elizabeth and bob

bob

Elizabeth (not your real name)
we were kissing
by the blanched light of a cheap floor lamp.
three-way bulb dialed down to nearly useless number one
i say nearly useless
the room was lit as if by candlelight
so, useless but for kissing by candlelight
you call that kissing
sprawled on a bean bag chair
faces dulled with rapture
no sale all purchase
wee hours.
through the window
occasionally glimpsed stars
shimmied in a desert sky
wavery lights arrayed over an oleander hedge
and glowing backyard pool
my parent’s house
my house and my parent’s house
in truth more their house than mine
I didn’t know from amortized
but its stucco and wood
surrounded and held me
cast a spell on me
in my unreliable memory
every room and every hour
are suffused with midday sunshine
people places and things
i can’t hold any more
though i didn’t care
to hold them then.

this tv room in near-dark
a display diorama at the Smithsonian
my teen feeling
of surreal gravity
wondrous and unrecognizable
is this happening?
our first dislocations
always at the behest
of sexual fumbling and half-light
you were on top
my 1977 shorty-shorts
working overtime
this was our first kiss
and would be one of our last
fueled by stars
in science class they’d said
we’re made of stars
or ‘star-stuff’
shut tf up we’re not ‘made of stars’.
well.
your hard breathing
made me breathe hard, and so on
the feedback loop
had my heart flopping wildly
i could picture it ululating in there
i had concern
is this a heart attack?
is it supposed to vibrate like that?
can it be moving any blood in this state?
will this tear my heart muscle?
i actually wondered these things
through feverish
shorty-shorts tenting
chambered slosh-muscle
crazily on the move
in its little calcium cage
making of the moment
an oven I felt
would consume me.
is it possible
to feel ones heart
abrading the sternum?

My dad walked into the room.
I’d heard him approaching
but like the startled
watchman on the Titanic
couldn’t believe my senses
nor the abject, impossible horror
of the immediate
and unavoidable cataclysm
my systems at full boil
registered movement in the periphery
is my father coming down the hall
at this hour?
Right now?
iceberg
iceberg
I said iceberg
iceberg. iceberg.
full astern godammit oh my god full astern
iceberg godammit oh godammit
this can’t be
it freezes the blood
iceberg
iceberg
oh no
what an emergency
it freezes the mind
and the blood.
strips the gears
i had feared an unchoreographed
burst of telling semen
now I fear I’ll vomit
where shall I turn my head
I can’t lie here
and turn my head and vomit
Elizabeth and I freeze
like sparrows
she clutches my forearm to signal.
‘I know’, I clutch back
iceberg
iceberg
‘oh fuck don’t you think I know?’ I clutch back
dread-clutching
‘oh my good god’ I clutch back
he’s in from the hallway
he’s in from the hallway
he’s in from the hallway
elizabeth, let go of my arm
he’s in from the hallway
he’s in the room with us
he’s in the room with us
what’s he doing
he’s looking right at us
he’s stopped in the murky lamplight
looking right at us
elizabeth let go of my arm
oh good god almighty oh my dear god
he’s in from the hallway and in the room with us
he’s in the dimly lit room with us
elizabeth let go of my arm
elizabeth you are cutting my arm
don’t make me cry out
oh god he’s standing right there
he’s like a golem in the room
and us on the bean bag chair,
frozen and clawing forearms

i see him in the very dim light
he is an indistinct
unmistakable figure
shirtless and out of shape
in baggy boxers
that tell a lifelong tale
two lifelong tales
my laissez faire dad
my vaguely loving but feckless dad
my orphaned unwanted dad
my dad in the next room like a kindly uncle
my dad who never threw ball with me
my dad who played cowboys with me once in 1966
my dad who couldn’t say i love you
my dad who secretly drank
my dad who feared much
my dad who never took us on vacation
my dad who was scarcely a dad
my dad with his prematurely gray hair
my dad with his easy smile
and this adored young girl in my arms
a juxtaposition that compels vomit
I love her I adore her
so this is how one grows love
so this is that heat
heat like a sauna
so this is where sex and love intersect
now I believe it
clothed bodies throwing heat
my tiny 70s shorts struggling.

dad looked at us
a vaguely visible silhouette
in really baggy boxers
in my memory
a talking cat, a specter
a man alone in the other room
watching sports
wanna sit and watch sports with me Jeffry?
no thanks
wanna sit with me and watch this?
no thanks, I gotta go
you sure? come sit with me
no thanks, I gotta go, dad
come on, just sit with me
naw, I gotta go
ok, Jeffry
always Jeffry with him
a helpful distancing formalism
disguised thinly as bemusement
now in his enormous boxers
by phony candlelight
I see the boy in my dad
I see the boy in my dad
iceberg iceberg

‘what’re you doing out here?’ dad said
I remained frozen and silent
why? why? why? silent again
in five more seconds he said
‘oh!’ in a tone I’d never heard come from him
revelation
he walked on to the kitchen
turned right into the family room
went back to his bed.
i saw the boy in my dad
as if all the lights were on.
it struck me and then it left me
Elizabeth said
‘i’d better get home’
yeah. let’s go.

Zeus or Apollo
whatever titan runs this place
take me back
i won’t ask again
when dad comes into the room
i’ll run to him this time
throw my arms around him in the dim light
all the way around him
the man in his oversized boxers
will see a startled kid jump up
his skinny kid-arms thrown wide
it’ll really surprise my dad
just take me the fuck back.

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5 thoughts on “elizabeth and bob

  1. “oh!’ in a tone I’d never heard come from him
    revelation”

    Perfect. I envy your kids, their screw ups. You get it.

    Like

    • You get it, too. Thanks for talking about it with me. I don’t know why the so-called Arrow of Time is built the way it is. It seems intuitive – we can only move forward – but then later as the past looms so large it seems nonsensical that we can’t go back. It’s like a sheet of plate glass just keeps inexorably pushing you smoothly forward. Why.

      Like

    • Jeff, I dunno if I ever replied to this but every comment you make on my writing is a privilege. You feel very deeply and your remarks are golden. Thanks, always.

      Like

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