You are sitting naked, letting the pacific breeze blow in through
the open window and dry the sweat on your skin, the sweat soaking
your hair. It's warm and smells like salt, like a body should.
Your back is to the wall and you are leaning against the headboard,
while your eyes focus on the black lace of the bra that seems
to occupy an unproportional section of your hotel bed, which
is otherwise very white and tangled.
The undergarment's owner is just down the hall, walking toward
the elevator; reaching for the down arrow; fiddling with the
buttons on her red silk shirt. She rides the elevator twenty-four
floors down to the lobby alone, staring straight ahead, immobile
except for her fingers combing tangles of knotted brown hair
away from her flushed face.
You could stop her if you wanted - if the thought announced
itself more loudly - but instead remain leaning against the
wall, running a hand from your thigh, over that scar, and down
your leg. You're thinking about her breasts swaying as she strides
through the lobby and into the salt-orange mist of the streetlights
and the waterfront. You're thinking about nipples against a
silk red shirt and a girlfriend you had in high school. An hour
after leaving your basement-darkened couch she called you to
say her nipples were still excited - those are the words she
used - and you still remember that moment exactly, in precise
detail. Except, what was on TV?
Too predictable, monotonous, endless: this rush into mini-barred
hotels. Different names, but few variations in presentation.
You miss high school. Being a teenager. Having a sense of wonder.
When you had to introduce yourself, and girls revealed themselves
over weeks and months, and not minutes. But what was on TV?
You can see the flickering glow of the hotel TV leaking from
within the cabinet, the doors of which she closed, probably
to get your attention. Yes, you remember her swinging the cabinet
doors closed; unbuttoning her shirt. You thought very seriously,
and very briefly, about asking her to wait a minute. You have
money on the Mets game.
* * * * *
Day 31 | Kelly Home
| Day 2