Kevin looked at her, the brunette at the bar.
She reminded him of something. Someone. He was old and tired and was not sure why he was at this bar full of twenty somethings trying to climb into each other’s beds, but he was here.
He drank his whisky slowly, savoring the spice.
She looked like….it was not her but the look in her eyes, the nothing. It was not a vast emptiness of lack of intellect, he could see the sparkle of intelligence, but it was a nothing a nothing he knew in eyes once years ago in the girl he first loved and who left without a word. A girl he somehow knew in his gut had been something special.
He remembered her dirty blonde hair, the look of her body unclothed in his button down shirt, the ends skimming her thighs in the light.
“This will never be, you know,” she said. He had not believed her. A man who did not love but had loved her. He had later married and done his duty, love his wife, loved his children but never loved again like that.
He had them to fill the space.
He remembered her wild hair, the nothing in her eyes, the intent nothing.
He looked at the brunette, laughing.
He downed his whisky, unable to be near her anymore. He walked out into the night, back to the hotel to call his wife.
Jack was not quite happy. She was not unhappy either. She was nothing.
Sorry, I desperately need to catch up on these.
He called her again, hoping against hope this time she would answer. He told himself it was because she was now unattainable that he needed her, he missed the smooth curves on her body, soft isn the right places and hard underneath.
He waited. He slept with other women, looking for what he did not know. He acted the same toward them and they fell in love with him. They fawned and called and sent texts asking ambiguous questions about his corporate life hoping he would come over and the shine was gone. The shine of being needed was completely gone.
Once his friend persuaded him to go to a boxing match and he caught sight of her near the ring, other fighters leaning over to whisper in her ear and he knew she must have forgotten He walked behind her later as she walked to the bathroom drinking in her scent and he realized he must miss her. She would return texts sometimes, never asking to see him.
He did not know what was wrong with him.
He stared at the blonde staring at him down the bar and he sighed. Might as well.
Chapters are going well, but wanted to take a break to write this.
Ups and downs
Hills and oceans
Where dreams go to find their place in our hearts
A city of wanderers and souls never found
Where the deserts and oceans meet hidden staircases and rainforests
Forgetting who we were before
To find someone new
A city of archangels
Driving with to top down at midnight on a Tuesday
A love letter to Los Angeles
Where my heart was broken
Broken and found
Mended by the elderly black man who told me good morning twice
And the stranger who stopped to talk about her dress
Forests to seas
City to wilderness
The side not on the box
You hate the tiny skirts
And lay pride in the man pasted on the building’s side
Where my vague dreams became reality
And everything else fell apart
A love letter to Los Angeles
Grime shining like diamonds in Hollywood
Swimming pools full of leaves from no where
The breeze on top of the world
A city of angels
Wounded and smiling.
She did not open the journal again for months. Instead she filled her time with work and the few friends she had gathered from the job. She spent weekends at the beach, alone, reading book after book and remembering some of the words she just moved her eyes over but not many in a trance she lost herself in other worlds of the author’s construction the words washing over her verbs and adverbs it never mattered what the book was about but it did matter that the words called to her.
She trolled flea markets and used bookstores, stacking the books by the side of her bed and on top of her TV, eventually obscuring it.
When she was not reading she looked out windows or over hills as she hiked, looking for the same smells and plants from Montant and smiling a little bit when a bird or a leaf reminded her of that week.
She went to prizefights, watching boxers dance in the limelight, people shaking their hands in excitement screaming name and curses and more. She watched the boxers dance around up over left right down each other and then one fell back with intensity and she watched. She went tot he bar where the hung out afterwards, friends yet enemies, swinging back tequila to nurse their aching jaws and sore arms. She talked to them and they fell in love with her grace which was funny because she had been seeking grace for so long and here it was in a chair next to boxers who smiled at her with slightly crooked teeth and broken noses and bruises. They told her secrets and gave her free tickets to more matches though she never went home with any of them they kissed her in moments of passion unable to hold themselves back and she smiled at them, looking at their lost eyes, hoping she would be more. She would hold their hand, letting their fingers and calluses slip through hers, hard spots remembering the gloves and wraps they had just been released from.
They loved her and she loved them and she walked home alone every night, picking up pennies along the way.