This is the edited version of "Not Here" with a new title::
Last night was almost perfect.
He brought me red tulips, not yellow ones like he did last time. I simply frowned because of the color, yet happy about the gesture I quickly put a smile—but he caught me a second too late. At that moment, he remembered that I hated red flowers it reminded me of death, putting me in a sad mood.
I felt bad for his feelings and we no longer looked at each other. I didn’t say anything; instead I kissed him hoping to make him feel better. It didn’t and I knew it didn’t because of the feel of his touch. It was plain, unaffectionate, cold and forced to be placed on me because he knew I was trying to make him feel better. I didn’t want that kind of sex that men give you when they feel bad, so they give it to you. I separated us with the idea that my desires had all of a sudden become abandoned.
Abandoned like that time he didn’t show up for the banquet. I was receiving my first award for “Book of the Year” from the New York Times. I had a speech and thanked him for always being there, a little white lie of course, but to prove the biggest point, he wasn’t. Not surprised, I didn’t feel anything when he didn’t show up. I had high hopes that he would show. Even if he were really late, like “fifteen minutes before the banquet ended” kind of late I wouldn’t have cared. All I wanted were the gestures to be made. David never tried and I barely ever cared now a days.
I thought I would be having one of my many great mornings again, today. It actually turned out to be a very lonely one, the first of so many more to come-but not stay.
Lonely mornings are never permanent.
If he only knew that for every time he left that he wasn't hurting me, he was simply giving me permission to enjoy my mornings with someone else. That some one else was always so much grateful to wake up next to me & spend the day indoors wrapped in my self-made quilts, drinking tea & watching old romantic movies that got you in the mood to make your own
He never drank tea. Shit or coffee for that matter… and who the hell doesn't like a good old romantic movie?
I loved David when he wasn’t always full of excitement but when he was detailed. He would place a Hershey kiss every morning after he’d fix the bed so it would be there by the time I came to get dressed after our shower. He’d send cards to my job every other day with one simple sentence describing either our love or why he was in love with me. Always the simplest, yet touching gestures. His persona always made him sexier than what he really was. His smooth smirk that he’d give me instead of a complete smile turned me on and his not overly built body always streamed into my mind during the daytime when I wasn’t thinking about anything else.
I'm looking out the window and it looks windy outside. The trees are swaying way to wildly for me to go out and see for myself; it looks cold so I shall enjoy my silence at home.
I'm trying to not over think the fact that it’s over, so we've said so many times before. I know he'll be back, but this time I'm too tired to take him back. Hopefully he feels the same & will make it easier for me.
His hair from shaving is still in the sink along with the razor and shaving cream bits splattered all over the mirror’s edges. He left the water in the bathroom running, again. His morning breath is still clutched on to the pillows on our--my bed. His scent is still lingering through the hall crevices in my home, turning every corner finding it’s way to my nostrils. His unfinished plate of eggs, bacon and toast is still sitting, waiting alone on the table trying to get the attention of his glass of o.j. sitting on top of the counter. It was calling my attention instead.
I hate the thought of him leaving without a full stomach to work—and once again, upset.
Lingering, the smell of bacon awakens me from my not-conscience thoughts, keeping me from dozing out deeper than I wanted to for today. Today, out of all days, he decides to leave. He was always selfish.
I was heading to Kenya to work on my third book. I was happy to leave the city of New York. I hated its winters. The snow was never on the ground for too long before it turned into nasty looking mush. I could never wear the shoes I wanted to wear. December was getting too brown for me. September was always still green and the months after that were tolerable. October was always yellow and once orange November cunningly came about, it was time to start planning a trip somewhere. December never suited the city. It made it look it’s dullest unless you were trapped between heavy traffic, annoying tourists who’d never seen so many lights and the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center.
He was supposed to take me to the airport, which reminded me that I had to call Ray to drive me. I didn’t want to leave my car at the airport. Ray would have to help me pack- he’s definitely a better packer(than me). I always thought whoever could make all my stuff fit in two suitcases was a better packer. I always over packed. I wish my mother wasn’t in Toronto, visiting her brother. I always enjoyed watching her pack my stuff. Such a detailed woman. The memories start to wander, like they always do. One person I never hated to think about was my mother. Everything about her was graceful, with the exception of her mouth. It never kept shut for too long. Too wise for her own age and too young in the face- I always believed no one could know everything but she always did. She was a typical Capricorn woman. Capricorns had the oldest souls, so said, and living with one and bumping into a few in my own world I can agree.
Capricorns were never permanent in my life, either. They annoyed me easily. They always tried telling you what to do, like they knew best. Their personas are positive, most of the time meaning well but they have not caught on- how to tell people what to do by giving advice instead of demanding. It took my mother until I was nineteen to understand that I will do what I wanted- not what was demanded of me. I was better with advice, I listen carefully, when given. I’ve always been a stubborn being- mostly all Aries are.
I used to think of my mother as an artist in disguise. I’ve heard her singing many times before, lovely voice. Not one like Mariah Carey’s or anything, but very pleasant. She could paint too, at least realistic things—I consider myself an abstract painter, like everything else in my world. I wanted to know what went through her mind when she’d be sitting alone on our black sofas on the porch that she refused to get rid of. There were very few people who I wish I’d known what they were thinking. Not to many people ever interested me. Too many people were grounded in the dirt, truly believing that wherever they stood is where they belonged.
Then again I wasn’t sure if I wanted my mom here. Not now.
She’d only tell me that the relationship I was having was unhealthy, the way we always argued, then making up again. I wonder if my mom knew what make up sex was. She was right though.
Ok, now I’m really annoyed that I have to pick up the phone.
“Buzz me in, I’m downstairs.”
Damn it, Ray! Couldn’t it be five more minutes? I needed to get my thoughts together- they were all over the place. Everything seemed to be fast paced now.
After buzzing him in I placed myself back to where I was. Sitting Indian style on my kitchen chair I rewrapped myself in my quilt and finished up my pomegranate tea. I looked at my watch, loving the way the second hand ticked so smoothly, reading 10:15. Never late, always early that guy. Guess I liked that trait- I was always barely making it anywhere on time.
I saw him come in. The door was still unlocked from earlier- I didn’t lock it because he always did when I left it open every time David stormed out. I only locked it when I was escorting David to the door and giving him his “goodbye, have a great day at work” kiss. Ray had his own key to my apartment, anyway.
He kissed me. Lovely. Always lovely.
Ray went about putting his coat down along with the other extra stuff he had on. I laughed to myself. Not even David had a key…and don’t sit there judging me, I liked it that way. I never had a boyfriend have a spare key because I didn’t like them coming in and out as they pleased. Ray knew better- guess he never wanted to mess up what we had, as small as it was, he knew not to get too comfortable—he isn’t my boyfriend, and boyfriends love to get comfortable. He was always so smooth. He wasn’t a man of words; he left that to me. He was more a man of gestures, actions- detailed actions. He left the wording to me and I preferred it that way. He understood that perfectly.
“No.” I smirked the way I always do when he asks me. Even if I already took one he always knew I’d take the time to take another one- with him. There’s something he provides for me. I don’t know what it is yet but I think it’s between the things that he does that David doesn’t and how affectionate and beautiful I think Ray is.
He carried me off from the chair. Nestling my head into his chest, I heard someone angrily banging on the door.
Silently to myself, “it’s him”. Ray looked down at me as I ignored it. Once he saw my reply to the knocking he ignored it too.