What will come will come.
Even if I shroud it all in silence.
What will come will come.
The sound of the words lingered in my head, replaying over and over again. I tried to think back into time, wondering if maybe these words could have helped me at some terrible point. I doubt it.
I walked almost a mile today, all around town. It started when some worker from the apartments next door threw out some old "quiche" that really did not do well over time. I've gotten used to bad smells considering I "live" right next to their dumpster in that forgotten, abandoned factory, but sometimes, it becomes unbearable. So I walked.
I passed the baseball guy and a little girl playing hopskotch, or something close to that. I passed the smell of food and cigarettes and I passed a forever 21, full of young idiots. It was then that I ran into that crazy old man, still listening to the same damn songs, still shouting the same shit. I made points to visit him at least once a week and we always have the same conversation: an exchange of names, although his is always different, and a wierd kind of lecture, where he shouts something into the air and I think about it for the rest of the day, whether I understand or not; whether I want to or not. I laughed at the one from today, just because of how unhelpful it was to any part of my life. I always find it ironic when his lectures seem to be one of my waysof living life. What will come will come. Doesn't it always? I walked back towards my "house", or rather, "space of living" with that quesiton repeating. It always does, right? Even if I shroud it all in silence. Don't we all? Is that just me? Who knows.
http://spencerdaey.blogspot.com/2011_11_01_archive.html
ReplyDeletePestilent Mann: We talk about the fact that 4'33 is playing on the radio station, and how we ourselves are a part of the music. We both laughs at such an absurd composition Out words cross each other and seem to reach past our walls. She walks away, but I know now that I'm not quite alone. We have shared our voices in the dark perhaps to shed a little light. so much lies below that we are yet strangers But I know her name and she knows mine. She is Emma Gerber, and I am Pestilent Mann.
ReplyDeleteSpencer began walking home from the abandoned building that Emma found shelter in. Spencer remembered how one day, earlier in the year, he had invited Emma to sleep in his apartment because it was below freezing outside. That was when they became what they were now...
ReplyDeleteEmma took a shower, ate food from the refrigerator, and danced, badly, swaying back and forth, to some salsa music rising from the streets. The ends of her hair were wet, and the water flew every which way across the room slowly, somehow slowly. Spencer smiled. He didn't know why, but he did. Something about the water made him smile, something about the music and its combination with the water made him smile. It was the first time Emma had seen him smile.
There was an awkward moment after Spencer smiled because Emma thought that he expected something. She stopped dancing and, thinking over all that Spencer had given her - food, water, warmth - realized she should be giving him something back. She thought that smile was his way of saying, "Here I am. Give it to me."
So she stopped dancing, walked over to where Spencer was seated on the couch, and sat down on his lap. There was a bead of water on her lip, and as she moved their mouths close to one another, it wiped onto Spencer's. The ex-baseball player shoved Emma off his lap and asked her what the hell she was doing.
"I thought... I thought--" Emma stuttered.
Spencer wrung his hand through his hair, looked at Emma in total disgust, and stalked off to his room, slamming the door behind him. Emma sat on the ground, immobile for a few seconds, and, shaking, she picked herself off the floor. She made her way to the front door.
Spencer's bedroom door opened. The man placed a pile of blankets on the floor, clearly in pain as he bent to the floor to deposit them. As he grimaced his way back into stature, Spencer met Emma's gaze with eyes that were locked, but that were not hard. He closed his door again. Emma took the covers and slept on the couch. By dawn the next day she was gone.
After that, Emma and Spencer understood each other. That was all they needed.