Tis the time

It was that time of the year again, when you’re reminded of everything you are and you haven’t been. The time you make promises to yourself that you know you cannot keep. The time you pretend you love your family the same way you love watching movies by yourself. It’s that time of the year, to travel, be happy, open gifts, spend more money than you have then do it all over again. It’s when those you love hurt you the most and are not even ashamed of doing so. They feel righteous, they feel entitled, they feel as if they could ask you anything even if they couldn’t and they do. They ask about your life, your family, why you don’t have kids, why you’re not married, why you don’t have a big house with a dog. No one ever asks you about the things you’re doing right. It’s as if they had a crystal ball of every part of your life you have failed at and you know it. They hit you right in the heart and you can’t breathe. You want to escape, wake up from that bad dream. It’s the time you wish reality wasn’t real and you could wake up and choose a different dimension to be in, where there’s no reality, there’s no family, there’s no failures. A different reality where people can only acknowledge you for your achievements and congratulate you for all you did right in your life: a life without nagging, what a relief. And if we create our own reality why do these people keep pushing you to be your worst self, and why don’t we create a reality that makes us happy. It can’t be all because we’re so bored. I changed my mind, I’d rather be stuck in happiness. I’d rather be stuck in a perfect relationship that has no place to go because there’s so much love to give. And to receive. A person who’s so loving and caring that I don’t even understand where all that love is coming from and even then I accept it. Someone who doesn’t judge, who doesn’t complain, who worships me with every part of their soul, and loves me with all my flaws and imperfections. I love myself no matter what - well I have no choice. I know I have to live with myself every day of my life. There’s always a choice and you could be different people, you could have different lives, it all depends on the choices you make. So much responsibility, no pressure. That’s what they say, but there’s so much pressure that most of us can’t handle it and we create ways to escape our reality. As if one day we could achieve perfection and we know that’s just a concept, like the world is round, except the world really is round. Or is it, no one has ever been there to prove, it’s all theories and how we perceive our own reality. What if we’re living in a piece of paper and we’re just super heroes in a comic book. We would never know and we could be puppets living on a string. Humans are easily gullible and I’m not a regular human. I see beyond all that, after we’re dead, after all this doesn’t exist and we have passed who would be able to tell the story. And in that time of the year, will we ever know that it’s that time of the year. Other civilizations could create other realities and all that we have created could mean nothing. It’s called evolution. And it’s that time of the year when you think all those things and you look inside of yourself for answers, and you search your brain as if you could change reality in a second. And you can, but you don’t, you still don’t until it’s unbearable. Then you realize it’s not only that time of the year. It’s when you’re reminded of it and you know it every second. It’s every second of every day, all year long, and you know it inside of your head. And it’s only that time of the year that you have to face it and pretend it’s that time of the year and you’re happy. And you don’t believe in any theories, and all you care about is eating and drinking and wearing red. Tis the season. Tis the time. It’s that time of the year. Again. Over and over and over. Again.

Coming to terms with the idea of love. Not easy at all. But she wasn't easy, she was the opposite of easy, crazy, complicated, complex. Love is just an idea imprinted in our heads by many movies and books and old couples. And like the world of ideas it is idealized, that's exactly it. There's no ideal perfect love; it just doesn't exist. And sure a couple in love will prove me wrong for the first month, maybe a couple months, but the love will be gone and their ideals too, and they will be a couple just another couple trying to find the long lost love that remains in their memories and nowhere else. Maybe we could have done things differently, maybe that day if you didn't say this or if I didn't say that, or if we didn't do it, or if we had waited longer, or if I believed you, or if you told me what you were really thinking, or if you introduced me to your parents sooner, or if you met my family, or if we went to the beach once more, or if we got married right away, or if we never talked about relationships, or if we weren't honest with each other, maybe we should have lied, or if you made me feel more secure, or if our love wasn't so sure, or if we didn't have so many expectations, or if we didn't try to travel across nations, or if we just gave up everything once and for all, or if I didn't want anything from you, nothing at all. So many things could have been different. Remember that time when it felt like first love, like being in love for the first time, like innocent children who still believe in love, do you remember. It's gone, it's all in the past, all the innocence left behind. I wasn't sure, I wasn't ready, I wasn't there, I wasn't yours, I wasn't prepared for so much, I was too far away. It was only once, only one kiss, only one touch, only one look, only for one second that I wasn't yours. It hurts the same, one second or a thousand. It's all it takes, one second is all it takes to kill what is inside, pure feeling, true and honest love. How do you get it back, you don't. You never will. It will always be thorns without petals. That's what love is. In the end it's all that's left but they always sell the idea of the petals and the smell of perfume. Love dies just like any flower until there's nothing left. 

The Untold Story of Romeo and Juliet

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For days she cried waiting for her lover to come back, hoping it would all be erased from her memory and that it wouldn't be but a bad dream she would soon wake up from, but he never came. She hoped Romeo would be forgiven and would soon be allowed in her sights again and she couldn't live with the thought that he had been banished. For no matter how terrible his deed was, she still had love in her heart, and that she couldn't help. She couldn't help feeling that her greatest love was taken away from her arms. At night she cried and had nightmares, thinking of all that could and couldn't be. She had nightmares of her lover coming back to murder her and would wake up sweaty and shaky in the middle of the night to find the door tightly locked and the apartment empty - the home that was supposed to be theirs. She never unpacked the boxes, never had the heart to go in the room where it all had taken place again, and just kept that door closed as a storage of bad memories. She kept his pillow under her arms that still smelled like him thinking of the good times and the last time they made love in her bed. It wasn't just a few days before they had exchanged vows of love in that very room. On the wall she kept a sign that reminded her of their love once and she still keeps it today as a reminder to have faith in love "Love is patient, love is kind..." That was also a sign that their love wasn't patient or kind - and that killed her inside. She couldn't bare the thought of life without him, and it wasn't so much that she needed him for no other reason but that she needed their love. If for one second he could believe her and never doubt her love in his heart, maybe they could have been happy. For she never doubted their love herself. Against all expectations, all odds, all opinions, those two had found love. True as the sky is blue and as cheesy as these sayings. They had found love in a hopeless place...And no matter how many evil tongues speak ill of their love, they will always know it was true love.

She hoped there was a priest of some kind, someone that would understand and protect their love, someone that would come up with a solution and tell the two lovers to meet at a church, in secret so no one would know and they could kiss again. Just once more. She hoped they could kiss in the middle of their worst moment and make up forever, love each other forever. If only we could go back in time and even in the harsh moment of desperation I could have kissed him and proved my love to him, and show him inside of my heart, if he could only feel how much love I had to give him, but I gave him all my love (and it was never enough it seemed). I loved him more than myself at times. And if only they could live happily ever after. Then she remembers Romeo & Juliet never lived happily ever after. They died in love, for their love, and that's something they weren't willing to risk. What if they met again and that would be their fate.

Now she lives in her castle with all the things she always dreamed of, but as though she never loved and wondering if she will ever love again. She lives from the memories of their once found love and the smiles they would bring to each other's faces when they first found love. No one will ever understand, no one can ever comprehend what they truly felt, for most people on this earth will never find love and never understand what true love is, and they will go on living without ever feeling what those two lovers felt - just like the untold story of Romeo and Juliet.

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The lovers didn’t speak nor did they mention their love again. They didn’t dare reveal the feelings underlying their rage. For where there’s hate, there’s an equal amount of love. They hated each other because they couldn’t get over their feelings and they had to focus on the reasons that kept them away. They focused on the reasons that still kept them alive. They focused on their careers, on their jobs, on parties, on gatherings, on drinking – because that’s what lovers focus on when they have a broken heart.

Denial only worked so far. She found another man to keep her attention away from her true love since she couldn’t have him - just the idea of contacting him provoked immediate embarrassment and constraint from her family and friends. Everyone surrounding her had instructed she shouldn’t contact him under any circumstance. For lack of better judgement she agreed. She was afraid and alone in her love. She couldn’t find any supporters, any word of comfort or constructive criticism. Love had been shut down. Her heart was out of order.

For a few seconds she even believed she was over the old love. She lied to herself and she was such a great actress even she believed in her own lie. She knew it wouldn’t last forever, but she wanted to enjoy that moment of freedom. She realized her plan had failed. It could only have worked if she could feel that old familiar feeling and maybe forget the history she left behind.

That was the first disappointment, or second taken in consideration it all started with a broken heart. He said maybe at some point they would become exclusive if he ever got there as if she had to be longing for that moment and waiting until he decided to love her, which was clear would never happen nor would she fall in love with him if he never gave their love a chance. That was the first time she began to miss her love, but she still wouldn’t admit it. She went back home to lay in bed alone, waiting for one teardrop to fall on her red sheets. She looked around the empty room with the boxes still untouched and couldn’t bring herself to look at old photos. The time when they still believed in love.

She sat down on her computer to work, edit, YouTube, Facebook, twitter, something. Skype was on and her ex-boyfriend from years ago messaged her. It was like a Pandora’s box of disappointments had been opened at that point. So he told her his story and said afterwards, “Man up.” She replied “I can’t man up because I’m not a man, I can only woman up and that means I become even more vulnerable.” She couldn’t have chosen better words for what was about to come and the dramatic irony began.

Her heart was filled with hope, could it be that she had found someone to fall in love with so she wouldn’t have to drown in sorrow for her lost love. No, of course not. Denial never goes a long way. It’s like going for a long dive and even if you can hold your breath for longer than expected you know at some point you will have to come up for air.

And it was as if a knife crossed her heart once more, the heart that was already in shambles. At that moment she felt as though she joined the losing side of a battle at the finishing end when those at the ground keep getting stabbed to death. One more stab before she went down. And she fell. Once again she fell on her bed and was left to her crying silence. “How much more pain could she endure,” she asked herself in thought. The world was playing a terrible prank on her, why bring all those memories back, all the pain back, after all she had been through. That’s one question that wouldn’t stop and she would keep asking it over and over in her head, why. She fell into her own misery like a cancer patient who has discovered the diagnose and can’t seem to understand the words muttered or read or seen, but can’t accept their fate. Why.

She had a tendency to fall in love with the impossible, hope for perfection and write scenes of movies in her head. She remembered how dramatic her last break-up when her life almost ended and she almost ended her life. Once again she was tired of believing in happy endings. Romeo and Juliet was a tragedy nonetheless.

Til death do us part. Whenever she heard that statement she thought about Romeo and Juliet. Maybe if they hadn’t died they would have asked for a divorce, they would have fallen out of love, they would have cheated, they could have even killed each other. But dying for love was the most beautiful and romantic death a lover could attain.

She thought of every possible death. She thought of Ophelia drowning in the river, Juliet being poisoned and stabbed, Lady Anne afraid for her death. All these women who live to suffer for love. There was something disturbingly attractive about sacrificing your own happiness for a third person. Suffering seemed so romantic to her. She thought about every possible death available to her from fiction books. Her biggest fear was failing at death. So she’d rather stand still suffering, torturing herself with the thought of death and somehow watching the mascara run through her face while her heart was in pieces brought comfort to her.

“Banished, that one word, banished.”

She recited Shakespeare in her sleep, comparing her lover being away to Romeo’s banishment from the kingdom. He had been banished, but even when Romeo killed her cousin, Juliet still didn’t give up on his love. They were already husband and wife and she stood by his side. Would Juliet have told the prince about her lover’s deeds? Would she have turned him in. That made her feel guilty, then she wondered. Romeo would have protected Juliet to death and he only killed her cousin fighting for his friend’s honor. Romeo was an honorable young man. The opposite of her lover.

He was rude, childish, selfish, eloquent, attractive, mean, evil, perverse, vengeful. He wasn’t the love of her life or anything a girl could wish for in a man. He was a project of a man, who hadn’t turn out according to plan. He was a little girl screaming in the body of a teenage boy. He was everything she hated. Everything she was trying to stay away from. He was negative, bitter, jaded, miserable, harsh, self-centered and he fucked well. He reminded her of all the reasons that made her not want to date him and all the reasons she couldn’t stay with him, and she wanted out but she still wanted him. She was always the moth flying towards the lamp and she knew she was flying towards her sacrifice, but she was a romantic and she found death beautiful. He was the murderer and the lover. Just like Romeo. How Romeo and Juliet could have turned out if they hadn't died in love. It was the untold story of their love.

Subtext

So there she was on the subway sitting on a bench, waiting for her life to be figured out for her, by a stranger, watching the trains go by, not knowing whether to get in or throw herself on the tracks. She was like that: a girl who had things done for her, she was used to it, she didn’t know how to make her own choices, even though it seemed that she did. She had spent her whole life searching for a meaning that wasn’t there and the more she searched, the more she felt useless. No one she had ever met could explain to her how impossible it was to satisfy her, how impossible she was. The girl that was always unhappy waiting for the subway looking at the tracks, listening to music - pretending she was happy. Her whole life she was searching for new goals, so she wouldn’t get bored, but she was always bored, no matter how much she searched or achieved. No one could ever understand or bring meaning to her life; even happiness was boring to her. She questioned her reason for living; she was too smart for being so pretty. She wasn’t satisfied with superficial, material gratification and sometimes she drank to forget. But even when you drink you wake up the next morning then you have to face the consequences of being drunk. It’s not a good way to live. She was what they call an adrenaline junkie, she wanted to live life to the fullest every day but some days life is just boring and it doesn’t offer all she wanted from it. Some days she was satisfied, happy, excited about a new project, about her new life, about a career, raising a family, enjoying her friends, eating good food, going places. Going places, but she hates airplanes. She wishes she could just fly everywhere with her own wings and be 'free like a bird' as they say (even though sometimes birds are not free and live in human-made cages). Free of her own fears, not trying to sabotage anything, without any demons in her head. Real life is not like that. The demons are always there to make sure you don’t completely surrender to happiness. And there she was waiting for the subway, sitting down listening to music as if she wasn’t thinking all these things at the same time and as if music could make her happy; no one around her knew, they couldn’t hear her thoughts and she didn’t feel like sharing. And if she jumped they wouldn’t understand. They would believe that she was happy and she would keep on pretending not to be full of metaphysics inside her head. And they would believe it. They would believe she was shallow and superficial and uninteresting and futile and shallow, did I say shallow, yes and it would be easier to everybody this way. And there she was waiting for the subway. And the train arrived and she got in. And she was happy. Or not.

Girl Upside Down

WHAT? – said the girl

The Girl is Born

The girl was dead. The girl is dead. Now, she was dead, lying in between the cars, hoping for a better dress, a better day, a better job, hoping she would not be too late. She wasn’t late. I don’t remember the girl’s name.  In fact, the girl was born without parents. I don’t know if she had a name. Nonetheless, the girl was walking down the street and her dress wasn’t proper. She wasn’t wearing the perfume mothers give daughters for Christmas. She didn’t even know what Christmas was.  A day, like any other, where many girls are raped. But this girl hasn’t been yet. She was actually thinking about her first time with her first boyfriend and how she missed feeling innocent again. It was too late for dreams because she had only three minutes to get  to work. She wasn’t a girl, she was a man, no, a dog, no, a man. No, she wasn’t a man because a man is a man and she was a girl. A man approached her and whispered if she wanted a taxi. But she was the man. She became a man because it would be easier this way. No, she wasn’t the man, even though sometimes she wished she was. She wanted to be the man, but she wasn’t. She tried to ignore the man, but there were many others like him, hoping to grab her attention and whispering if she wanted many things.  No, she didn’t want their things or anything. All she wanted was to get to work on time. No matter what she did, it was always too late for her. It had been like this since childhood, when she wouldn’t have time to say what she thought or when her questions were answered before she even asked. Or when her boyfriend was somebody else’s boyfriend before being hers. She was the last to understand the jokes and the last to leave the parties. “Get out of my way!,” the old lady said. And she thought old ladies needed to be helped, but this one didn’t… Better this way -  she wouldn’t waste time. And the girl kept running, trying not to be late once in her life. She was too late for classes and too late for the job she applied; she thought about changing her career, but it was too late. She wasn’t too old, but for all she had lived, being so late so many times was a little overwhelming.

            All the waiting-people in the office had managed to get there fifteen minutes early, which is not fair with people who are late, like the girl. Even if she got there on time, they would have been waiting her for fifteen minutes. But she didn’t have a boss anyway. She never even worked in an office. She didn’t know how to sight or punch properly. She never wanted a job because she wouldn’t get used to the talking hours.  Besides, she didn’t like paychecks or omelets.

            The girl had a dog, but the dog wasn’t there with her. The dog was always in her apartment waiting for, but she never had time for the dog. She thought about getting a boyfriend, so he could take care of the dog. But there was nobody to take care of her. The dog wanted to be taken care of -  would it rather be dead, for such an absence of an owner? The girl would - I don’t know about the dog. The question was still there and it was itching inside her head. Sometimes she would forget about it, but then she would remember more than anything and then she would forget it again. This girl thought many different things at many different times and she had been nothing and everything and because she did so many things, she was always too late for the last thing she was doing. She thought the world had more than twenty-four hours and the days, more than three-hundred-sixty-five. So, she kept running. And she was convinced she would live forever.      

Not anymore.

             But this was a day before she died and she didn’t know it. She was doing the same things she did every day. If she knew she was going to die, maybe she would have changed. Her skin was dying, whispering for a touch. But she wasn’t aware of it. She didn’t have time for it. She didn’t want to live - not that she wanted to die, but it’s just that she wasn’t passionate about her life. She didn’t mind being alive, it was ok. But it wasn’t anything special. She thought she was just one more nothing and that nobody would notice what happened to her if it wasn’t for this story.

The Death of the Girl

Then, the girl stopped. Stopped running and stopped being a girl altogether. And the boy kept walking down the street and he didn’t have to worry about being proper or dressing properly and he hated girls; he thought they were ugly and evil. But the boy was free because this is how boys are. And he could walk and talk and laugh and yell and hold the girls and force them to be with him and torture them until he gets tired and he doesn’t want to torture them anymore. He  never remembered he was a girl  before. He didn’t like being a girl, so he’d rather forget – forget about when he was just a girl and there was nothing he could do about it. Not many girls desire to be girls. Even if there is nothing you can do and nothing you want, being a boy is much better.

The boy went to the market and the girls where flirting with him, waiting for him to make a move. They didn’t whisper or tried to grab him by the arm. Girls just look. And wait. And these girls waited and every time he went to the market, they were there. He got their phone numbers, one girl at a time, and he would invite them to his house, one girl at a time.

            The first girl got there and he wouldn’t say a word. He opened the door and poured some wine in her glass. He was drinking whisky. They didn’t have any food and even though this was an invitation for dinner, he did not prepare the table. He started. “What are you doing?” she said and he said “Shut up!” and she did not show up to work.  The second girl came to his house to ask if he knew something about her friend because she had been missing for a day now. He did not answer her questions, though. He just said she was beautiful and she didn’t go to work the next day. She was screaming when he said “Let me show your friend.” And he put both of them lying side by side on the bed. 

They all worked together, so the owner of the supermarket cared more than anybody about them being missing.  Now, there were only two girls and one of his sons to help in the market. Finally, the guy went to the boy’s house but he didn’t answer the door. The boy was sleeping and he couldn’t remember what day of the week it was.  But the market-owner kept ringing the bell and the boy went to the door. The door was open and the man wouldn’t say why he was there. “I need my girls.”  This is the only time he wished he was a girl. But the man didn’t want to hear any jokes and he threatened to call the police. Silence. Silence. More silence. “Let them know they are fired!” The boy did not have any problems with that and he would give them the message. After a week, he started shopping at the market again and he flirted with the girls at the counter. He took the girls to his house as he had done with many of them - until they couldn’t handle it anymore. Then, he put all four girls lined up on his bed, kissed them good-night and slept.

He thought this would never happen, but there was a time the police came, but the police doesn’t ring the bell, they knock on doors and they knock very persistently and they put the door down and they saw the apartment empty. Except for a girl that was lying helpless naked on the floor. she was crying. she was shaking. she was asking for help. she was bleeding. The cops called an ambulance and put a white linen covering the girl. There was a rotten smell in the kitchen, but it wasn’t coming from the trash can that had been emptied every day. There was a strong smell of girls coming from all rooms, but they kept searching for clues and all they found was girls. Yes, there were girls everywhere lying naked on the floor, on the beds, on the bathroom. But these ones weren’t crying anymore. The only girl left asked them crying not to ask weeping many questions.  Every man feels pity for a girl crying and bleeding. It was the second time the boy wished he was a girl. Because nobody would blame a girl for what happened. And the boy decided to become a girl again. For the first time in his life, he liked being a naked girl, a girl who has no responsibilities, a girl who could never be guilty, girls who don’t have to do anything, but wait and cry and bleed. In the end, waiting to be touched was rather amusing more than having to touch the girls. The girl wasn’t bleeding anymore and she felt naked free and kept running naked down the streets. For the first time the girl had a naked smile on her face, and it wasn’t because she just had sex. It’s because she was a girl.

The Girl’s Resurrection

She could not forgive herself for what she had done and she could not forget she once was a boy.  One day, she decided to get a rope and put around her ceiling.

She didn’t want to hang herself, but in case she changed her mind, she would have everything set. She got a dry corn she used to take in long trips to sleep with. She didn’t have anybody, so it would take days or months or years, until somebody would break into her space.

No, in her case, it wouldn’t matter if she did it today or tomorrow. But everything was too complicated, she would have to write a letter to somebody. Isn’t it right to write letters before you die.

3/6/13.

I am sorry about committing this crime, but nobody will be able to punish me anyways – I’ve been punished already. I do not wish to die, but I would like to leave this letter of recommendation in case somebody finds me. I hope not to be successful because I enjoy living a little bit, but I always wanted to write one of these. By the way, I don’t think you are going to find this letter because I haven’t been visited in months, I don’t have a relationship and I have never met my parents. I don’t know who you are, but I wish to write a letter saying good bye.

(She though this is not good – but she kept going.)

I decided not to commit suicide because my suicide letter is not good. I do not know how to write properly, and the letter is not dramatic enough. Forgive me.

What do you think? It doesn’t matter what you think, because the girl thought a letter was mandatory. To whom would she address the letter? Nobody would care anyways, then she didn’t want to die anymore. She didn’t want to die anymore because there was nobody to read her letter. But also because she did not know how to write this type of letters. She had never written a letter before! She figured if she just waited on the bed, maybe she would die sometime and then she wouldn’t have to write any letters. She left the dry corn by her side, slept for two days straight, but she never died. Not this time. It’s not easy to die. Not easy to die at all. 

The girl kept running, not that she knew where she was going to, but there was no reason for stopping. She was hoping for a reason to stop.  She didn’t have much time left. Maybe twenty-four, twenty-four hours, maybe a little less. Twenty four hours - she had to decide what to do with each one of them: twenty four whole hours. She would never accomplish the many things she was planning. She wouldn’t exist anymore before she even got bold. But nobody likes getting bold anyway.  She didn’t know why she was running. She did not know if she was really running or if she just thought she was running. The fact is: she was running and she did not know why she was running or if she was running. But she was running, after all.

The Running of the Girl

She got to a point

where there was nowhere

to run, but

a rotten orange

and

a wall.

The girl couldn’t jump the wall, so she decided to live inside the orange. She passed her days in the orange, thinking about her life and all she had accomplished so far.

She imagined things.

But she didn’t move.

She didn’t remember what time it was when she decided to leave the orange. But it was late and there was nowhere to go.

Then, she decided to go nowhere, because even nowhere would be better than living in a rotten orange.

In nowhere, she found a bottle of vodka that was almost empty and she drank it all. She started smoking… she smoked a whole pack of cigarettes. She drank all bottles of vodka she could see and smell… she saw many bottles, but no people. It seemed nowhere was a place without people. 

She got addicted to nowhere and she couldn’t get out of there.

She forgot about her job, about being a boy, about running. She didn’t want to run anymore. And she didn’t know she had only a couple hours left.

She drank more and the hours were passing and she ceased to exist again. She just disappeared when the story ended and nobody ever heard of her again. She wanted to do many things and she had no time left. She kept running for a long time. Then she stopped. Then she stopped again. And the last time she stopped it was too late to get up. She didn’t become anything, she just disappeared and stopped running altogether. Now, she was dead, lying in between the cars, hoping for a better dress, a better day, a better job, hoping she would not be too late. She wasn’t late.  And her job was now just across the street.

The Girl Upside Down

“I want to live a life that is not right,” she said. With the couple hours she had left, she decided to live a life that wasn’t right. She wasn’t right. She had never been right anyway. She wasn’t right at all. She wanted to be even more not right! She wanted to live a life that wasn’t right!! She, the child, didn’t have a father, like always. Children never have fathers but they always have mothers. This one did not have a mother nor a father.

But the girl or the boy or the man or the woman saw a woman on the street and said we also want to be sellers!! But she didn’t have anything to sell, so she sold her shoes and her socks. But it wasn’t enough yet, so she sold her hair and her nails. And then she kept selling herself until she had no choice but to sell her lips and she did.

The first people who stopped for her were her parents, whom she had never met before. They stopped and asked the price.

“How much is it?”

She said there was no price or that it was cheap, and they didn’t drive away.

“There is no price or it is cheap.”

“We are not going to drive away!”

Her parents sat there looking at her lips and they wanted to see her naked, but she said all she had to sell was her lips or her shoes or her nails or her socks or her hair or her purse or her eyes or her neck or her forehead or her nose or anything else but she would never sell her nakedness. They were very drunk, so they would not remember anything the next day – it would be better in order not to deal with the sense of guilt toward such behavior.  Later in the evening the mother asked to choke her own child and then she wanted to watch the father choking her own child. But the girl said she would only sell her lips and nothing else, she just watched. WHAT? WHY? Didn’t they PAY her?

“We paid her, but she would sell her lips – only!”

“It’s ok, we can still have fun. Don’t complain so much, Charlie!”

They did pay her, but she would only sell her lips – nothing else.  Just her lips on her mouth, on her open mouth that was even more erotic than her nakedness after all. They weren’t satisfied, but they had to deal with it. They bought her lips and they were happy – very happy. Very very very happy. They were very happy that’s all. And they were satisfied and did not insist.

The Beginning of the Girl

The girl did not have a name and she did not have brothers or sisters. She lived in Uptown Manhattan and she had an apartment near Central Park. She enjoyed going to The Met and she had been to MOMA at least three times this week. By now, she still did not have a car, so she would run everywhere, anywhere she had to go. She had just graduated in Sociology and she had a job offer to work as an office girl for a big company near Central Park, where she had to go every day and it was perfect because the work was just across the street from her house. She had a boyfriend. Her parents lived in Boston and she would visit them every fifteen days. She was late now.

No, I can’t remember, her little apartment was in Staten Island, but she had to go to Manhattan every day. She wanted to get an apartment there – where? - near Central Park! She had dropped out of college and she had a job offer to work as an office girl for a big company near Central Park, where she had to go every day and then she dreamt about when her work would be across the street from her house. She had an ex-boyfriend, but not a current one. It was her first day at work and she was late because she missed the first ferry. She had to take the subway and then again, until she got to work. There was a noise in her bathtub this morning and nobody could tell where. Her toilet hadn’t been fixed yet. Her clothes were all over the floor and her books were unread. All her unheard cds were on the table. They had been there for days. The TV was turned on. Nobody was watching. The dishes were dirty and pilled up in the kitchen. She had no maids or family; she had nobody. She had some roommates, but these didn’t count. 

the beginning of the girl or the next day of the girl upside down

The girl woke up not knowing if she was a boy or he was a girl. But he/she knew they had grown up and that they - she/he smelled like something. Tonight is another night. Tonight he said :

“I want to go in there again,” and she said:

“No! Not this time. It’s not right.”

It’s not right? Was it right before then? Is it right right now? Would it be right some other day? Would it be right to be doing whatever they were doing??

“No, it’s not right,” she said.

And it wasn’t right. Because when a girl says something is not right it is really not right. It’s not right at all. If the girl says it.

But then it wasn’t a girl, it was a boy.

The boy woke up and said :

“I don’t want to go in there again, it’s not right.”

And she said, “Why is it not right if it was right before?”

The boy did not have an answer for that, but he just knew it wasn’t right and he didn’t want to do it again. Now, if the boy says it’s not right, we still don’t know if it’s right or not. Maybe there were other reasons for him saying that. Maybe he just had some ache somewhere. But if the girl says it, then it’s not right. If the girl says.

The girl had this life and she got tired of living a life that wasn’t right and she decided that living in a rotten orange was even better than living a life that wasn’t right.

In the Past Orange:

-The orange was a big font of pleasure for me. The pleasure I had inside the orange was like no other. I miss the rotten orange. I love the orange’s juices and the orange’s taste and the textures and the space. It was so tight. But I loved it anyway.

She thought the orange was very pleasant, but a bit lonely. So, she split herself into the girl and the boy inside her. The boy and the girl would exist for days and nights and days and nights and nights and nights and days. The girl was satisfied and she told the boy “I’m satisfied.” But the boy said he was the one satisfied and she could not exist anymore. So, she stopped existing. But the boy was lonely and he wanted the girl back.

The girl would never come. Don’t you see she ceased to exist, silly boy!

He threatened to kill her, to rape her, like he had done before, to beat her up. Obviously, she came back, because nobody wants to be killed, raped or beat up and as soon as she was back, he killed her, raped her and beat her up, so, she left again and she didn’t want to believe him anymore, but she always would because she was too afraid of him not to believe in what he said, but the boy and the girl inside the girl destroyed the girl and they stopped existing altogether and there was only air left. But there was still air. Only air, a clean, pure, nasty, dirty air!!

The boy and the girl and the man and the woman inside the girl were still trying to cross the street, when her time was up and they stopped existing altogether as if they were one only. But they were one only! And all these people inside the girl would not exist anymore because the girl stopped existing even before she realized she didn’t exist anymore. And then, she didn’t exist anymore.

The Explanation of the Girl

“There, a man! No, a girl! No, many, many taxis in the street. Beautiful taxis, beautiful streets. Trees everywhere. Fast, the girl. The girl, fast, fast, fast. Not enough, though. Slow. Slow or fast? Nobody around. She, in the door, in the building. Beautiful building. Beautiful girl. Beautiful, beautiful. But taxis, taxis, people, museums, trees. Stress. Stressed out. Who, you? No, her. Very very stressed out. Out and around. Tall and about. About what? Nobody. What? Nobody. You, me, he, she, it, we, you, they. Nobody, but they, but us, but me. Me and you – wonderful dream! Just dream, though. Who else in the dream? In the house, by the window, close to the living room, by the bathroom, close to the kitchen, far from my room. Close to our mom’s room. There, dad! What, dad? Mom? Mom and dad in a wonderful dream….dream of trees and leaves and summer, then winter. There, a wall, a tall, red, strong wall in between us. There, nothing! What? Nothing. You and nothing. You and nobody. No, you and I. No, you and nobody. Better. Better, then. There – faces. There, more faces. There, more and more faces. There, faces, many faces. Faces! Late, the clock, late, the job, late the dream. Death – not pleasant. Not pleasant at all. Then, vices, then, destruction. But what? Meaning? No meaning! Destruction, pleasure, death, violence. Everybody! Then, nobody. There, the end. Where? There. But then again. No end. What? No end!  Nobody. Noendnever. Nobodynoendnever. Never?  Some day but when? Nobody. Everybody!  Nobody, then, again. Not a single body – no body. Many bodies there. 11:07 PM. Keeps changing. There, a body, many bodies. The time. What time? The time of the death of the body of the girl and the boy and the woman and the man inside the girl. How? Why? When? Too many questions. Nobody. No questions. The end. But then again, the start. Non-stop-non-stop. Non-stop life, non-stop lies, non-stop temptations. Hell, heaven, no hopes. Death. Then, again, the start. The start of the girl. Who? The girl. Ah, the girl. Yes, the girl. Who? The start. Ok, the start. The start! What? The start or the end. The start. PERIOD.” 

WasherWoman

WasherWoman

Saves the

World

!

                                                                  

                                                                       It

                                                   was written:

LAUNDRY ROOM CLOSES AT MIDNIGHT

ANYTHING FOUND AFTER THAT TIME WILL BE LOCKED IN THE BACKROOM AND WILL ONLY BE RETURNED UPON PERSONAL CLAIM.

Thanks. Laundry Room Director.

 on the front door of the laundry room.

It was about 11:59 p.m. and I was in the laundry room that was about to close when I saw a woman inside the washer. Her husband was inside the drier and they could not communicate. 

I wanted to help them, but there was still 50 cents worth of drying left and 75 cents worth of washing, so I decided not to waste their money and wait until the machines stopped. The woman had her eyes wide open and it seemed like she was screaming, but I could not hear anything because of all the noise the driers and the washers and all the machines in the laundry room were making.

I knew that if you left clothes in there past midnight, they would lock all doors and put the clothes in a big plastic bag for whoever claimed to pick them up.

That poor dead couple would not be able to survive a whole evening in a washing machine, or even in a drier and then days inside a plastic bag. There was nothing I could do, though.

            The cleaner came and:

“Are you done?”

“I still need 30 minutes more.”

“I am sorry, we are closing.”

“I will do the cleaning tonight if you let me stay here.”

Then he said ok and walked away leaving a mop in between my hands.

I was doing the cleaning for two some strangers I hadn’t even met. Maybe I was not doing it for them. I was just waiting for my clothes to dry. Though, I could not help to feel uncomfortable with the woman looking restlessly at my face. The man did not bother me as much because he was inside the drier and I could not see him, unless I chose to. I kept checking on him every ten minutes to see if he was still alive and he was every time. And every time he thought I was going to turn off the machine every time I opened the lid, but I would not make him that mad and I would just close the lid again every time before the machine stopped completely.

OBS: I did not try to open the washer because I could watch the woman from the little round window on the machine.

-------------------------------------------------------x---------------------------------------------------

            Suddenly I fell asleep and I forgot that I had to check on them. My clothes were dry and I was still sleeping. The cleaner came and put the mop on my hand and forced me to finish cleaning the place, as I had promised. I started realizing I made a really bad deal: I just offered to work an eight hour shift for thirty minutes worth of drying. Then, I woke up.

            But the woman, I was glad the woman in the washing machine was still there. She was so energetic. I would not handle 30 minutes of washing like that. She was still screaming and laughing and having her eyes wide open for the whole time. She had now a funny foam in her mouth that looked like laundry detergent bubbles.

            The drier stopped and I was so excited to talk to the man that was going to come out of the machine that I forgot to get my clothes and I ran to the man in the drier.

It was empty. Empty?? Empty!!!! Nothing. There was nothing, nothing in there!!

           

I kept thinking the cleaner was the only one that could possibly be responsible for it but I was not sure for how long I had been sleeping. I was not sure what time was it at that time. Maybe somebody else came in while I was sleeping. Maybe the man in the laundry machine was just a dream as well as the cleaner. But it could not have been a dream because the woman was still in the laundry machine. Maybe the man was a dream and she was real. But then, she would have to be inside my dream while I was dreaming about him because I saw both of them at the same time and I was constantly checking on them at the same time. I could not be a dream. I was sure about that. I knew I must exist if I could think all these things. Unless, I saw her first and then I fell sleep and started dreaming about HIM - who did not exist in reality – and her. Maybe there was no reality. Or she was the only one who existed in the first place. But I am pretty sure I saw both of them at the same time. Maybe I dreamed about them both.

I smiled. I was so happy and satisfied with my brilliant conclusion.

           
Because I wasn’t sure if the woman was part of reality or if she was just a dream I decided to open the washing machine and talk to her. She wouldn’t waste her money because I would still put her back and then she could finish that round of washing.

            
 Hello,  I said. What, said the woman. Hello, I said louder. What, said the woman even louder than I said. I said Hello, hellooo. And she said hellooo. I could not understand what she was trying to communicate. She had an alien language that did not communicate her message properly.

But then, who would the cleaner be?

------------------------------------------------- x --------------------------------------------------------

The cleaner could be just a cleaner a regular cleaner somebody who gets paid to clean somebody who cleans laundromats. I am sure there are a bunch of people like that. I am sure they are making five bucks an hour and they work twelve hours every day.

            That made me think that maybe I would have to work a twelve hour shift, instead of eight! That was really NOT A GOOD DEAL at all! Half an hour for twelve hours? Couldn’t he just wait for a little bit until my laundry was done.

Now I would have to wait forever until he came back.

What

What…

What if ….he…. NEVER came back? I WOULD HAVE TO LIVE AT  A LAUNDROMAT!! Oh, my God, I was doomed!

I could not spend my whole life at a laundromat! I had things to do. I had to get a job, I had to graduate from college, I had to find a husband, I had to move somewhere else before I die, I had to lose ten pounds and start eating healthy and go to the gym everyday, I had to go out with my friends, I had to watch the latest movies on TV, I had to write a novel, I had to buy new clothes, I had to do so many things and I was condemned to live at a laundromat.

I had to feed my friends’ dog, I had to get a cat for myself, I had to call my mother, I had to get my best friend a birthday gift, I had to… I …. Had… to….I had to find things that I would have to do before I could be condemned to live at a laundromat.

------------------------------------------------------x----------------------------------------------------

No. Stop. Wait. Breath. Deep breath now. Ok, keep going.

Now, I understand everything. The woman inside the machine was put there by the cleaner. The cleaner was this evil man that condemned people to live at laundromats so he could make money without ever having to work. However, I don’t understand how the woman would be helping him just by being inside the washing machine.

Maybe:

1) I should ask her.

2) I should talk to her again.

3) I should try to establish contact.

Two and three: I will talk to her again, I will try to establish contact.

Hello, I said. What, said the woman. Hello, hello, I said, do you understand what I am saying. Wash, she said. She said wash, wash, wash, wash! What do you mean by what? What, that’s all she said.

- Me, help. You speak English?

What? Now she had her eyes wide, wide, VERY wide open while I was asking her where she was from.

- I don’t know what you are talking about - said the woman.

- Me, help for you, you, prisoner of evil cleaning man. I'm your hero.

- What are you talking about weirdo?

Where did she learn these words? She was foaming at the mouth just seconds ago.

“Ok, so you know how to talk. Big deal. I can talk to.”

“Would you mind if I finish my laundry? I still have ten more minutes of washing.” The woman said that and went back into the laundry machine and kept washing herself.

That was so unfair! How could she just go back into the washing machine without an-explanation-a-contact-a-connection. She wasn’t thinking about the next generations and how this experience could affect the world. I wanted to know where that being was from and what was she doing inside a washing machine in the place I do MY laundry!

I had never seen her before. Maybe she just moved.

I don’t recall any place where they have such a creative way of doing their laundry, though.

--------------------------------------------------x--------------------------------------------------------

WAIT! WAIT!!!

Where was the man?? (speaking really fast) I was so entertained with the woman and then the cleaner and then the woman again that I totally forgot about the man. Where did he go?

(deep breath)

I am sorry, but I have to bother you again, dear… woman  in the washing machine. She said shshbsbbbsshsl. And she was foaming at the mouth again. She was spitting laundry detergent at my face. I definitely wanted to cut that conversation short. Look, I don’t want your phone number or anything, dear, but I need to know who is the man who was here with you earlier in the evening and where did he go. Was he your husband?  She barked at me and turned away, putting some more quarters in the machine and locking herself inside the laundry technological equipment again. Aah! So frustrating!

            The man wasn’t in the drier and he wasn’t in any of the laundry facilities. Maybe he was disguised as the cleaner, but the cleaner wasn’t there either. What was his name, how old was he, where did he come from. And ultimately, where did he go.

            There was nobody else to ask about the man. And there was no man there anymore. Not a single human being or huwoman being.

There was only an alien inside a washing machine.    

I decided to go get my dry clothes that had been dry for the last two hours.

I opened the lid and there was a little boy playing with my socks inside. They were socks with kitty cats playing together and the little boy was imitating the cats on the socks.

- How cute! 

I thought, but I didn’t say.

I thought the little boy was so cute and I smiled and grabbed him softly, putting him on my shoulders while I was getting my clothes from the drier. I remember I did not put the boy in there and I could not have mistaken a pair of socks or a shirt by a little boy. I was sure he wasn’t there at the time I put my clothes in. I left the little boy hanging on my shoulders like a big sack of potatoes while I reflected on that.

            Maybe the woman and the man were indeed married and they put their little son to play with my belongings inside the drier while I was asleep. Or maybe not.

Who would put a little baby inside a drier and let him play with a stranger’s pair of socks. I would never let my son play inside a drier. I would not even take him to the laundry room. But I never had a son. Maybe if he cried a lot and insisted he wanted to go to a laundry room to play with some stranger’s socks, maybe I would let him, then.

But this baby cannot even talk (I grabbed him and squeezed him and he only made sounds). He could not have asked for anything.

I forgot I had some stuff in the washing machine as well and as soon as I turned my back to grab my clothes that should be ready for about 4 hours now, I found a note that said

Look behind you      But I couldn’t read it because the letters were too small. And I looked behind me and I saw that the woman in the washing machine was not the only woman in the washing machine. The washing machines! There was more than one like in every laundromat. The washing machines had at least one person inside each one of them.

I

    hadn’t

              notice

                           that

                                   until

                                                this very moment.

One machine had a couple in it. They were very well dressed, groomed, like they were going to a fancy party or a wedding. There was another man in one of the washing machines and he was smiling at me. I recognized that smile. It wasn’t any man. It was the man I had been looking for the whole evening. He wasn’t gone. He was right there in the washing machine. (I wonder why he went to the drier first and then the washer. He would have to go in the drier again later on.)

 I picked up the baby from my shoulders and put him in my laundry basket along with my pair of socks. Then, I went to get my just-washed-clothes.

As soon as I opened the washer lid, the cleaner was in there. I got my mildly wet clothes and went back to the drier, sticking my last quarters in the infamous machine.

My mom was in there waiting for me and she said, have you been sleeping, did you get a job, how are your grades, are you happy, do you have a boyfriend, when are you coming to visit me again, are you going to call me, do you love me, are you going to take care of your mother.

I closed the drier lid as fast as I could, finish sticking my quarters in it and ignored my mother. I saw her going around and around and around in squares inside the machine.

Above my mother, in another drier, I saw my grandparents and they were having ice cream together. My grandmother said she would bake a cake later or a banana pie.

In the washing machine beside them was the guy I always had a crush on and he wasn’t wearing any clothes. All his clothes were in the drier. He was asking for my phone number in a non-speaking manner.  I wasn’t sure if that was the proper moment I had been waiting for to give him my phone number. A laundry room wasn’t romantic enough.

Then I noticed by his side was also my first boyfriend and his current girlfriend then I turned away and I went back to fold my clothes and the baby wasn’t there anymore, but that wasn’t any surprise. Maybe the baby was flying outside or smoking a cigarette and discussing politics while drinking his glass of whiskey.

I calmly folded my clothes and then I went to check on  my mom or my clothes that were drying. We had a long talk then she started asking what a nice girl like me was doing in a laundry room after midnight and I went back to talk to the woman pioneer in the washing machine practice.

Lila was drying her hair, she told me her name. Do you come here often, I said, is it a new trend? She said she was an artist and she didn’t want to be labeled. Lila invited me to join the group next time they decide to get together in the laundry room and as she was saying it she passed out on the laundry floor.

“ I have questions for you Lila. I have questions. I have many questions for you. You cannot pass out, you haven’t answered all my questions!”

-------------------------------------------------x-------------------------------------------------------

I got the mop I had in the beginning of the night and I finished cleaning the laundry room. (I saw the man I knew sneaking in the drier as I predicted.). When I went to drop off the mop in the backroom after I finished cleaning, I saw all the millions of plastic bags that were found at some point in time and were never claimed.

Some bags had clothes in them but there were people inside the bags as well.  Mothers, husbands, daughters in law, boyfriends, girlfriends, sons and daughters, bosses, teachers, people who were never claimed back by their families or anybody they knew.

There were even former presidents in the backroom that no one ever noticed had disappeared. On the left, there was a sheet of paper attached to the door with a list of all the people that had been stocked throughout the  years.

People who were in the laundry room past midnight since 1 B.C. :         

Armstrong, Neal                           Kandinski, Wassily               Morrison, Jim

Beethoven. Ludwig van                 Kennedy, John                    Nixon, Richard

Bonaparte, Napoleon                    Kennedy, Jacqueline           O’Brian, Conan

Bush, George                               Lennon, John                     O’Brien, Flann

Bush, George W.                           Lincoln, Abraham               Ono, Yoko

Christ, Jesus                                 Louis IV                            Picasso, Pablo

Da Vinci, Leonardo                        Louis VIII                          Presley, Elvis

Einstein, Albert                              Louis XIII                          Reagan, Ronald

Gandhi                                          Louis XIV                         Shakespeare, William

Guevara, Che                                 Louis XVI                         Stein, Gertrude

Hemingway, Ernest                        Matisse, Henri                  Superman

Jackson, Michael                            Madonna                         Tung, Mao-Tse

Joyce, James                                  Monroe, Marilyn               Vietcong’s (1thru 100)

NON – IDENTIFIED PEOPLE:   Numbers 1 thru 100,000 trillion

Che Guevara was in there, along with Einstein, Mao-Tse Tung and Gandhi. They were all living in the laundry backroom. Picasso was there, but nobody claimed him because they said he was too square and that he would never survive the modern age, even though he invented modern art. Matisse did not have enough definition, and they thought if somebody claimed him back, he would be a modern era bisexual. Napoleon was there, but nobody claimed him because nobody ever liked him anyway.  Leonardo Da Vinci was not claimed because people just forgot his name and they could not spell it properly. All the kings of France that were called Louis were hiding in plastic bags, specially Luis XVI whom people thought had been executed in the French Revolution.  Vietcong’s were waiting for the enemy under the plastic bags and they thought the Vietnam War wasn’t over yet, so they would never want to leave, even if people claimed them back. John Kennedy was making love to Jacqueline Kennedy in a plastic bag. John Lennon was making love to Yoko Ono in a plastic bag. Shakespeare was there still writing sonnets to the people whom he loved, but nobody claimed him back; some of his ex-girlfriends said he was too easy, not challenging enough and that as soon as they started dating he would declare his love, so they did not claim him back. Jesus Christ was not claimed because everybody thought he was in heaven. Jim Morrison wasn’t claimed because everybody thought he was dead; the same for George Bush, Abraham Lincoln and Elvis Presley.

Maybe they would die inside a laundromat. On the other hand, they could still perform their professions in the back room.  They could still be what they always were. Nobody prohibited them from being themselves. But there were rules to be followed and rules cannot be broken. There were rules in the laundry room and those who cannot follow the rules should be punished.

It was very clear - in the entrance door,

it

was

written:

LAUNDRY ROOM CLOSES AT MIDNIGHT

ANYTHING OR ANYBODY (now I noticed this word in the sign as well) FOUND AFTER THAT TIME WILL BE LOCKED IN THE BACKROOM AND WILL ONLY BE RETURNED UPON PERSONAL CLAIM.

Thanks. Laundry Room Director.

They could only leave if somebody claimed them. It did not matter if the world admired them if they did not have personal friends.  It is very hard to live with geniuses. Normally important people don’t have any friends.

They were all orphans in there.
There were people who did not know anybody else in the world and were unlucky enough to be in the laundry room past midnight.

All of  them were there in the backroom, waiting for somebody to claim them back.

 But there was nothing I could do. I didn’t know any of these people. What am I supposed to do, take strangers to my home? I couldn’t take all of them because there were enough people to build a country, a new world or the next universe and I never had any inclinations to be a president or a king or God or anybody who is needed to build a country or a new world or the next universe.  There was nothing I could do.

I felt so uncomfortable with all those people asking me for help that I didn’t want to be in there anymore. I locked the backroom and made sure they couldn’t get out. I had finished cleaning the place and it was almost morning and the cleaner had not come back and I wanted to go back home. The front door was locked and the cleaner was the only one with the key.

I looked around and my mom was still in the washer and my grandparents and my first boyfriend and his new girlfriend and the woman pioneer and the man I hardly knew and the guy I had a crush on and trillions of people in the laundry room. They were all looking at me.

        I

felt so lonely.

PLEASE, TAKE ME OUT OF HERE!

- I know I am just a character and you could do anything you want with me. Can you please take me out of the laundry room? I don’t want to be your character anymore. I don’t want to be condemned to live here forever. You are out of your mind!

-----------------------------------------------------x-----------------------------------------------------

Then, the cleaner opened the door and said, Thanks, you did a great job. And she went back home with her nicely folded clean clothes.

----------------------------------------------------x------------------------------------------------------

- Thank you. I don’t think I could handle being in there for one more minute.

- You are welcome – said the author.