coldrice

6february2000
Cold Rice by Jen Hagen.

The place was like it always was. Full of people, struggling to be the "hippest of the hip" without trying. Fashion was well displayed, and well forgotten in many cases. They sit at tables and talk, smile while looking silently at the art work on the walls, waiting for the next band to set up.
"I'll be back," I say, leaving my friend and her boyfriend and walking outside. I turn an abrupt right and sit on the cold cement and light a cigarette in the darkness. The lighting for the club isn't too bright, but the flow of traffic passing by circulates the smoke, which catches all the light. It glows.
I sigh and watch people walk in and out. There is a group of friends before me, laughing loudly, which appears to be self inflicted. I look the other direction and put my hair behind my ear, hugging my knees. There is a cool breeze, and the ends of my fingers are chilled and beginning to become numb.
Another group of people walk up to the door and go inside, and I watch them. Not all of them, but the first one. I watch him walk inside, and go back to staring at the ground.

The next band comes on, and I go inside, pushing past people who crowd in the small doorway. I yawn and stretch up, my grey shirt lifting and exposing my skirts waistline. I tip toe on my black leather shoes with the side silver buckle and curl back up into myself. I move so I can see and I run into the guy I watched come inside the club. I look at him, right in the eyes, like a deer in headlights. I manage to make a smile. Maybe. I hope.
He continues on and sits with his group of friends in the corner, on the long seat from the wall, and begins visiting again. There are some girls across from him as he sits, his tan jacket with matted sheep skin or wool inside across his lap. His legs are long...as is his neck. Punctuated perfectly with an extruding Adam's apple and short black hair...unwashed and messy.
I watch the band more, and look back as his friends get up to leave. He hugs one of the girls. The unpretty one, and they all leave. He takes a new seat and looks up at me as I quickly avert my attention to the musical performance of some band I missed the name of.
I look again.
He has dark jeans...a deep indigo blue color, but worn sky blue in the thighs and knees. They reach past his shoes...well worn as well, revealed by the slight cuffing of his pants so they don't drag on the ground. I look at his face again, and he's looking at me.
I look away for a moment, and return to his shirt choices. A tee shirt, under a black v-neck sweater. It matches his hair well. And it compliments his skin. He's brown...not Hispanic brown, but brown. Not 'too tan' brown either. Maybe he's Indian of some sort...Mongolian.
I wonder where he is from.
The little hairs poking from the bottom of his hairline stand out greatly as I look. He turns his head again, and I look away and watch the band the rest of the night.
I run into him again before I leave for the night. I smile slightly, and walk away, following my ride as she trots up the alley to her car. I look back as he passes through the doorway, busily talking to a friend and unaware of anything but that.
I look at him once more. A final glance, and take a deep breath as he sticks a cigarette to his lips and it bounces as he talks. He strikes his match on the book and I'm gone before I can watch him exhale from his thinly lipped mouth.

Same kind of night. Same kind of crowd. I come home and slip into some sleep pants and light a candle or two. The light flickers and I crawl into bed, curling up in a warm, soft blanket. I watch the shadows on my wall and sigh, rubbing my eyes and close them.
I should not be so shy. I should have talked to him.
I shake my head and take a deep quivering breath.
You've got to stop doing this to yourself.

Blah, blah, blah. The people at shows talk and talk. All out their asses nonetheless. I stood as long as I could among a crowd of all too familiar faces, and yawned. I was always tired. I stuck my hands in my black pea coat pockets and smoothed the front down, softly feeling the case of my cigarettes under my fingers. I head for the door and stepped outside, placing one in my lips softly, it hanging loosely as I searched for my matchbook in the same deep pocket the stick had come from. I felt both pockets and threw my head back in disgust, checking again.
"Hey..." a friend of mine said, heading toward the door.
"Hi.." I said, still feeling my pockets, my cigarette hanging from my lip.
"How have you been Jayden?" he asked.
"Decent.." I said, placing the cigarette between my fingers, and smiling at him in the dimly lit alleyway. "You?"
"Good...good...did you see Steph inside?" he asked touching my shoulder.
I made a small thoughtful face and looked at him.
"I'm not sure...she most likely is though..."
"Yeah.." he said looking at my hand.
"Can't find a light?" he asked. I shook my head somewhat embarrassed and laughed.
"Nope. I seemed to have misplaced my fire."
"Hey Plato...c'mere..." John called. "Lend this girl your fire.."
The tall boy with worn jeans and a tan jacket from the show the week before walked toward me and flashed me his matchbook. I smiled and he lit my cigarette for me. I took a long drag and looked at him as he did the same. I smiled, and John looked at me and began talking again.
After five minutes of round about stable conversation John went inside, and I was left alone with "Plato."
"So...he called you Plato, eh?"
"Yeah...that's what they call me. My name is Jovan though," he said extending his hand, his cigarette hanging from his lip. I licked my dry lower lip softly and shook it, looking at how his hair hit the back of his coat collar in a wild fashion.
"What's your name again?" he asked.
"Jayden..."
"I've seen you around I think Jayden...you seem very familiar.."
"Yes...I think perhaps you were at the show last week that they played.."
"Yeah...that's it.." he said smiling at me. "That's it."
"Can I steal more fire?"
"I'll let you borrow it.." he said, smiling softly. He pulled out his matchbook, and gently cupped my hand while lighting my cigarette.
"Thank you."
"No problem..." he said. He watched his breath disperse in the light.
"So...you friends with them? Or just a fan.." he asked.
"Both...I guess." I chuckled.
"Yeah...me too..." he said, smiling at me.
"It just gets so...tiring in there, I guess.." I said.
"I agree...I figure I can still hear the music out here if it comes down to it."
"Completely."
"You go to a lot of shows?"
"Kind of...I find myself alone at home more times than out and about.."
"That's not a bad thing though...create a rapporre with yourself..."
"I like to believe that I have it already," I said, looking in his big hazel eyes.
"Well, then you are ten steps ahead of everyone." He said, placing his hand on my shoulder, bulked by the padding in my jacket. For once I wished perhaps my jacket was thinner, so I could have felt the warmth that radiated.
"So are you here with friends? Or.." I asked.
"Nope...I drove over...not much partying in my life. I'll go home...probably read...maybe finish my painting.."
"You paint? How wonderful...and read too.." I said. "What do you read?"
" Underground conspiracy books...revolutionaries," he said.
"That's rad," I said.
"Do you find yourself aware of some of these things?"
"Not really...I'm not terribly educated in what you speak of.."
"You really should be...I'll have to tell you more about all of them...no life is safe...or complete without knowing these standard principles.."
"I'd like to hear more, certainly."
"Over tea perhaps.."
"That would be spectacular."
I looked at his lips...my glance had not left since he mouthed the word 'tea.'
"I must go now, Jayden...but I will see you around."

I watched him walk off, tall, into the dark alleyway, leaving a cloud of smoke trailing behind him. I went back inside and found John and questioned him thoroughly about Jovan.
"Who...Plato?" John asked, smiling at me guiltily.
"I suppose..." I said. John punched my arm softly and raised his eyebrows.
"He's a nice guy. Interesting fellow. Lonely I think...from what I can tell. Amazing musician....artist of all types..."
"And he's hot as hell!"
"Well, that too I suppose....if you care to include that." John said laughing.
"Can you get a ride with John?" my ride asked, hanging on a new boy for the night.
"Yeah.." I said.
I walked out with them, and got my things from the car. I watched them drive off and sat on the parking block they were at, and pulled a cigarette out and placed it in my lips. I reached for my matches, and remembered their disappearing act.
"Damnit," I said looking at the pale stick as it plopped on the ground from my hopeless hand.
"Don't waste it," Plato said. "Need a light?"
"You rescuing me again?" I asked, laughing, picking it up and brushing it off.
"Perhaps..." he said, crouching down and cupping my hand with fire again. I looked at him as I took in a breath and he looked back at me.
"So...when do I get to hear about your theories?"
"Right now. C'mon...I want to show you something."
I followed him to his car and got inside. He drove off and we ended up at his apartment, sitting on the back porch, under minimal light. The stars were bright.
"This is a newsletter I put out...called Cold Rice." He said. "It's full of the passionate grapes of substance in life."
I took it in my hand and looked at it strangely and moved under the light more. Plato left the area, and I was done with the first page before he returned.
"Tea?" he asked, placing a large cup before me. The heat steamed off of it, caught in the dim light and cold.
"Thank you." I said. He handed it to me and our hands brushed. I smiled and took a sip, which hid my reaction.
"So what do you think?" he asked.
"Interesting." I said. "Very interesting."
"Have you read about the education system chaos theory there?" he asked. I nodded.
"The thing about that is...it really..." he said, putting his tea down so he could talk with both hands. "It really is merely formality among business..."
He talked for a half hour on that particular story alone. It was interesting. Drugged heavily with criticism and skepticism. But written with 100% intelligence and research.
"Can I see some of your paintings?" I asked.
"If you want to, sure."
He lead me into a very simple room and I was approached by many surreal canvasses.
"These are wonderful," I said. "This one...wow..."
My hands followed the wild strokes of paint. He watched me closely, searching for reaction
"This is honestly..beautiful.." I said. He smiled at me modestly, but proud.
"Thank you."

He watched me watch his painting.
"Do you paint or anything?" he asked.
"I've never had much luck with art...I just appreciate..." I said smiling. He laughed, and squeezed my hand.
"There is nothing more dangerous than someone with the heart of an artist and no talent.." he said. "I read a variation of that somewhere."
"That would be me then.." I laughed.
He stood rather close. He had a distinct smell...sour in dirt, but clean. It made me want to taste his neck, and get closer to his sweater. Taste his jacket as it sat on the table in the other room.
We faced each other akwardly, as we both took a sip of tea.
"Are you done?" he asked, reaching for my empty cup. He placed it in the sink, and I looked at his paintings again.
"I'm glad you like them.." he said. "It feels good."
"I'm glad," I said, turning and smiling at him. He stood behind me closer than I expected. He caught my eyes and I fixed them on his rapid brushstrokes. I placed my hand on my neck somewhat uncomfortably, and he touched my hand.
That second lasted forever.
Turn me around and kiss me. Do it.
"I'm getting really sleepy...so I should take you home."

I let out a large gasp of air and he looked at me strangely. I watched his lips purse after he licked them slickly while putting on his jacket and searching for his keys. My fingers ran over my lips on the way to the car. It was dark and cold. He brushed up against the side of me and unlocked my door for me. He looked up at me and I was looking down on him, my fingers touching my smooth lips softly. Soothingly. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers through his hair. Touch his jaw which was shaven, but not cleanly. I wanted to feel his lips, not my own.
The door swung open and I sat down on the cold seat. He started the car and warmed it up, and we head to my house in chilly quietness. I yawned and he smiles at me.
"See...you need sleep too.." he chuckled.
"But with company like you, I could stay up and talk for days."
"Well thank you..." he said, confirming directions that I had verbally given him earlier. "It was nice."
"Yeah."
He pulled up a few feet away and I got out and waved at him. He looked at me and watched me walk toward my door, as I pull out my keys. Once I am out of sight I can hear him pull away.

I prepared for bed in a dazed sense. I kept touching my lips, and wished he would have kissed me. Even softly. By accident if possible, so he didn't see how much I would have enjoyed it. I wanted desperately for him to be in my bed with me now, his hand on my side, his breath on my neck.
Just once Plato. Just once.

"Jayden...Jayden...Jayden..." John said, pointing at me as I walked up to our little circle of habitual show going friends.
"Hey," I said. I looked around and took a deep breath.
"So what's going on?" he asked. I shook my head and looked around for Plato.
"Not much at all..." I said. "Say...is.."
"Plato here?" John smiled at me, teasingly. I nodded embarrassed.
"Yeah. He is...he was just over...there..." he said pointing as Plato walked up behind us.
"Hey...there he is..." John said. I turned abruptly into Plato and caught a whiff of him. I savored the smell for the next hour.
"How are you?" Plato asked me. I looked up at him, and licked my lips softly.
"Decent...and you?"
"Good..good...I just booked a show actually...next week ya'll...same time same place." He said, walking off.
"I know you'll be here," John said to me. I blushed and watched him walk away.
"I know I will be too."

I got extra fancy for Plato's show. I made sure my hair looked really nice, my makeup wasn't too much, and that my outfit made me look as thin as possible and sleek.
There were a ton of people there already, once I arrived. Some people I knew, some I didn't. There was a group of black guys hanging out by the stage door, dressed very unstereotypically. I smiled at them as I walked by and ran smack into Plato.
"Hi..." I said. He put his arm around me and hugged me.
"Hi!" he said. "I'm glad you came..."
"Wouldn't miss it." He smiled at me while looking around at other people, and he soon excused himself.
I went inside and got a drink and took my space at the front corner. When they finally hit stage, I was in perfect standing. He was a good 5 feet from me, and angled right into my eyes. I laughed shyly as he got up on stage and thanked everyone for coming. They started out with a jazzy James Brown like tune, and he rocked as hard as he possibly could have. I stood with my jaw open, and listened in awe. I clapped as loud as I could, and threw smiles at him continually.
When the show was over, Plato winked at me, and I felt as though I was a heavy breathing woman who just received a scarf at an Elvis show.
After the show, I found him again, and took his hand.
"You were spectacular," I said. He smiled at me, and took his hand back, wiping some sweat from his neckline.
"Thank you..." he said.
"I didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't that..." I said. "But it was...wow!"
"I'm very glad you liked it." He said. His band was partying behind him, so I let him go so he could join in the festivities.
"I'll see you around..." I said.
"Yeah...see you soon."

I walked off, and soon went home. I, as usual, went to bed alone, wishing perhaps I would have invited Plato.
Do you want to stay?
With you?
Yeah...here...
Um...
Come keep me warm Plato.
What's your name again?

"Hey hey," John said, passing by me as I left from my last afternoon class.
"Hello." I said.
"So what did you think of Plato's show?"
"Wow...it was really good. I was quite impressed."
"I love the faces you make when you talk about him...your eyes get all huge and you spread your forehead, ehe."
"Well...yeah."
"Have you heard about a couple of his paintings ge???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????4??????????????????????4??????????5???????????????????????4??????????????????????4????????????5???????????????????????4????4ket.
I found the local section, and stood and stared at Plato's paintings. They were gorgeous.
The first one, was watercolor it seemed, but had an oil look to it. It was blue green, gray...very stormy and moody.
"Like?" he asked, carrying a portfolio type folder under his arm, approaching me.
"It's quite nice." I said. "I like what it creates."
"Yeah..." he said looking at it, and moving his hand with fake brush strokes before it.
"How are you?" I asked.
"I'm well...thank you. And you?"
"Decent..."
"Have you seen the painting over here?" he asked, pulling on my jacket. I followed him to the corner of the room and stared up at the surreal dark image on the wall.
"So this...man...ripped his heart out it seemed...and painted with it. Dipped it in paint, and smeared it on the canvas..." he said. "And it's just so spectacular."
"It really is..." I said, looking at it closely. Plato and I stood closely.
"What are you chewing on?" he asked. I offered him a sweet tart and he smiled and popped it into his mouth.
We continued through the gallery, and he told me his interpretations, feelings. Things he's tried to do, what he wanted to do with art.
"Now this one...I don't know about this one." He said, reaching into my coat pocket and getting a sweet tart. I stood and my jaw fell as I felt him clawing around so close to me. I held my breath and listened to him talk.
Plato raved about art...love...pain...and began to tell me about all the conflict between all these things and education.
"Our schools suffer because our teachers aren't artists...but trained to act as they are." He said.
"I think that is a great basis of argument."
"You don't want to learn how to write from someone who was taught from a book. You want to learn to write from a writer...someone with the terrible disease which causes an inability to put down his pen..."he said.
"I agree completely. Art permeates every facet of learning."
"Some friends of mine put together a rally on education...which is supposed to take place tomorrow...if you want to come and help support us, please do..." he said.
We were now in front of the gallery. Traffic was passing slowly, and the sun was beating down on his dark hair. It created uneven shadows on his face as I squinted and looked up at him.
"Definitely...when? Where?"
"I'll pick you up...and we'll go...around noon tomorrow..." he said.
"Then you can walk me home, and see where to come then." I smiled at him, pointing up the street.
"Yeah...sure."
We walked somewhat quietly. He spoke more about the rally, and how his friends had been planning it for a long time, and it was going to be the most powerful thing since the Million Man March. Fighting for the Educated Black Man in America.
I smiled at his right choices in support.
"Well...this is it." I said, walking up to my door.
He looked at the number and made a mental note.
"So noon..." he said. I nodded and looked at him.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Shoot."
"Can I kiss you?"
"Me? You don't want to do that..."
"Yeah...yes I do..." I said. He looked at me hard, but genuinely, slightly shaking his head.
I walked toward him and placed my hand on his neckline, feeling the little hairs that touched his collar, and I looked at him sweetly.
He moved in, and we kissed.
It was nothing from the movies. Quite dry and innocent considering what it could be compared to. But it was a kiss.
I ran my hand down his jacket sleeve, and smiled at him.
"Have a nice night..." he said. I opened my door and went inside as he walked away.
I leaned against the door and giggled intensely, touching my lips, breathing hard.

Good lawd !

It came about time for Plato to pick me up, and I waited. I waited and waited. I walked around, stood outside and smoked, and waited.
I sat in the stairway going over my apartment and had another cigarette. I hung my head slightly, and held my head up with my arm, propped on my leg. My sleeve went up my arm, revealing my wrist to the cool breeze.
"Hey," he said, walking up. I looked at him and looked at my non-existent watch. He nodded and sat next to me.
"Hi," I said. He looked at me and shook his head.
"I'm sorry I'm so late..." he said. "My friends, the whole thing...went completely bad this morning. The police came to his apartment and told him he was bordering on mass group riot possibility, and that he couldn't assemble, and they challenged them, constitutional right to assemble, I was called in..."
"Wow...that really isn't good."
"No...so now, we have to file for some kind of permit for safety, so it's being moved to a later date."
"That is by far the most interesting reason for being late I've ever heard." I laughed.
"Well, ya know. I do what I can."
"So now what?"
"I'm going to write massively about this and place it in my newsletter immediately...another all nighter at Kinko's I think."
"I'd like to read it again sometime..." I said. "If you need any help...I'm here."
"Well...now that you mention it." he said, looking at me and smiling.
"When do you want me over?"
"Why don't you come by around 8...and we'll start up...I need to pull some more information about a couple more things for this issue..." he said. "Unless you want to help me do that...spend the day in the library."
"If you need the help, I'd be happy to lend a hand."
"Well, c'mon then." He smiled, getting up. He took my hand and helped me up. We peeked into my apartment, and I left with him, sitting cozy in the passenger seat, en route to the library.

We walked into the five story library and immediately were sucked into the elevator and Plato pushed 5, as naturally as breathing. I watched the light pass on his face with every growing floor.
Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.
The doors opened, and I followed him out as he walked to a back table and pulled out a chair for himself, and one for me. We sat down, and he smiled at me.
He was beautiful among all those books, just gleaming...glowing and standing apart from everything. I wanted to hug him and never let go.
He pulled pages of scribbles out of his pocket, and handed me one.
"This is what we are looking for," he said. I looked over the list and nodded.
"Alright."
"So...I guess find it, copy it or paraphrase it, and note sources...and we'll see how far we can get."
"Okay."

We both went in different directions and started frantically looking up book codes that we had pulled from the library's computer system.
We each had about three books in hand when we turned down the same isle.
Plato smiled at me, and I gasped. I practically dropped the books. I watched him follow the numbers on the books...800.11.....800.35....801.56....he grimaced and looked again. He mouthed "800.89" and kept looking.
My heart raced and I became slightly shaky. I wanted to push him against the tall shelf, and hide ourselves in the isle, among the old paper smelling books.
He looked at me and I turned quickly out of the isle and sat at the table and did some work.

We spent 4 hours in the library, and found everything but 2 sources he needed, but not badly.
"That went considerably well," he said as we got in his car.
"Yes it did."
"So...lets go get some food...and start in on this issue then."
"Sounds good..i'm rather hungry."
Hungry for you.
I want a drink.
I want you to drink.
Maybe if you were drunk you'd pay more attention to me.
Maybe.

We went to a small drive thru Mexican place and got as much food as we could eat for 6 dollars. I had a veggie burro, and Plato chewed on a bean and cheese burrito and a quesedilla.
We sipped out sodas on the way to his house and when we got inside, he immediately, after turning on the lights, began a kettle of tea on the stove.
It was moderately dark inside his apartment. You could tell he didn't spend much time there. Not horribly alert at least.
He pulled out a decade old word processor and started it, bringing a stack of paper next to him. I sat on the couch, a mere two feet away and laid on my back. I reflected the light from the kitchen on the papers and looked through all the information we found.
"Alright....I'll write...and you feed me with info when I need it.."
"Okay."

We did that for a couple hours, him describing to me what he wanted, and me reading to him any source we may have found. I yawned as he read over his work, and I soon fell asleep when he was proofing his pages.
"Wonderful. It turned out perfectly," he said flashing the papers in front of my face, realizing I had dozed off.
"Jayden..." he said softly. "Jayden..."
I stirred slightly, dreaming that he was calling my name to come and hold me. To grab my attention for a kiss.
He reached over the back of the couch and touched my face. He ran his palm along the side of my face, my jaw line, and his fingers over my lips. I was alert enough to realize all of this. I wanted desperately to pull his arm down and make him lay with me. He grabbed his keys and left.
Within about five minutes I looked around the apartment and realized he was gone. I laid back down and fell back asleep.
I heard him come back in about an hour later. He placed a large stack of papers on the table with a thump, and he looked down on me. I was looking back at him.
"Your eyes glow in the dark," he said. I smiled and hugged a pillow he had given me. He looked at me for a few minutes, as I drifted back and forth from sleep. I couldn't tell if I was sleeping or not.
I reached out and grabbed his hand, and lead him around to the other side of the couch and he sat down next to me. I touched his arm softly, and then his hair. He closed his eyes and his breathing changed. I scooted over on the side of the couch as much as I could and he laid next to me. I touched his face and his shoulder as he pulled me close. I kissed his forehead, and his cheek, and he brought his warm lips to mine and gave me a sultry kiss. I held his face to the side of mine and kissed his neck, and he began biting just below my jawline. I wrapped my leg around him and brought him closer, as I gasped every time he bit harder into me. His slightly unshaven jaw rubbed against me, causing a pleasurable friction. I began moving under him, and he jumped, moving to my side again. He covered my mouth and then kissed it dryly, and held me alongside him. He brushed my hair from my face and shook his head.
"Just stay here with me." I said softly into his ear. He nodded and pressed his face against mine.

The next morning it was extremely warm in his apartment. The sun was shining right on the couch, and I was wrapped in a thick blanket. I looked around from the couch and saw that Plato was folding papers on the table. He had quite a stack.
"Is that the finished product?" I asked. He nodded. I got up and grabbed a copy from the table and looked at it quickly.
"It looks really nice," I said.
"Thanks." He didn't look up from his paper folding. He had stacks of 10 it looked like, spread all over the table.
"So you are going to deliver these and such?"
"Yeah...that's my afternoon's work, after I take you home."
I nodded and laid back down on the couch and smelled the blanket. It smelled like him.
I could still taste him.

I didn't want to go home. I wanted to live on his couch. Even for just a few days, to just lay there and watch how he lived. Watch him get a sudden charge to paint, watch him rock out...I just wanted to be near him a lot. I couldn't tear myself away. Already.

Plato took me home and I wandered aimlessly around my apartment. I ended up smoking half the afternoon away on my patio, reading in the cool overcast and slightly windy weather. My hair flipped into my face and swirled the smoke before my face and whipped it away. I was crouched into my chair cozily, and began falling asleep against my knees.

I didn't see or talk to Plato for two weeks. He didn't go to the shows I was at, and I didn't see him at any of the galleries or art centers.
You scared another one away. Great job.

"John...have you seen Plato?" I asked, walking among muck at school.
"Nope...he's been hiding out." He said.
"Hmph..."

I went home and cleaned my house, and looked in the paper for a job again. And again and again. I wanted a new job badly, but couldn't bring myself to reply to any of the horrific job options layed out in the paper. I leaned back in my chair and threw the quarter folded paper on the ground and sighed loudly. My record player kicked off and I closed my eyes, shaking my head slightly.
My door was knocked upon hard. I jumped from my seat and walked to the peep hole and looked out to find Plato's face rather close and fisheye shaped. I unlocked the door and he rushed in. I closed it and put my Supersuckers record back on.
He just stood and looked out the open patio window. The breeze flapped his little pokey hairs.
"You okay?" I asked. "I've not seen you in awhile."
"I'm not...well...I'm okay..." he said, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head. He put a stack of papers on the couch arm and stood in the patio doorway and lit a cigarette.
I stood against the wall next to the door and looked at him closely. We weren't facing, but were close.
"What's wrong?" I asked. He looked at me and shook his head.
"I don't know why I'm here.."
I blocked him from leaving and looked at him.
"I don't know if it means anything, but I really enjoy your company. I like you a lot.." I said. He acted as if he couldn't hear me.
"And when I don't see you...talk to you, I get rather sad. You really make me happy..."
"You are excellent company too."
"What is the matter hon?"
"I don't know. I'm just sad..lonely.."
"You have so many friends...so many!" I said.
"But none of them...I don't have the feeling I get when I'm talking with you though. My friend s and I...we don't talk about the right things."
"So talk to me more."
He looked at me and flicked his cigarette over the fence.
"I cant paint...I tried and tried. And I cant. I wrote some bad poetry..its on the couch. Read it and laugh at it with me..."
I snatched the paper from the couch and looked at the page of words.
"So this is because you couldn't paint?" I asked.
He nodded.
"You need to stand on the end of the pier and breathe hon...."
"Read it."
I licked my lips and took a breath.
"smile strong, dance drunk
desire music, dream tender
caress emotion
promise thought
worship whispers.
we drink sugar.
embrace all moons
seduce glistening waves
moist laughing is perfumed flowers
passion wine burns the bed.
it is escape.
ache is forever.
wait for a fool
warm skin and cold kiss
know your fate
look at your soul
alone.
find face
take every wish
and make away."
"It just doesn't work..." he said, running his hands through his hair frantically.
"It's nice...it really...wow. It's deep."
Plato walked toward me and took my face in his hands and ran the length of his hand on my jaw. His eyes looked between mine hard.
"It's for you." I looked at him and broke away from his hands.
"I wrote it for you. It's about you..." he said. I looked at it again and put it down on the table and left it there. I could see it from the corner of my eye, and refused to give it excess vanity by letting it see how I wanted to read it again and again. Dwell over each word.
"Thank you."
He looked at me and looked away.
"So you can't paint. Have you tried anything else?"
"There is nothing else."
"There is! Meander through the art store and find something...make mosaics..or something." I said.
"I cant."
I looked at him and kept my mouth shut. My face was warm, and my ears were shooting flames. I swallowed hard and looked at the door. He began walking toward it and looked at his shoes.
"Bye."
I waved at him silently and went back out on the patio. I was curled in my seat smoking by the time he passed by my patio. He looked up at me and gave me a cold stare. I shuttered and went inside and closed up. I sat down with a cup of tea and went through his poem line by line.
This boy was going to kill me.

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