2002-09-17 - 10:59 a.m.
*
*
*
Reclaim
I sat there on the cold slabs of concrete brick, molded to look somewhat decent, the cigarette burning like passion in my lips. I was waiting for her again, despite the recent events, despite being too late or whatever. There was a rush of students as classes had just let out, flows of who knows going who cares. Just another stomping of feet, marching in time to the next box, the next cage, the next hour and fifteen minutes of thier lives. I looked down at the sidewalk, unable to function as a proper human being on account of the complete utter waste of sleep I had last night. 4 hours of shifting and moaning, clutching my chest as if that's where my heart is. It's closer to my armpit, but everyone says that's where your broken heart is. Right in the middle.
The sidewalk seems to have been paid attetion to. Not in that cleanly swept and devoid of debris kind of way but instead with one simple word scrawled in sidewalk chalk, circled I figured for emphasis.
Reclaim.
I stared at the single word, written outside the English building, the stone chilling my ass to cool down my armpit heart. Reclaim. I read it over and over and over again, once for each time I metaphorically kicked myself in the ass for having admitted defeat by admitting my interest in her. The thump of each internal mental attack resounding with the same sound.
Reclaim.
I couldn't possibly listen to this unknown source for inspiration or even advice. It's not her fault at all she found someone, not her fault at all that I led myself on in her honor. I pulled myself through this thought that something was coming of this all, and since I did it, it's my fault. I'm the idiot here. But I still couldn't let go of the timing of it all. I haven't been to classes since that day (or night I should say) and at any rate, this was the first time in a few days that I've even stepped foot on campus sober.
The last time I was here, I was lifted and carrying my newly fixed computer, on my way to fish for the next 4 hours with Shpunt, throwing my cares into the water with each cast and skipping rocks for distance on the turbulent stream when Shpunt reclaimed his pole.
Reclaim. The word is almost haunting. Did the sidewalk write it? Did it see us every morning, two flames breathing smoke and ash as the two souls flamed at each other. Well, one soul. The other flamed for another. Maybe this was some magical sidewalk, some mystical modern nymph. The forest has come down here, replaced by a town in perpetual recession. Maybe the spirits of the forest decided thier new accomodations were nice enough.
I think to myself that she's not coming. She says she's got to go to the bathroom every morning, right before we get out to smoke, but this morning the bathroom seems too far away. As if she decided her bathroom at home would suffice perfectly. It wouldn't matter. It wouldn't make the slightest degree of change at all.
And then she does show up, my cigarette slowly incinerating a small cartoon logo of a camel. If it were a real camel, it would probably never have been on a fucking cigarette, let alone get burned alive by one. But I guess logos don't get much say where they get put. I'm a camel.
She explains that she ran into someone in the bathroom, discussing one of our asshole ex-professors, who I just saw walk into the building not more than two seconds ago. I tell her this and she laughs because she ran into him too. In mid-conversation with the other girl.
That laugh causes me to look down at the floor again, averting my eyes from hers and instead resting on Reclaim. I push it from thought. There is no way in hell you can ever reclaim the damages from this one, Belmo. There is just no way.
A saving grace in the form of her friend comes walking over, her smile way too big for her face. They talk about how trashed she was (Her) on Thursday (THAT night) and how shit is going down from the weekend between Her and Him.
*****************************
He called me too, by the way. Called me at my own home, no doubt getting the number from Her or maybe Caller ID. I don't know in these days, anything can happen. It's only 7 numbers. Called me up to jam on guitar, a conversation we had when I was completely obliterated although still sincere about my words. Not right now though. Later maybe, but not now. Not this close to the moment. Let wounds heal a bit before you mend them or you'll end up re-opening them...
*****************************
Is this for me? I mean the Reclaim. Is this mine? Maybe the omniscient sidewalk fairies watch Her too and instead of scribbling nonsense to me, they've left her something. Reclaim, circled, in big letter, bright pink like a scar. Or a lip. Is this information just too coincidental, landmarking a moment that most people wouldn't even recognize except for me. Except for me always. I always seem to find meaning in meaningless things. Since I was young, I was told I had to have had 5 eyes somewhere on my body that I don't share with anyone because I see things way too fast, landmark things faster than most would even care to do. I think my mom said that. She's too far away to verify that.
And she leaves and She's leaving, going off to class, the post-class-pre-class moment has come to an end. My stomach pulls the pain from next to my armpit and swallows it, hunger shaking my bowels and mysteriously, my bladder chimes in too. I don't have the physical strength to sit here anymore and if I don't remedy it soon, I'm going to pay somehow.
So She leaves. Cha-ching! I hear echo somewhere. Or nowhere. MAybe in my head.
I wonder if maybe I even saw that Reclaim on the sidewalk or if I was the only one. She goes to class, just a wave (we've upgraded and downgraded from a hug goodbye to handshake and back again. Now it's a wave).
I shake it off and seek the warmth of a humming monitor, seeking to reclaim any dignity and hope I still have.
BMC
What did you just say? - What's he gonna say next?
