I know these things

I know the look of rejection. It is the back of my best friend’s head as he tells the laughing football team about what happened last night, when I trusted him just a bit too much, and said just a bit too much. It is the look in their eyes as they calculate their new advantage. Opportunities for street cred, for violence without consequence, for an option for when their girlfriend says “no.” It looks like “I would have been better off alone.”

I know the taste of a fist. It is of tractor grease and dust from the corncrib and mud from the hog lot. It tastes of the way I looked or something I said or something I didn’t need to say. It is the salt of my tears and the iron of my blood. It tastes of “I deserve it”.

I know the feeling of boot in my kidney. At least that’s where I think the kidney is. Maybe if I had been paying better attention during biology class. Maybe If most of the pages of the loaned textbook had not been stuck together with spits of chewing tobacco. Except for the parts about female reproductive anatomy, which were stuck together with something else. And whether you consent or not, that something else, you do not spit, or you feel a boot in your kidney. It feels like, “my first time should have been gentle.”

I know the smell of a party. It is tobacco and sweat and marijuana and alcohol. Whiskey on beer, never fear. It is the scent of a circle of men, with piercing eyes and curling fists. It is laughter and hatred and the inevitability of my blood. It makes me see my life flash fast forward from zero to zero. It smells of “why do I do this to myself?”

I know the feel of my name. On slurred lips and hops scented breath. The aerosol labiodental fricative, the aa, ee almost diphthong common to my hometown, the voiced velar plosive, the short i that is almost a Schwa, and the hard, liquid t, spit like he’s firing a nail gun at me. Faggit. Faggit is my name and it is a powerful name. And it makes me shake, deep inside. I will feel the power of using it as a weapon, too.

I know the sound of a threat. It comes in a deep voice that should be a big bear of a man, who would wrap me completely in his arms and tell me everything will be ok. Instead, it is an invitation to dance. “Come on boy. Just you and me. And my buddies. And my baseball bat. It’ll be the last dance of your life.” Every night, when the bars close, the phone rings and he repeats the invitation, and every night, I decline.

Until tonight.
“Bring it on, fucker. Let’s get this over with.”

The Field Tender

It is not the field you thought you’d tend.
The soil is hard to read,
and the harvest, hard to measure.
You’ve seen so many gardens end,
Leaving you in your need,
With only you left to treasure.

But this is the field that’s yours, today,
and constantly, it blooms.
With hearts you gently till.
You bring your trowel and you stay,
Until deeper soil subsumes
The weeds with loving skill.

You are an extraordinary gardener,
With a soul that finds its way
To that which needs you most.
You and the field become a partner,
In the sunlight of summer day
Or the dark eve of winter frost.

And from that love, we grow,
lift above the earth and spread
Our leaves, full and alive.
And this is a field you didn’t know,
Flowers for joy, grains for bread,
Where those who love you thrive.

Text log 9/20/2014 12:53am

Me: hey Roomie, where’s the mop?
Roomie: why? What happened?
Me: there was an accident. Nothing serious.
Roomie: I think it’s in the closet across from the bathroom.
Me: I’ll look.
Roomie: wasn’t Rick coming over?
Me: yeah, well, that didn’t go so well.
Roomie: what? Did something happen?
Me: eh. He cheated on me
Roomie: that bitch!
Me: yeah. With Marcus.
Ronnie: fuck. That bastard? He’s evil. That is so low
Me: lol. Yeah. He is. Oh. Found the mop.
Roomie: did you guys break up? I hope so.
Me: oh yes. Hey, do we have any big garbage bags?

Princesses

Today at Disney, there are 1000 princesses, all of them magic. Not just magical, but magic. In pale blue and pink and green and chiffon and crinoline, with wands and crowns and glitter, and fairy wings, they are royalty.

They raise their arms and they are lifted onto shoulders so their feet float above the ground, and they can survey their kingdoms. They dance in front of the castle, and the smiles of subjects, with mouse ears and cameras, light their way with warmth and celebration. Ice cream and popcorn appear in their hands. Cartoon animals wave and smile and chatter at their beauty. And after the day, their father princes carry them, sleeping, in their arms and waken them with a kiss at home, just in time for bed.

Horizontal rain

The horizontal rain whipped under my coat and I could begin to feel the cold damp spread across my pants. Even so, I needed a day in town. People were scurrying and scrambling to get inside, dashing from place to place, so I moved along with the crowd into the Macy’s, through the revolving door.

There were some things I wanted to look at there, anyway. When I stepped in, it was like hitting a wall, the way it smelled. All of the fragrances ganged up to assault my nose like bullies on the playground. It made my eyes water, and the tickle in my throat made me cough. I passed through the perfume section, and up the escalator to the bedding department. I had been deciding between two different mattresses, so I tried each one for its softness, depth, and the crispness of its sheets.

The sales lady came by and asked that I not lie on the sheets, because my clothes were so wet, and that I was supposed to take off my shoes before trying out the mattresses, anyway. I assured her I would come back on a better, drier day and she turned and went on to help another customer. She, too, smelled of a mix of perfumes, probably from her morning shift in the makeup section, and my eyes begin to water.

I went down to the cafeteria, to see what was on special. After looking over the menu, I decided it would be better to try someplace else, or maybe back to one of my tried and true places. I can see why department store cafeterias are a dying institution.

I went against the crowd, and back out into the horizontal rain, but this time I held my coat lower, so that the drenching of those splashes of ice water would be a little less embarrassing.

Three doors down was a tobacconist, I stepped inside and inhaled a lovely aroma of the cigars and the pipe tobacco and the mixes and blends from all over the world, with exotic names like Captain Black, Coastal Cruise and Arabian Light. I tried to find a blend that would suit me, not so much cherry, and a little more leather. They didn’t have quite the right one, but the second hand smoke gave me a good feeling. I shivered at the thought of going back into that storm, but I’d have to come back when they get a new shipment.

I ended up going back to my regular place for dinner. The line was long, but the chili special was very good, but a bit too spicy, so I politely mentioned it to the server. It went very well with the new bread they offered on the side.

I window shopped for another hour, staying under awnings and dashing into doorways, where possible, but it was still bitter cold. As the evening wore on, I went back to take a nap.

I had just fallen asleep, when I felt the nudge against my leg. I was feeling finally warm and couldn’t seem to fully waken, but the officer kicked at me again. “You can’t sleep on the grate, go find someplace else.”

The wind tore at my coat, bit at my pants and soaked my blanket as I walked to find a sheltered spot under the 23rd street overpass. It was a long walk, in the horizontal rain.