The Bar Stool***
The bar is shaped like the letter, J, and I sit on the barstool at the end of the curve in the tail of the J. The door to the outside is behind me and to my right and the bar fixture itself goes back into the bar to the top of the letter, J, to my right. The picture window is to my left. Sometimes, a group of us order out and eat in the bar. The fried donuts were bigger than mini-donuts and dusted, sparsely, in refined, sparkly white sugar. They were a weird thing to order from a Chinese restaurant but, sometimes, I crave sugar.
If I want more sugar, I dip a donut in the sugar that sifted through to the bottom of the white, styrofoam box no doubt when the donuts were put into it. It is not really enough extra sugar for 10 donuts but then sugar creates a hunger of its own. There is a baseball game on the TV behind me and there are other people in the bar which is busy tonight. My left hand is sticky from the sugar and I consider going to wash my hands in the woman's bathroom which is newly and, inexplicably, repainted a glaring shade of institutional, icy green.
I begin to lick the sugar from my own fingers and, as I do, his tongue joins mine and we lick up and down my fingers together to clean them of residual sugar and stickiness. He held my left hand steady with his left hand as we lick in short tongue strokes together down the inside of my ring finger and into the well between it and the middle finger. Then, we lick up the side of that finger. Beauty and exquisite rightness combined into each lick of our tongues as, together, we reclaim tenacious, residual sugar that could not be seen only felt and tasted.
I finish licking alone and look around to make sure no one saw that. Of course, they didn't. Sugar sparkles in the right light.
If I want more sugar, I dip a donut in the sugar that sifted through to the bottom of the white, styrofoam box no doubt when the donuts were put into it. It is not really enough extra sugar for 10 donuts but then sugar creates a hunger of its own. There is a baseball game on the TV behind me and there are other people in the bar which is busy tonight. My left hand is sticky from the sugar and I consider going to wash my hands in the woman's bathroom which is newly and, inexplicably, repainted a glaring shade of institutional, icy green.
I begin to lick the sugar from my own fingers and, as I do, his tongue joins mine and we lick up and down my fingers together to clean them of residual sugar and stickiness. He held my left hand steady with his left hand as we lick in short tongue strokes together down the inside of my ring finger and into the well between it and the middle finger. Then, we lick up the side of that finger. Beauty and exquisite rightness combined into each lick of our tongues as, together, we reclaim tenacious, residual sugar that could not be seen only felt and tasted.
I finish licking alone and look around to make sure no one saw that. Of course, they didn't. Sugar sparkles in the right light.
I watch the man take 2 heavy crystal goblets out of the cupboard in the disused, incredibly smoky apartment where he lived with our dead friend.
"Did I want them?", he asked me. "They are real 24% lead crystal and would get $25 a piece at a pawn store." I did not doubt his street-acquired wisdom but heavy, cut-crystal has never appealed to me. I thought about how ashes compacted for eons can create glass. He is ashes now.
Two people emerge out of the dust and smoke and ashes. They drink out of the goblets arms entwined looking into each others eyes. The furrowed, crystal glasses sparkle with light from a million years ago.
***FYI - This is a Stream of Consciousness piece. The bar description is based on a bar that does currently exist. I am convinced it is an energetic portal of some sort. Everything else is imagined meaning it never happened and it is not about any one person.
"Did I want them?", he asked me. "They are real 24% lead crystal and would get $25 a piece at a pawn store." I did not doubt his street-acquired wisdom but heavy, cut-crystal has never appealed to me. I thought about how ashes compacted for eons can create glass. He is ashes now.
Two people emerge out of the dust and smoke and ashes. They drink out of the goblets arms entwined looking into each others eyes. The furrowed, crystal glasses sparkle with light from a million years ago.
***FYI - This is a Stream of Consciousness piece. The bar description is based on a bar that does currently exist. I am convinced it is an energetic portal of some sort. Everything else is imagined meaning it never happened and it is not about any one person.
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