front of her room, and I probably would have actually thanked her, if it weren’t for Steph butting in. “ Hey, Hanna, don’t you just love my new sent”? Clearly referring to some new, expensive, perfume or some shit she must have just bought. “ Yeah, Steph, that new douche is a real improvement; I can barely smell dirty crotch at all”. I couldn’t help myself. Just then Hanna, giggling uncontrollably, pulls me hard into her room, and closes the door behind us. Saved again. Steph’s your classic stuck up rich girl. Which is fine, it’s relatively disconcerting, but who am I to criticize. What gets me about Steph, though, is how she try’s to impress people all the time. Maybe, I’m in the wrong. Maybe, Steph is a perfectly wonderful young lady, with nothing but good qualities and intentions; that will serve only to make this world a better place. Maybe, I’m just a prick… yeah I can live with that.
I’m lying on Hanna’s bed with her just staring at the ceiling, talking. Nothing serious, just being us. Until Hanna asks this. Oh, and I did thank her for setting up the test, after all. “So how are you? Like, really how are you doing”? I don’t know how to answer this question. I know she’s concerned, I love her for that, but it still doesn’t help with this question. “Would you believe me if I told you I was fine”? She holds off for a second, still staring at the ceiling. “If you meant it”. “I’m fine”. “You didn’t mean that”. She’s good. I really am fine. At least, if you didn’t know me you’d think I was. I’m not bad, or, not as bad. I don’t know what I am. Here it comes, “are you sure it has nothing to do with me”? She always asks. “I’m sure”. “I had to ask”. I know she does. She’s not crazy, just feeling a little helpless right now. But, aren’t we all? Hanna has some paintings on her ceiling I like to stare at. They’re nice, but I just think they help me think. We quietly stare at the paintings, and time passes.
I’m walking down town. It’s absolutely gorgeous out. I’m listening to music. I dropped my beloved Ipod one too many times, and so I’m without actual music. But the music in my head will suffice. I walk past some shops while looking into the storefront windows. I couldn’t tell you what stores these were, because I’m not so much looking into the window’s as I am looking at myself in them. There’s a small memorial square downtown. And in the true spirit of remembrance, there are people, smoking up, and street-meat venders, everywhere. A deadly combination. Above all this, however, I can’t stop watching the trees. It’s early in fall now, and a cool breeze has become the new standard. Trees have started to change, still, only a few leaves line the sidewalk. It’s a season with so many expectations. It’s times like this, that you can feel truly and wholly blinded, by the beauty of things. I cross the road, and just out of the corner of my eye, I catch the petrified look on a municipal transportation drivers face. The next few seconds seem to disappear, and are replaced with an overwhelming and unfamiliar rushing feeling. I collect myself and realize that I’m now lying on my back, looking upward, the feeling of wet pavement on my skin. I take a deep breath, and laugh. Uncontrollably and wholeheartedly, I laugh…
“Are you ok”?
“huh”.
“Are you ok; you’re being quiet”.
“No, I’m just thinking”.
“Oh. So what do you want to do”?
“Sing me a song”.
“What song”?
“Doesn’t matter”.
You know, Hanna really is something special; and that voice of hers, gorgeous.
So like I said, you never really know what’s in store for you. You could wake up in the morning, completely oblivious, that it’s your time; or it could just an ordinary day. But either way; don’t forget to laugh.
“Did you brush your teeth this morning”?
“Don’t know”.
“Gross”.
The alarms ringing. I couldn’t say for how long, though. My forty-nine ninety-nine, LCD lit piece of shit, with the ceiling projector, so you can see the time without having to get up, is on the floor, probably, under a pile of today’s wardrobe. I throw my arm over the edge of the mattress, limp, and unplug the goddam cord. I lay there half awake and wonder. Why the hell am I getting up anyway?
I pull the toothbrush out of my mouth. I pause for a moment, to get a good look at myself in the ever-smeared vanity. Then, I start thinking. What the hell is it that always gets vanities all smeared up in the first place? Seriously, It’s not dirt, it’s not fingerprints, it’s that fucked up smear that’s always there. I’ll bet it’s my good-for-nothing roommate. Him and his salon quality, volumizing, greasy-assed hair “treatment” of his, all over my goddam mirror. I’ll bet that’s what it is. A hundred bucks. God I need a shave… later. Instead I opt just to pop some ripened zits, three this morning, bleeders too. I wipe the puss off the mirror with the palm of my hand and spit out my toothpaste.
On the way back from the bathroom, I run into my roommate in the hall to my room. It looks like he’s on his way to class, or someplace. Walking past, he shouts something at me; he’s always shouting something at me, asshole. As I walk by his room, I notice his girlfriend, still in bed, check me out. She turns her head away, but I saw her; she’s probably even embarrassed. If I had a girlfriend, she sure as hell wouldn’t be the kind of girl that checks out my roommate. That’s for dam sure. She’s pretty cute though; I bet she’d sleep with me. In my room I throw on some clean clothes, relatively. I pick up my favorite hoodie, and underneath, I find my over-priced, monotone, shit box of an alarm clock. I give it a kick and notice a post-it not on top. “Test Monday”. Crap. I throw on my hoodie and take off.
I’m probably late. I only live a block off campus, so I don’t let it bother me. I haven’t studied, but I’m not worried. I’m smart. I don’t mean I’m smart in a, I’m better than everybody, kind of way. But I’m definitely smart enough to not have to worry about this test. College is a breeze. I walk into class. I’m late. It looks as if the T.A. has just finished handing out the tests. I look over to see my best friend, sitting in the back row, where we always sit. I take my seat. Professor Glass is heading back towards me; he must have seen me come in. The prof’s a nice guy, almost too nice, you know. People take advantage, they’ll lie right to his face; I’ve seen it happen. I look over at Hanna’s test. Christ, she’s almost done. I take a look around me; everyone looks done. But I’m not that late…the T.A. just finished handing back the tests. Fuck! “It’s been a while; I’d thought the worst”. Glass is now staring across from me. That’s cool; I can do this shit. I was born to do this. Back-story: I was sick for, oh, let’s say a week? No need for costumes or fake voices, I’m exhausted and look like shit, I’ll be fine. I reply “ Nope, still here. I just spent the last week surfing, in Prague [smile]. Just kidding. I’ve been sick as a dog”. He’s still staring at me; this goes on for thirty seconds at least. Did I brush my teeth this morning? “You look like it,” he finally says, smiling. Thanks. I’d like to thank the academy. “You didn’t let anyone know, did you?” he says, quicker than before. I start mumbling a reply of some sort, just as Hanna jumps in. “He couldn’t do much of anything for himself. I called your office, though. I talked to one of your T.A.’s”. He gives out a sort of half chuckle-smile that all men, but especially unhappily divorced, middle-aged, balding, professors of industrial psychology make, when attractive women acknowledge their existence. “ Come see me after class, and we’ll schedule a make-up,” He says walking back to the front of the class. ”Great!” Great. Well class isn’t quite over yet, and I don’t have a test to mark. What to do? Do the same thing you’d do even if you had shit to do…draw. I attempt to draw a picture of Hanna, with the good professor, literally, wrapped around her finger. Instead I start to notice just how gorgeous Hanna is. She really is. Now, most girls I’d consider pretty, or cute, and in a crowd, you’re more than likely to find a couple “hotties” as well. But gorgeous, that’s rare. I guess at this point I’m staring, and my pencil hasn’t touched my paper for at least five minutes, but she hasn’t seemed to notice. I overhear Glass give his standard wrap-up speech, and I bolt for the door.
I’ve been waiting outside now for a solid ten minutes. I’m not bored. I notice Hanna opening the door. I’m ripe with verbal assault. “My god, I knew women were naturally slow, but, I thought that only meant mentally”. She stops in her place and stares at me a moment, mouth agape, and then, that wry smile that I know so well, starts creeping up the left side of her face. She answers, “Oh I’m not slow, I saw you run out and hoped that if I waited long enough, you’d follow somebody else home today”. “Well, I guess you can’t win ‘em all”. We start walking towards the doors and enter into a, flawless, style of witty banter, all our own. As we step out through the doors Hanna stops to ask, “ so you coming up with me”? “Chure”. We continue, in our own way, towards the residence. “Hey, I caught Ibbie’s girlfriend checking me out today. She turned away but I caught her”. “That hussy” she replied. “Wait; were you walking around naked again”? “What’s your point…”? She never sees the big picture. At one of the many locked chambers in this super jail for students, Hanna looks up at me and asks, “weren’t you supposed to schedule a re-test after class today”? ”Shmeh” I reply, hiding all signs of anxiety. She laughs for a second, then pulls out a piece of paper folded once, lengthwise, and says “ so I guess you won’t be needing this then”. She hands me the sheet, which I open to read only. “Friday room 318, 9:00”. To which I reply in my most grateful voice “ Nine O’clock”! “You’re welcome, ass”. We’re now in front of her room, and I probably would have actually thanked her, if it weren’t for Steph butting in. “ Hey, Hanna, don’t you just love my new sent”? Clearly referring to some new, expensive, perfume or some shit she must have just bought. “ Yeah, Steph, that new douche is a real improvement; I can barely smell dirty crotch at all”. I couldn’t help myself. Just then Hanna, giggling uncontrollably, pulls me hard into her room, and closes the door behind us. Saved again. Steph’s your classic stuck up rich girl. Which is fine, it’s relatively disconcerting, but who am I to criticize. What gets me about Steph, though, is how she try’s to impress people all the time. Maybe, I’m in the wrong. Maybe, Steph is a perfectly wonderful young lady, with nothing but good qualities and intentions; that will serve only to make this world a better place. Maybe, I’m just a prick… yeah I can live with that.
I’m lying on Hanna’s bed with her just staring at the ceiling, talking. Nothing serious, just being us. Until Hanna asks this. Oh, and I did thank her for setting up the test, after all. “So how are you? Like, really how are you doing”? I don’t know how to answer this question. I know she’s concerned, I love her for that, but it still doesn’t help with this question. “Would you believe me if I told you I was fine”? She holds off for a second, still staring at the ceiling. “If you meant it”. “I’m fine”. “You didn’t mean that”. She’s good. I really am fine. At least, if you didn’t know me you’d think I was. I’m not bad, or, not as bad. I don’t know what I am. Here it comes, “are you sure it has nothing to do with me”? She always asks. “I’m sure”. “I had to ask”. I know she does. She’s not crazy, just feeling a little helpless right now. But, aren’t we all? Hanna has some paintings on her ceiling I like to stare at. They’re nice, but I just think they help me think. We quietly stare at the paintings, and time passes.
I’m walking down town. It’s absolutely gorgeous out. I’m listening to music. I dropped my beloved Ipod one too many times, and so I’m without actual music. But the music in my head will suffice. I walk past some shops while looking into the storefront windows. I couldn’t tell you what stores these were, because I’m not so much looking into the window’s as I am looking at myself in them. There’s a small memorial square downtown. And in the true spirit of remembrance, there are people, smoking up, and street-meat venders, everywhere. A deadly combination. Above all this, however, I can’t stop watching the trees. It’s early in fall now, and a cool breeze has become the new standard. Trees have started to change, still, only a few leaves line the sidewalk. It’s a season with so many expectations. It’s times like this, that you can feel truly and wholly blinded, by the beauty of things. I cross the road, and just out of the corner of my eye, I catch the petrified look on a municipal transportation drivers face. The next few seconds seem to disappear, and are replaced with an overwhelming and unfamiliar rushing feeling. I collect myself and realize that I’m now lying on my back, looking upward, the feeling of wet pavement on my skin. I take a deep breath, and laugh. Uncontrollably and wholeheartedly, I laugh…
“Are you ok”?
“huh”.
“Are you ok; you’re being quiet”.
“No, I’m just thinking”.
“Oh. So what do you want to do”?
“Sing me a song”.
“What song”?
“Doesn’t matter”.
You know, Hanna really is something special; and that voice of hers, gorgeous.
So like I said, you never really know what’s in store for you. You could wake up in the morning, completely oblivious, that it’s your time; or it could just an ordinary day. But either way; don’t forget to laugh.
“Did you brush your teeth this morning”?
“Don’t know”.
“Gross”.
posted by Knattyb at 4:43 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home