buried

Currently listening to : Music for a nurse – Oceansize

I spoke to my friend Joseph today. I hadn’t spoken to him in a couple of weeks. We go back to middle school, so we’re kind of close. We were just talking about what we refer to as "the good old days" with honest longing when he reminded about how we had taken a friends camcorder for a few weeks and recorded a few hours worth of us being stupid, fucking around, beating on my nephew…Sharing ‘deep’ thoughts…You know, that kind of shit. Just an ongoing narrative of our daily, young teenage lives. We kept that tape.

We’ve been dying to see it. Those were some of our best times and we can’t find the stupid tape. We both remember keeping it and I remember seeing it in my closet before we moved to this house. I couldn’t help myself – I went looking for it amongst my closeted things today.

Sadly, I never found it – The window to those days will stay as warm memories and conversation pocked with laughter. I did find an old composition journal. It’s practically empty. There’s what looks to be the start to some story that I tried working on and then promptly scratched out. There’s an X’d out poem on the back of that page. There’s a blank page next with "I LOVE YOU" written across the top in blue ink. Then, after that is a short, 1 page (back and front) writing dated the 23d of January, 2006. It’s intense. I can’t even remember writing it, but sure enough, it’s that small, sharp looking writing – mine. I’m going to put it down now, because – well, I don’t know why.

Let me warn you, though- there’s some nasty language. There’s explicit references to sex. The dialogue (sp?) is quite vulgar. If this kind of stuff offends you, just skip over it. Here goes.

Written across the top is this:
" ‘ Requiem: a song or hymn of mourning,’ ".

    "You’re a fucking piece of SHIT!"
    She hit me in the face; a sloppy, open handed thing who’s sound was dull, unimportant and tired. It carried the weight of years, though, and that’s what stung.
    She hit me again, unsatisfied with the first, and again. When she swung once more, I caught hold of one wrist and the other as she cursed me to my face. Funny. The day before I might have sworn that she wasn’t capable of doing such a thing, but here it was. And I deserved every lash of the tongue; every drop of the venom.
    "Don’t fucking hit me," I said, but it was me who winced. Never did I think I’d speak to her like that.
    "I can fucking hit you all I want!", she said. She cried. She sobbed. She looked ready to die and willing to try and take me with her.
    "I wish I had a fucking knife so I could kill you with it."
     I looked up from my feet finally and met her gaze. She meant what she said, I saw, and for the first time, I felt something more than sorry for her and myself: I felt frightened.
    "So," she said. "Did you fuck her here in bed? Did you fuck her here how you fucked me?"
    My throat hurt. My stomach was on fire.
    "Did she suck your cock? Did she suck you off whenever you wanted it like me? Was she as good as me? Was she better? Is that why you fucked her on the side?"
    Her hand folded into itself – a flower of rage. I decided then that if she tried to hit me again, I’d let her.
    "Answer me," she said. Tears streamed down her cheeks and spilled onto her blue shirt. I watched them change the cloth into a darker color where they landed.
    "Did you play with her hair while she sucked you off? Did you put your hand on her head and push her down? Did you? Did you kiss her forehead?" Her voice broke on the last word and she looked down at the floor and wept.
    I might have said something then. I might have said something weak and pityful but she saved me the trouble.
    She hit me across the face again and then was gone.
    I never imagined that four years could crumble with such a flat, unimportant sound of the door closing behind her. But they did.
    And me? Well…I guess I deserved it.
_
I can’t believe I wrote that. Wow.