Metal Concussions

Sadly by happenstance, I can’t imagine it any other way, my café house trance to seduce the biography out of Lauren and Antoinette, those two coquettes of mine, though when I say coquettes I don’t mean to say that they are women that have lost the ability to love, I mean it in the sense that they are so profoundly in my life and make it so wonderful indeed, and yet I don’t think we will ever vacation together, and yet here I am again interrupted.

“Hello Mister.”

I look up it is Lauren again!

“Do you mind if I join you for coffee?”

I did not consider the proposition valid, Lauren was out to get me, I didn’t pause to suppose that the universe had explained to her how complicated our mutual entanglements were.

“I am sorry I am preoccupied at this time with my own affairs, and frankly I have plenty of friends I don’t know how I could possibly make the time for one more.”

In her business she was used to this sort of rejection, she placed her hands on her waist so that I could see her detective’s badge.

“You remind me of someone, someone I happened upon at Buffalo Joes.”

She stopped cold there, she waited for my reaction, a slight movement of my eyes this or that way, or even holding them focused would tell her everything she wanted to know. I opted to act confused, cops like people that get nervous around them, it gives them an inkling sense of control and suspect honesty instead of a hardened criminal.

Looking down at my notes, “Lady even the bar’s name doesn’t sound like a place that caters to me, I think you are looking for someone else, but don’t worry anyone can mistakenly identify strangers.”

“Only I have been trained a little better, when I see someone I am always sizing them up, height, color of eyes, shoes, even how they tie their laces, it doesn’t take much.”

My amygdala intuitively withdrew the shoes more underneath the table, she took notice of the sly action.”

Why don’t you come over to the precinct, we have coffee and even orange juice, what you had at the other coffee shop, we could then chat and you can then explain to me why you don’t like Buffalo Joes, they have good Martini’s or don’t they?”

My amygdala projected my bodily frame upwards darting towards her shoulders my arms disrupted her balanced and launched her against the coffee bar, where her head banged into silence. I dashed out the door, people were screaming, I saw everyone with an unforgettable clarity, an old lady finishing her eggs took the time to wipe yoke from her thinning lips; the waitress moved to take action but the stumps that held her thighs were glued to the earth’s mantle, movement for her was an unused radicalism only manifested through her engorging eyes and her rhinoceros nostrils; the cook, a charming alcoholic came out but he wasn’t going to get involved, every time he tried to do something the world punished him, his actions had been predisposed for cancellation, he limited himself to “what is going on here!” and “hey old man what…” I didn’t stay to hear the end of that.

In my mind’s eye was Lauren, stranded against the foot rail of the coffee bar, a head injury can mean so many things, “Should I have gone to the police station with her?” I could have continued to write from jail, no, a head injury could put her in a coma, could cause her amnesia, there was no telling what I had done, I didn’t want to do it, she pushed me to do it, I was only reacting to her persistent pushing-shoving at me. Damn it I threw away all the clothes that I was wearing the night of the incident Joes, except the shoes, they were so comfortable, it takes so long to wear shoes out to that level of comfort, where you can’t feel them any more than your feet, perfect shoes, besides that they were good for running away and here I had yet escaped twice under their guidance.

When I got to my apartment, a Spartan retreat historically allied to the stoics, few comforts, it could be abandoned at any time, I credit myself with the same inability to fall in love as suffered by a coquette, I can live on the surface of the earth unlike that waitress I am not tied to the earth’s mantle.

I paid a years rent and cancelled all the services, I didn’t want to make it obvious I was leaving, I went to small fishing village not too far away, from such safety zone my mind’s eye would continue to scan the lives of our beloveds Antoinette and Lauren.

Habakkuk and Antoinette visit Lauren at the hospital. Lauren is mute about her situation, she suffered a concussion with some memory loss, she forgot why she went to the café, who she was there to see and who pushed her. The doctors assured her she would recover this part of her memory, funny it seemed nothing else was affected.

Captain Ogle brought in the waitress, the old lady and the cook to try to refresh Lauren’s mind, nothing.

The doctor assured them all that minor concussions rarely caused permanent memory loss, some day Lauren would remember me. Part of me was happy to hear that, part of me was disturbed by it.

Habakkuk and Antoinette kept a vigilant silence; Habakkuk whose gift for prophecy continued even as his having slept with a whore was supposed to have nullified it, was having a prophecy arrive into his third eye, he gently spoke it.

“A new and tall tower of Babel will be erected, it will look like a Chinese building with many roofs one atop the other, it will be made of metal glistening with shades of copper flavors giving rise to the second Chalcolithic age; this copper tower will have red stringing flags, small windows, floor after floor will cater to hoards of partying foreigners, a storm will yield its copper utterances, the sky will darken for days, a sight to witness. I prophecy.”

Antoinette, who now knew Habakkuk well, was not surprised by the prophecy, she touched his hand, and said, “It will be so.” He replied, “yes.” They returned to silence.

Another day, Danny visited Lauren.

She was asleep, he didn’t want to awaken her, he whispered into her ear as he prepared to leave. “The stranger left some notes I picked them up before anyone noticed, you will want to read them.” He kissed her adios.

The first few days in any fishing village are soothing to the mind, though the fisheries have a way of infesting the air that will eventually be noticed, and the tension from all of those mass bludgeoned to death fish carcasses reminds one of the cruelty of survival; you still eat the salmon in that garlic cream sauce with potato puree, the fish are dead already, gone, what can you do but help them in their involuntary transmutation into human flesh and bone.

“I left some notes there, I could be a dead fish too.”