Because we love the Pain

We know how it will end but we do it anyway

Make the same mistakes

It’s the breath you hear in your ear

While you shave carrots over the garbage disposal

And try to ignore the lips on your neck

And the picture of me in the frame behind the picture of him that sits on your desk

The pale skin I notice around your finger

The distance he hears in your voice

When you threaten to hold your breath until I kiss you

And how I laugh at you and let your face turn purple before giving in

Because we are weak

And, because we love the pain

Wilmington in June

Harriett Dunnings rocked back and forth in the wide white wicker rocking chair that her nephew had brought her for Christmas the year after he married. It was worn and the strands were beginning to fray and twist away from each other and the white paint had begun to flicker and flake off collecting in small piles on the great old wooden front porch that was harsh and unforgiving in the splinters it gave anyone who decided to walk across it without shoes on their feet. These piles sat and waited for perfectly angled gust of wind to come along and blow them off of Harriett’s front porch. These gusts came often enough because the afternoon breezes that made the azalea and hydrangea bushes flutter and dance around Harriett’s comparatively unkempt front lawn came often enough to be about the only thing that made the place bearable in early June. Harriett was wearing her Sunday clothes even though it was not Sunday, with the exception of her shoes which she wore her gardening boots. The starchy peach dress was stiff over Harriett’s wrinkled liver spotted skin and made her appear both younger and tanner then she actually was. Her white hair like the chair she sat in was flickered and flaked in places unattractively collected on the stiff shoulders of her peach dress. The dress itself was not a summer dress but a conservative two-piece that was the norm for ladies her age to wear to her Moravian church. Her muddy work boots contrasted heavily with the dress but Harriett wasn’t expecting company so her appearance was not a high priority. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon and the June humidity of the outer banks made her toes sweat uncomfortably in her boots. Harriett rocked forward and leaned down to untie the dirty laces that criss crossed up her ankle and to release her feet. She wasn’t wearing socks. The breeze moved the thick Carolina air around her feet like a warm sock she snuck into the dryer with daddy’s shirts rather then on the clothes line where her mother usually hung them after she did the wash many years ago when Harriett was a little girl. Harriett heard the unexpected sound of truck tiers picking up the dry light brown dirt and spraying it into the air making little dusty clouds. About a hundred yards away she saw a familiar blue Toyota turn off the paved road and onto her dirt driveway. It drove towards her slowly and she could hear Patsy Cline on the CD player. She knew it was the CD player because no one played Patsy on the radio anymore. The truck ran over pinecones and tree roots sticking out of the sandy ground gathering more concentrated closer to the base of the pine tree trunks. Harriett loved the pine trees and live oaks in her yard because the Spanish moss would hang and droop like cheese cloth and made them look like the trees out of storybooks. Wilmington was the only place she knew that had much Spanish moss other than the bayous of Louisiana and Mississippi. The truck stopped right in front of her porch and Harriett heard the first line of Patsy’s chorus start “I keep a walkin’ after midnight…” when the engine was shut off and the singing stopped. It was Keith in the rusty blue Toyota; a smile stretched apart her lips to reveal the only thing Harriett wasn’t ashamed to show some pride in which was her teeth. While ageing had affected her skin, hair and bones Harriett’s teeth were still that of a young adults. Keith didn’t immediately get out of his truck but took a deep breath while starring at the top of his steering wheel and looking past to read the number of miles he had clocked over his sixteen years with his pick-up. He sighed again at the screeching noise his driver side door hinge made when he both opened and closed it. Harriett only had her one wide white wicker rocking chair on her front porch so Keith stood once he climbed the few steps. Harriett didn’t bother asking if she could get him a chair because her younger brother would never let her go out of her way for him even if moving a chair onto the porch was no trouble at all. Instead Keith asked if he could grab a chair from the kitchen cause he wanted to talk for a bit if she wasn’t busy. When he came back out and let the screen door slam behind him Harriett explained that she had just gone to get her picture taken for the Church directory and how she decided to enjoy her azaleas while they were in bloom after cutting back her hydrangeas. Harriett had never married and subsequently had no children so she was alone in her picture every year in the churches directory. It was far from depressing though because Keith and his wife were always right beside her on account that Keith was her brother and again she never married so she still kept the last name Dunnings. Keith’s wife Amanda was a stern brown haired woman who raised five boys to have the manners and chivalry of a well to do southern gentleman. Three of them were still living but no one counts Matthew so when people ask Amanda usually says she has two sons. Matthew was the nephew who bought Harriett her wide white wicker rocking chair. The family had grown cold toward him when he moved upstate to pursue a college degree and become a businessman. His aunt Harry was the only Dunning who still kept in touch. The others were ashamed of his lack of humility. Ambition and pride were heavy sins in the Dunning family; but Matthew had done other things to upset his parents. Needless to say Matthew and his wife were not beside Harriett in the church directory. Harry had gotten so caught up in memories about her nephew she caught herself tuned out to what her brother was saying. He was talking about getting a new truck but by the mumbling he was doing Harriett could tell this wasn’t what he had really come to speak to her about. “Keith what do you want to talk to me about, I know you’re not really going to get a new truck.” Keith didn’t hesitate but took a pause before speaking again. An extended wheezing noise from the back of his throat that gave Harry the impression that what he had come to say was painful in one way or another. “Amanda and I are talking about getting separated, Harry.” While the words set confusion ablaze in her head Harriett kept her southern womanhood about her and didn’t let one wrinkle in her face change. “Why on earth would you ever think of that Keith? Why would the pair of ya’ ever do something like that? You’re talking about your wife; Keith divorce isn’t part of marriage.” The same wheezing noise whispered out of Keith’s throat while he thought of an answer or defense to his sister’s questions. “Well Amanda and I aren’t happy together and we haven’t been for some time now.  I can't remember why we’re married Harry.” “You need a reason to be married Keith? You’ve got three sons and five grandchildren. What would the church think? Keith you’re going to be eighty-two this fall don’t you want someone to be with while you’re dying?” Harry could tell her words affected Keith. Again the wheezing noise came from the back of his throat as he tried to prepare another defense but he closed his lips and sat back against the back of the chair he had brought out from Harry’s kitchen. “Well who said anything about dying, Harry, eighty-one isn’t that old.” “Keith we both know eighty-one is old. Daddy died before he turned seventy-six.” Obviously he hadn’t thought about his father’s death recently and Keith began to put the comparisons into perspective. “What about you Harry you don’t have someone to die with.” Of course Keith’s words weren’t meant to be depressing but Harry did feel the bags behind her eyes fill up a bit at the thought. She blinked hard once and didn’t respond. The humid dusty air hadn’t been blown away since Keith pulled up and even out of her boots Harry’s toes began to sweat. Something about her body language let him know that she wasn’t going to respond so Keith ended the conversation. “I don’t know what I’ve been thinking. Maybe Gods just telling me I don’t have much longer and I’m getting antsy. I’m sorry I said anything Harry. Why don’t I cut a few of them Azaleas to take home to Amanda, I know she’d like them.” Harriett didn’t have any problem with Keith taking some of her Azaleas but something about the memories she had just gone through about Matthew made her angry and sad. “Keith you need to go sell that truck. Why don’t you call Matthew and see if he’d like to buy it. I’m sure even if he doesn’t want it he’d take it off your hands just to try and mend things with the pair of you.” Keith was confused how the conversation had turned but for some reason he didn’t argue and he left with the intention to do just what his older sister had told him to. He walked down off the porch and started over to one of Harry’s prettier bushes. “Keith, leave my flowers.” He didn’t break step but turned back towards his truck and left. Harriett stood up to take Keith’s chair back inside and felt a small stabbing pain in her right foot. When she sat back down she saw the splinter of wood sticking out of the bottom of her thick dry skin. Harriett pulled it out and flicked it out into the bushes and spit on the small puncture it left. A little drop of blood swelled up and Harry squeezed to make sure she had gotten all of the wood out. She slipped her left boot on quickly and hobbled into the house where she spit on it again and held a cloth to her toe to stop the bleeding. She sat down at the kitchen table and shuffled through a stack of old mail and recipes to find a blank sheet of paper. Harry wrote a letter to her nephew Matthew to ask him to bring the new baby to see her. She wasn’t sure if he would cause babies that young can’t travel without their mother and Matthews wife didn’t like visiting. Harriett didn’t mention Keith but thought she would be sure to say something if he did come to visit. Matthew didn’t visit because Harriett never found a stamp in her cubbord. Eventually the letter got lost in one of her stacks of papers and Harry forgot about sending it.     

       Keith Dunnings died two weeks later and his older sister laid an Azalea on his coffin during the service. He left his rusty blue Toyota to his well to do son Matthew who brought his wife and baby to Thanksgiving supper that year and was in the church directory the next. Amanda Dunnings never did say anything to Harriett about their marriage but Harry didn’t expect her to. It would be nice to say Amanda forgave Matthew but they never were very close, even after Keith passed. Harriett kept up her flowers for the last years of her life and took up listening to Patsy Cline in the late afternoons. 

Empty Space and Orange Juice

They say the average juror makes up his mind after six minuets of the first opening argument. Open minds are hard to come by.

Empty Space and Orange Juice

There were four of them, pacing on the cracked cold sidewalk. All dressed similar; cheap heels, cheap fur coats, dresses that covered next to nothing, and passive looks of lust thrown across their faces. I rolled down the passenger side window and pointed to the tall blonde on the far left. She swaggered to the side of my car and leaned over with a smug smile. Everything about her was passive. I asked how much for a night and she responded. Sixty, but seventy-five if you want me to enjoy it. I grudgely shoved a twenty and two fives toward her and asked questionably, half now half later? She half nodded and got into the passenger side. I didn’t try to start any sort of conversation. I was thinking about this night, and my home. Turning into 632 Myrtlebrook Lane I opened the door and didn’t wait for my female accomplice. I trudged through the darkness and up my front porch steps. I heard her behind me inaudibly commenting on the landscaping or something, She must have been new to this. The air inside was warm, much contrast to the cool October air outside. We both removed our coats and gloves in turn. I flipped the hallway light on and saw the girls face, really saw it. She was attractive, especially for a girl in her business, but looked tired. Her nose was red from the cold or the cocaine I didn’t know, and her eyes had obviously traveled very far for they both carried dark bags this girl tried to hide with makeup. Her lips were puffy and red. All of it was passive, and all of it was outlined with her blonde curls, something about blonde curls implies innocence. I wondered when the last time she had actually slept at night had been. Her fingers suddenly began to fumble with my belt buckle but I pushed them away. She looked and me questioningly but left the silence alone. I lead her to the bedroom and told her I didn’t want her, not like she thought I did. She asked me what I did want, but I didn’t respond. I told her just to sleep. Just sleep. Oddly enough she listened. Maybe she was tired, or maybe she just didn’t give a fuck anymore. “I’ll be on the couch.”

His bed was soft. Softer than any motel bed, and I had felt plenty. I didn’t get this guy, He paid but now he just wanted me to sleep? I’d heard of some weirdo’s but really? Just sleep? But it was kind of nice ya’ know. A bed. A real bed with pillows for laying your head on and sheets for covering your body with. And he didn’t want to sleep with me. Sleep, Sleep is nice.

I smelled bacon; bacon has a strong meaty waft. It smelled amazing. I’d never slept past nine; it felt nice. Warm morning light poured through the bedroom window like orange juice in a breakfast glass. It illuminated all of the dust particles floating in the air. It reminded me of my home, when I would jump on the old couch and dust would fly out and do the same thing on sunny days. It was beautiful, even if I knew it was bad, unhealthy; it was still beautiful. Then I would sneeze and ruin it, just like I always ruined everything. I pushed back the sheets and rolled my legs over the bedside and onto the carpet. There was a fluffy green towel on the floor beside a bottle of shampoo, citrus lime body wash, and a note that said good morning. Was this guy for real? But again, a shower would be nice. A real shower with warm water and fragrant soaps. A shower, a real shower.

I heard the shower turn and smiled. The sizzling of the bacon continued and the waffle iron beeped to let me know if was finished. She walked in to the kitchen with a bathrobe on. She looked so different than she had last night standing on the sidewalk beside those other girls. She didn’t really say anything just sat at the kitchen table. I said good morning and set a plate of waffles and bacon in front of her. She didn’t eat it, not immediately at least. She stared, not at me but at the food, maybe it was to much for her. Honestly, I didn’t know what her life was like off the streets, or if she had a life off the streets. I didn’t know what she was thinking. Then she cried. Maybe crying isn’t the best way to describe it because she didn’t really sob or make any noise. She didn’t cry with her nose or her mouth just her eyes. She just sort of leaked tears out of her eyes. They just fell out of her eyes, ran down her cheeks and fell onto the plate. I poured her a glass of orange juice and set it in front of her plate. Maybe that was too much but she left. She pushed her chair away from the table and stood up still in my bathrobe. And she left. Walked right out my front door and left. I watched her walk down the street, barefoot, hair wet, covered in nothing but the soft white robe. She walked away from the rising October sun and back toward the city. There was seventy five dollars in the left robe pocket. I went into the bedroom she had slept in and took the picture out of the bedside nightstand. I kissed the cold glass my late wife now lived behind and laid her on the bed; until I could fill that space again.  

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