Friends From the Road

           The building looked straight from a factory production, just like the blue prints for every other Illinois rest stop I had ever stepped in. Mid afternoon had sent the dozing truckers scattering back on the rad and their end of the parking lot was left bare. Had the weather been better cooperative I could imagine children rampaging through the wood chip coated playground, the parents watching near by, every bit as relieved as the kids to be stretching their legs.

          I stepped out and let the car's music fall silent as the building rushed in with sounds of its own. As I walked to its door a plaque near by spoke of unforgotten POW's and the facade bounced back the echos of high way traffic. Opening the door was a small challenge with the wind playing at my hair then rushing to seal the entrance. One tug later and I was stepping over the speckled flooring, past the information booths, to the restroom.

          The sink was my main goal, I had still been debating coffee when I started the tap. The building sent the water gushing and I cleansed my hands before beginning on my face. Voices of elderly women chirped in the stalls and after a moment one emerged. Like a true Midwesterner she greeted me with a kind smile and a polite ask of how my journey was. Over the rest stop's hum of pipes nestled in the floor beneath us I told her it was going well but I wasn't yet half way through. Her companion followed suit and soon both were washing their hands next to me peeking in mirrors smudged with small finger prints.

          The taller of the two gave a tiny gasp and pointed at the surface piercing I'd had tucked under my skin a few months earlier. A touch more genuine, my smile grew. I explained how the bar holding the silver balls was beneath my skin, it was a small plastic rod that, though invisible, could be felt even by the most gentle fingertips. The two women began weaving a story of a nephew with his own set of body modifications as they dried their hands and I ran water from my hands to the nape of my neck. The three of us stood, the elderly discussing piercings with the teenager, each on their own journey.

          After a time we shook newly fresh hands and went our ways. They tottered off to the other exit and I battled the wind to step outside, forgetting the coffee I'd decided to buy. The door shut with a surprising silence and shaded my walk back to my little car. On a curb a few parking spaces away a woman with black hair lit a cigarette and stared into her phone as she took the first drag. I sent her a smile she didn't see. When the music began as I started the car I hit the button for silence and turned back to the highway. 

Ravers Die, Too

          My heart rewrote its rhythm to match the bass that sent my skeleton rattling as we danced in a crowd of thousands. Fellow ravers were around us and the transfer of sweat, from one costumed freak to another, was uniting, bonding us as though we were fused together. If only for this song. But everyone seemed to be here for fun, and I couldn’t find a single business man. Others had it, but no one seemed to want to share, and I was in need. Weaving through them as they flung their bodies at one another, I parted the dancers and made my way through the thrumming people. Crisp candy coloured costumes blared their hues in techno tones. The strobes landed on them, only to skitter off to another raver, the light play was nearly brain bashing. The sinking feeling, of knowing when a rush is over was overwhelming, but distractions quickly drew me away and dozens of TV screens were shedding their hypnotic light onto the crowd demanding attention.

          I was crashing and my heart wasn't going to forgive me. Muscle seized speaking a
language of contractions as though it meant to wear it as the next fashion. But shock could wait. The crowd rippled with stressed anticipation. Hormones clicked off and thousands of legs bent to absorb impact as the realisation came like being in the eye of a hurricane as each understood the night wasn't ending well for one of us. Silence.

By the next heartbeat the music screamed through our ears as the throng of people up front slammed away from the DJ stage, pushing the rest of the ravers farther back. Black clad and lanky, one of the dancers front and centre collapsed, his form folding into itself. Beat by beat gravity drew his body to the earth. The lights laughed on and dared not take notice. Just as one song ended, the music paused and the lights landed on his quivering form. Liquid poured from his open mouth and his eyes were searching spastically but so empty. The sound came back with a fervent intensity that pulsed as though for the heart that was now crippled on the ground.

          A woman nearby shrieked, her scream rattled her vocal cords and the sound escaped, echoing into the music. She folded her knees and her body slammed down next to the boy. Her hands clasped one another and with rib cracking determination she forced them into his sternum. She sobbed and she pounded him, she choked on her whimpers and she pushed even harder. She cried, tears pooling, clouding her sight and the song raged on as she drummed the bones of his rib cage. Her thin body was beaten by those sobs and she heaved her weight onto those arms of hers. Fragile and thin, her weight allowed her hands to sink into his chest ever so slightly. The heart beneath gave no sign of life as the brain above began to deteriorate. Security, twenty strong, broke through the crowd seconds after he collapsed. Twitching stopped; his form was still as muscles relaxed and let go of the tension within him. And the song faded as the speakers pumped out a preset playlist as the Dj froze, shivering.

          The woman paused only to give him mouth-to-mouth through the bubbling foam of an o.d. Between the heaves that rattled her slender form she could hardly get enough air herself, let alone enough to resuscitate the man. Her body continued through the motions, adrenaline or some other drug, fueling her, providing energy she should not have had. Men with important uniforms attempted a sprint through the outer rings of the unsuspecting dancers. Their pace was slowed and deep commands vibrated instructions to move the fuck over. Heavy boots pounded past, thumping over glow sticks and strobe wands and layers of glitter turned dust. A small board turned into a stretcher and they fought to restrain the woman. She had white liquid around her lips as she screamed for them to let him be. She could save him. A broad-chested man enveloped her and he didn’t fight or even flinch as she pound her weakening fists on him. The guard watched with wet eyes as she drained herself of energy before he escorted her out. The man did not fight the neck brace as they stabilised him, did not notice the restraints. He was raised and carried out, his horizontal form parallel to the floor. He floated over the ground he had collapsed on, and the swarm of others only watched.

          Warmth met my hand and my lover’s fingers met mine slowly. His knuckles brushed mine and my hand felt alive once more. My hand, and nothing else. Finally, fingers entwined, he gave my frozen bones a squeeze, muscles gently pulsing until my own hand answered him back. He offered me a cigarette and fresh air, a view of the city while we walked off the shock. His voice was tepid as his tenor touched my ear. I nodded, arms shaking slightly and mumbled about how the stash was hacked. Nothing clean here, so we couldn’t buy anyway. He nodded and I let out a breath I didn't realised I'd been holding. Any excuse was good enough to get out of there. He wrapped his arm around me and led us outside. The foot traffic stared at our costumes in disgust and curiosity. We stared only at the stars, numb, as we filled our lungs with tar and city fumes.

Boxes

          The laundry was finished and folded, the dishes done (for the first time in ages), her iTunes collection complete at last with album art and each song was accurately rated with the amount of stars she thought it earned – though it was a shame half-stars couldn't be allotted. She loved that new dubstep pop remix of her favorite screamo band covering Katy Perry more than three but was it really worth four? Now, she just had to do what she had been meaning to do since she'd woken up. The boxes sat right underfoot in the entry way, looking cozy as though they had certainly been making themselves comfortable. She checked her watch. Sato would be over soon, hopefully baring his promised gifts of beer for himself and wine for her.

          She began arranging then rearranging the boxes in front of the living room couch. No need to actually get started just yet, she thought. With him only a short walk away it wasn't like she would get anything done and then- BZZRRRR. Her phone rattled itself off of the tiny wooden coffee table and into her outstretched hand. “Gotcha!” She flipped it open checking the text alerting her Sato had arrived and tossed the boxes aside to let him in. The small chat was impossibly small but they had grown used to that. Every few nights he would show up with random take out food and they would eat and find some way to lose themselves in each others company enough to be glad they weren't alone. They would even pretend from time to time to sort through her things, to get rid of the pictures, borrowed clothes, and burnt CD's but until that night she had been avoiding it. No longer though, it was time to get on task. Once they had eaten, anyway. She opened the door to an empty handed Sato.

          “Where's the food?” She demanded. He shrugged off his scarf and undid his winter boots, waiting for his proper hello. “And you are getting settled. Well, please, help yourself but I don't have any food here. Put those back on!” Sato finally met her confused stare and grinned.

          “Hello. Weather's pleasant and it's no trouble at all. Really. How do you even get by surviving as oblivious as you are?” He shook his head as she began vocalizing complaints louder than necessary. She glared not liking how he was one of the few people who could actually stop her mid sentence. Because he did it with silence instead of forcing his words on top of hers. She folded her arms and let him lead her to her own kitchen. “Yea? And?”

          “Moody today.” He opened the fridge door and handed her a bottle of wine then the beer. “What did... What?” Turning to the cabinets he took two plates and began making spinach salad with fresh salmon. All with ingredients found in her own kitchen.

          “Where did you? Who put this food here!” He chuckled and motioned for her to start pouring the glasses. “The last time I was over here I brought groceries. I thought you noticed. But if I remember right here were knee deep in a book you found in one of the boxes. I believe that's as far into those things as we've gotten. That the plan again tonight?” She shoveled the salad down furious he had bothered with all this. And herself for not noticing. And her kitchen for always being so empty she never even thought to look there for food.

          “That's the plan.” She finished tossing the salad and grabbed a half empty vinaigrette something or other. “You know, you don't have to be here. They practically unpack themselves when you aren't around distracting me.” They took their glasses and plates and went to settle on the couch using the cardboard as footstools. It was the biggest lie she'd told since she'd explained to her previous boyfriend three months and twenty-two days ago that she never wanted to see him again. Sato was cat like in his presence. He sat and occupied himself with a book or sketching until it suited him to get up and leave. Distracting didn't even come close.

          He nodded, though, taking the barb. “I assumed. But the opportunity to both annoy you and set you back on a task is too much to waste.” She nodded quietly. Her mind was still a few months back.

Sato said nothing to steal her from the thoughts that were quickly painting themselves across her expression, just flicked the remote next to her after flipping the TV on. It was on Animal Planet, as always. Three glasses of wine and one show about human death and the rise of giant octopuses later she flicked the TV off, tossed a blanket over snoring Sato, and curled up on the other end of the couch. After a moment she unraveled herself and collected the boxes. The cardboard was beginning to cave in at places and had foot prints and heel indents on the tops. She shoved them into the closet by the kitchen, the empty one, and turned off the rest of the lights. Gathering a tattered old blanket with dolphin print she scooted next to Sato on the couch and drifted off.

Hometown

Peoria swells with angst of teens
Who talk to ghosts, carrying
Souls in rocks and an old
Worn necklace. At the diner
Where they once talked
Sex, they now discuss demons
And talking boards over goosebump arms
Despite the cups of coffee.
Through the cloud of cigarette smoke
Conversation continues.

Beer bong later that night
But his arm is missing all the more blood
Boredom returns all the same
Others' eyes ignore the inexplicable
Friends play drinking games
They don't know who they are talking to
Secrets are shared
We talk of the dead as though they are with us

Sleep creeps in and friends
Of both sexes sleep shoulder
To shoulder. Two lovers fall asleep first
Their friend's laughter slips them
Into dreams of their own.

Close

Arms I have known

for too long, and far too well

laugh when you say

they don't belong around

my legs.

I've watched closely as those arms grew

Let them learn what they already knew.

I Will Listen When I Can't See

if

at all ramblings cost

these words find meaning

within that head

even i cannot convey

then wait

until the turn of the sun

becomes less poetic

and i will turn back

my ear to your words

that tell me of your lips

and i will understand

what i have taught you