Sun You Are The Last Of A Line
Antoinette and Loki and Francisco were home alone, as was their plight being married to a detective one could expect nothing else, nothing else. Antoinette had willingly resigned her executive job and opted to stay home for a year of rest, and to pen her emotions while taking care of the kids. The kids were Loki the mischievous god, and a new addition, Francisco an orange tabby cat, of gorgeous and aggressive proportions, prone to biting that hand that fed him. Antoinette had found him an irresistible must rescue from the iron pet store, where animals went to get sold to humans. Francisco, or Pacho as was his proper nickname, Pacho had been most happy to be rescued and then expected that from there everything would just get better and better; no dry food for him, no cold nights, always nestled between Lauren and Antoinette, running interference in-between their mutual tenderness, yes Pacho became a lovely pain in the ass, as both of his masters were patrolled by his self serving character.
Antoinette is feeling the absence of her mate, she is inking away frustrations, equally wishing she was not writing them down, how else to hide her weaknesses from her lover than to destroy them by way of manifesting them, “if I let the ink pen them they will vanish,…” so went her reasoning, “…the world can not hold a thought if it is spoken...” the pen was silent enunciation, the light from three candles powdered the air, her wine glass held next to her cheek to warm her, “Sun vitriolic center of emancipation… where thy spun angst is negligent… where I sit here, oh sunrise your one rendition, of a dying line, a dying line, oh sun…,” her sentiments pausing, she hates herself for missing her lover, she is not going to accept it, she decides to be truthful to all but Lauren, the fear of being spotted by her detective, “One day you fall in love with a tiger and the next you get swallowed whole by her.” There, that abruptly, the lines came to an end, “one day you fall in love with a tiger and the next you get swallowed by her.”
The wine isn’t enough to explore all of Antoinette’s feelings, she downs a couple of cough medicinal tablets that do not say, “does not cause drowsiness.” The sleep call will take two hours to pronounce itself throughout her body, Antoinette is aware that there will be a wait, she cuddles next to Loki on the couch, and begins to explore her fantastic reality, she is in love with Lauren, she doesn’t know why, she knows that there doesn’t have to be a reason but she doesn’t want to comprehend it, its just that it would be so much easier of there were a reason where she could say, “I love Lauren because she eats hotdogs.” But that isn’t a valid reason to love someone and Lauren doesn’t eat hotdogs, and if she did Antoinette would find less of a reason to love her since her person abhors hotdogs and its hearty slouch companion baseball. But if that were a reason Lauren had already a horrible trait in that she loved, loved SPAM. Yes that weird combination of shit and ham and shit again, where the Federal Drug and Tobacco administration have failed to recommend a daily dosage of Spam, at any level, and though they have not officially announced it, the FDA was anti spam, evidence that they did not recommend it as lunch meat, dinner meat, healthy breakfast. What was spam anyways? No one had ever accurately described it, nor should it be, was it everything that one shouldn’t eat combined into something that one could eat but shouldn’t? Was it the coalesced regiment of souls from all of the cows and pigs killed in the universe in one day? Was spam an act of God to prove that he could create something impossible to eat that could be eaten, and worse, would be eaten? Spam, easy to cook, fills you with lard sensitivity and Lauren, our Lauren, was an avid fan, Spam sandwiches! There is no point in going further, Spam wasn’t going to be any less for it nor would consumption deteriorate, Spam, is one of those staples of the food chain, it was always there, no one can remember when it wasn’t, it will always be here, it doesn’t need any advertising, it is self serving, self sustaining, a perpetual food supply, when everything goes in the universe, there will still be spam and Antoinette will still love Lauren.
Antoinette dozed off. She fell sleep clinging to, “Sun you’re the last of a line.”
But her sleep was not to be, she was awakened by a kiss on the lips from her detective, her swollen eyes rehearsed an opening, and then pronounced their natural discharge of affection towards the one person that somehow made her feel herself. A sweetness crept all over both admirers when Lauren spoke, “Babe, did you forget that we have the engaging moon asking us to listen to some Jazz tonight?” Antoinette’s lips in full blossom, while her hand retrieved the permissiveness of her hair, “yes, we have a night out, I will get ready, just give me a few minutes…” her voice disappeared and followed her into the bedroom.
I must confess from a writers perspective that it is difficult to define Antoinette, hence your lack of knowledge of her. I have a firm grasp of Lauren, Lauren tells me “this is who I am! this is who I am!” Antoinette is an ephemeral creature, she doesn’t say “I am here…” Instead she tries not to be noticed by not trying to be noticed. She fades into the crowd even as she is beautiful and alluring; something in her tells you to look away, to distance yourself, any approach could be dangerous, or strange, but you don’t know what, instead you end up avoiding defining her and meeting her; in a crowd she is with everyone and no one, she is willing to listen, she is first not to doubt your superiority of wit and charm and might, she assumes you are correct about everything, she is willing to give you the benefit of the doubt when you are wrong or worse when you are afraid of yourself. She will never muster the necessity to say something obligingly ridiculous about your ways and feelings, those things are not there for her. In a crowd she subtracts herself, and yet she is with all and in all more than any of those others which have so well defined the fences of their character.
Perhaps her intangible nature is based on our avoidance of feelings, we are afraid to feel, Antoinette feels everything and worse wants to feel more and more and doesn’t want to subtract herself from feeling. Perhaps when we approach her we are afraid to go into that limbo of sentiment, into those eyes where reason falters, where the comforts of logic and discernable matters fail to enter; Antoinette’s heart is engorged with lust for the emotional life, when she left her executive job she left nothing, there was nothing there, her indifference won her much, but it was a genuine indifference, she didn’t care if the internet survived in the modern world, she didn’t think the world a better or worse place because of the internet, she didn’t feel it either way, if some day the last in a line of Sun’s were to banish and only moonless nights would continue, Antoinette would not see how that could change what she felt, for even as the beautiful flowers which she loved so much, might disappear, Antoinette did not hold them hostage to mandatory existence. It was all a flow of events transpiring while some conspired to stop them, she did not.
Lauren and Antoinette went to listen to Jazz at a joint that had not reached the levels of professionalism that would educate the faltering notes, instead hapless musicians sure of their breathless beats, blew meaning down saxophones and pounced upon riveting pianos, while guitars got hand molested in ways that guitars shouldn’t be touched. The two women laughed, the smoke was illegal, the abundance uninhibited; at any time everything in this place could be in first place, right now it was all simply in last.
Lauren drove home, she was over the drunken limit, she didn’t have a wedding ring on her, she noticed this as she saw her hand on the steering column, she felt herself complete, she turned her cigarette and face towards the woman next to her, “Hey lets get married.” Antoinette leaned back away from her lover, so as to capture all of that woman before her, “yes, I will marry you Lauren but you have to get me a ring.” “Shit yeah woman I get you an emerald ring, but you have to get me one too.” Antoinette leaned back and kissed her detective.
Antoinette is feeling the absence of her mate, she is inking away frustrations, equally wishing she was not writing them down, how else to hide her weaknesses from her lover than to destroy them by way of manifesting them, “if I let the ink pen them they will vanish,…” so went her reasoning, “…the world can not hold a thought if it is spoken...” the pen was silent enunciation, the light from three candles powdered the air, her wine glass held next to her cheek to warm her, “Sun vitriolic center of emancipation… where thy spun angst is negligent… where I sit here, oh sunrise your one rendition, of a dying line, a dying line, oh sun…,” her sentiments pausing, she hates herself for missing her lover, she is not going to accept it, she decides to be truthful to all but Lauren, the fear of being spotted by her detective, “One day you fall in love with a tiger and the next you get swallowed whole by her.” There, that abruptly, the lines came to an end, “one day you fall in love with a tiger and the next you get swallowed by her.”
The wine isn’t enough to explore all of Antoinette’s feelings, she downs a couple of cough medicinal tablets that do not say, “does not cause drowsiness.” The sleep call will take two hours to pronounce itself throughout her body, Antoinette is aware that there will be a wait, she cuddles next to Loki on the couch, and begins to explore her fantastic reality, she is in love with Lauren, she doesn’t know why, she knows that there doesn’t have to be a reason but she doesn’t want to comprehend it, its just that it would be so much easier of there were a reason where she could say, “I love Lauren because she eats hotdogs.” But that isn’t a valid reason to love someone and Lauren doesn’t eat hotdogs, and if she did Antoinette would find less of a reason to love her since her person abhors hotdogs and its hearty slouch companion baseball. But if that were a reason Lauren had already a horrible trait in that she loved, loved SPAM. Yes that weird combination of shit and ham and shit again, where the Federal Drug and Tobacco administration have failed to recommend a daily dosage of Spam, at any level, and though they have not officially announced it, the FDA was anti spam, evidence that they did not recommend it as lunch meat, dinner meat, healthy breakfast. What was spam anyways? No one had ever accurately described it, nor should it be, was it everything that one shouldn’t eat combined into something that one could eat but shouldn’t? Was it the coalesced regiment of souls from all of the cows and pigs killed in the universe in one day? Was spam an act of God to prove that he could create something impossible to eat that could be eaten, and worse, would be eaten? Spam, easy to cook, fills you with lard sensitivity and Lauren, our Lauren, was an avid fan, Spam sandwiches! There is no point in going further, Spam wasn’t going to be any less for it nor would consumption deteriorate, Spam, is one of those staples of the food chain, it was always there, no one can remember when it wasn’t, it will always be here, it doesn’t need any advertising, it is self serving, self sustaining, a perpetual food supply, when everything goes in the universe, there will still be spam and Antoinette will still love Lauren.
Antoinette dozed off. She fell sleep clinging to, “Sun you’re the last of a line.”
But her sleep was not to be, she was awakened by a kiss on the lips from her detective, her swollen eyes rehearsed an opening, and then pronounced their natural discharge of affection towards the one person that somehow made her feel herself. A sweetness crept all over both admirers when Lauren spoke, “Babe, did you forget that we have the engaging moon asking us to listen to some Jazz tonight?” Antoinette’s lips in full blossom, while her hand retrieved the permissiveness of her hair, “yes, we have a night out, I will get ready, just give me a few minutes…” her voice disappeared and followed her into the bedroom.
I must confess from a writers perspective that it is difficult to define Antoinette, hence your lack of knowledge of her. I have a firm grasp of Lauren, Lauren tells me “this is who I am! this is who I am!” Antoinette is an ephemeral creature, she doesn’t say “I am here…” Instead she tries not to be noticed by not trying to be noticed. She fades into the crowd even as she is beautiful and alluring; something in her tells you to look away, to distance yourself, any approach could be dangerous, or strange, but you don’t know what, instead you end up avoiding defining her and meeting her; in a crowd she is with everyone and no one, she is willing to listen, she is first not to doubt your superiority of wit and charm and might, she assumes you are correct about everything, she is willing to give you the benefit of the doubt when you are wrong or worse when you are afraid of yourself. She will never muster the necessity to say something obligingly ridiculous about your ways and feelings, those things are not there for her. In a crowd she subtracts herself, and yet she is with all and in all more than any of those others which have so well defined the fences of their character.
Perhaps her intangible nature is based on our avoidance of feelings, we are afraid to feel, Antoinette feels everything and worse wants to feel more and more and doesn’t want to subtract herself from feeling. Perhaps when we approach her we are afraid to go into that limbo of sentiment, into those eyes where reason falters, where the comforts of logic and discernable matters fail to enter; Antoinette’s heart is engorged with lust for the emotional life, when she left her executive job she left nothing, there was nothing there, her indifference won her much, but it was a genuine indifference, she didn’t care if the internet survived in the modern world, she didn’t think the world a better or worse place because of the internet, she didn’t feel it either way, if some day the last in a line of Sun’s were to banish and only moonless nights would continue, Antoinette would not see how that could change what she felt, for even as the beautiful flowers which she loved so much, might disappear, Antoinette did not hold them hostage to mandatory existence. It was all a flow of events transpiring while some conspired to stop them, she did not.
Lauren and Antoinette went to listen to Jazz at a joint that had not reached the levels of professionalism that would educate the faltering notes, instead hapless musicians sure of their breathless beats, blew meaning down saxophones and pounced upon riveting pianos, while guitars got hand molested in ways that guitars shouldn’t be touched. The two women laughed, the smoke was illegal, the abundance uninhibited; at any time everything in this place could be in first place, right now it was all simply in last.
Lauren drove home, she was over the drunken limit, she didn’t have a wedding ring on her, she noticed this as she saw her hand on the steering column, she felt herself complete, she turned her cigarette and face towards the woman next to her, “Hey lets get married.” Antoinette leaned back away from her lover, so as to capture all of that woman before her, “yes, I will marry you Lauren but you have to get me a ring.” “Shit yeah woman I get you an emerald ring, but you have to get me one too.” Antoinette leaned back and kissed her detective.
posted by Ricardo Correa at
8/31/2006 05:54:00 PM
