Urbansolitude

You and Him

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He checks his phone and notifications when he’s out with you but you’re sure you recall him saying he prefers to be disconnected and live authentically.

He says he doesn’t have enough money to go out but his stories show that he’s taken up the company of someone more generous and desirable than you.

He promises that he isn’t some jerk who fucks people around but after he’s cum inside you his contact thins out to the point where you question whether he even existed at all.
A ghost? No, my bank account says otherwise.

Surrounded by familiar faces asking you why you’re still alone. But you’re such a catch they all say each and every time. They can’t believe it. 
You say you can’t believe it either but that’s not true is it?

Because you’ve been busy when you haven’t been busy.

You preach the authentic life with a convincing veil but deep down you’re just as consumed.

You have definitely pretended to be broke and put your company out to the highest bidder so someone would pay for your evening out. You absolutely have.

And yes, you have been the jerk who made promises he cannot and knows he will not keep and when you get what you want you tactfully withdraw, deflecting questions and suspicions with convenient and perfect answers because you you’re so damn clever.

So when you’re asked why you’re single despite your qualities. You know that deep down you are flawed just as he is, you have hurt others like he hurts you.

All you do is smile and throw your hands in the air and make some cynical joke to lighten the load.

Somewhere else, at some other time, he is having that exact same conversation with himself over and over again.

Between 3am and 5am

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I wake up with a start and I know it’s way before my alarm. In fact, I have a hunch I already know what the time is.
Rolling to my left side slowly, I reach over to the bedside table and my finger taps the screen of my phone. The phone is awakened by my touch bringing a ghostly illumination to the room.

3:27am.

I knew it.

Something to do with my lungs – grieving and sadness.
What am I grieving and what can’t I let go of?

The phone screen shuts off and I’m plunged into darkness again.

Two

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A quiet weekend in our own little world,
an alternate reality glimpsed.

Morning breath and furtive glances,
Comfortable silence and our own plans.

Truths spoken and secrets shared,
 with my palms outward and my heart open.

The wind changes direction, I blink and it’s over.

We’re huddled around a pole in the train during the morning rush,
whispering and laughing in a language you don’t understand.

It’s my stop, I turn back and wave casually as I hop off to change lines.
The doors clothes and off he goes.

Cocoon

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I remember when I was younger, I loved exploring in the backyard. There would be so many little beautiful, mysterious things under rocks, hiding in a crevice or right there in plain sight.

There was this one time time when I found a cocoon and my parents explained to me that inside there was something beautiful but I had to wait,

“The butterfly comes out when it is ready.” Mum said to me.

At first I tried to wait and thought to give it more love. Should I make it a bed?
Maybe a little one out of tissues to keep it warm.
Both Mum and Dad said that I didn’t need to do anything, just be patient.

I watched it all day just in case something happened. But, to my surprise and disappointment – nothing.

I wanted it to hurry up. I was impatient.

No one was around and I couldn’t wait, so I decided something must be wrong – why didn’t he respond to my love? He must be stuck, I need to save him I thought to myself.

So I started to take away the layers of the cocoon and I felt wriggling inside. Ah! He’s stuck, I knew it! No one else knew but I cared for him the most so how was anyone else to know what he needed?
Excitedly, I kept peeling more layers off and it became more difficult. The wriggling continued – a little more intensely this time.
But then as I got to the centre I realised something was wrong, it was just gooey.
I felt hot and sick all at once.
The wriggling stopped.
He was dead.

But he was just wriggling and alive, how could this be?

My eyes felt hot and my vision became blurry. I fell on my bottom and started to cry loudly, real loudly because Dad came outside and asked me what was the matter. He scooped me up and I saw him looking down at the ground where it was clear what had happened. What I had done was evident. 

“He’s dead.” I said crying into Dad’s shoulder, I pressed my face so hard into his shirt that the darkness became a purple-red murkiness and I could feel the pressure on my eyeballs. My little nose hurt as I pushed harder.

After a time Dad started to talk, “Matey, we told you to be patient and wait. He wasn’t ready yet,” His hand stroking my hair as he swayed gently, back and forth.
“But I made him a little bed and he was wriggling.” I said, feeling snot mixing with tears.
Dad’s shirt was damp and slimy now. The light hurt my eyes and I tried to open them again and look through the tears.

Dad pulled me away from his shoulder and bought us face to face and said, “You can give all the love you like, that’s fine. But you can’t give that expecting something to happen sooner or something to go your way.” 

I shut my eyes and kept them shut, the tears still rolling down my cheek and my breathing slowing down. I didn’t understand.

 

Ghost

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I’m hugging Gina goodbye outside Wine Shop and people watching over her shoulder as we embrace. During our moment peppered with parting words I catch a glimpse of a ghost turning his head to look back at me. The sound distorts around me and the warm embrace of the past beckons.

I find myself standing across the street watching him and I have breakfast the morning after at Code Black near Rosslyn. We’re sitting outside while he smokes, I tell him to get me a croissant and a latte. I also add in that I’m not paying and he laughs while he blows his inhaled smoke out away from me. He leans in and kisses me. I give him that stupid smile I do when I’m nervous and trying to seem like I couldn’t care less.

And that was it.

Once we shared stories and intimate nothings. Now we’re nothing but each other’s past.

We lock eyes for the briefest of moments before becoming part of each other’s past once more.

He’s gone.

Gina gives me a tight squeeze and says she’ll see me soon. I pull out of the embrace and turn to see Erin looking up from her phone, scanning the cars for her Uber, hand firmly on her hip.  

Collapse

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There are skeletons eating hamburgers talking about marriage and the company. They have translucent, milky white skin and are draped in chiffon cake clothing.

She is being told by the television that her partner will cheat on her and she will need to work on forgiving that kind of behaviour because it’s inevitable.

After revealing he is 175 centimeters and 60 kilograms being told by a friend that he is in fact a bit on the large side. It’s such a waste, your face is so handsome but your body doesn’t match!

See you again means never see you again.

She gets violently drunk at a social gathering and vomits mainly liquid with the few pieces of lettuce she had over the course of dinner. She doesn’t want to get any bigger because the guys won’t like it.

They ask him everyday why he’s single because he’s such a catch. They just don’t get it.

Crammed into a train carriage with hundreds of sad faces and empty eyes.
They have so many things they want to do but their heads are foggy and they can’t get up.

Bound by rules, upholding them when they are watching but breaking them when we are anonymous.

She has collapsed against some cold, beautiful skyscraper, crying and vomiting because she did everything like they said and she’s still unhappy.

Even though it’s a Saturday night and tomorrow is his one day off, he can’t stand the thought of a another week. On the edge of that train platform with the blinding light of a rapid train approaching he closes his eyes and falls into the light.

 

Dad

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After ranting all day about how lonely I felt, Mum had gone out with the girls from work and it was just Dad and me at home and he said he would take me out for dinner.

Part of me wanted to say no and keep wallowing in my own self pity but then I sensed that Dad needed this just as much as I did, maybe even more.

We walked down to Woodstock nearby, my arm linked with his as he tapped his cane along the pavement talking about everything that came to our minds. Walks with Dad are like some kind of lucid conversation; ideas, stories and the odd revelation.

And just like that there we were, father and son sitting at the bar picking at a salumi and cheese plate when he says, “Well, I’m not your boyfriend but I can still take you out to dinner you know?”

My eyes start to sting and my vision is blurred with the tears welling up but I can still make out that Dad is looking at no direction in particular as he pops an olive into his mouth, the same way he does when he thinks Mum doesn’t see him sneak another piece of bread during dinner every night.

I try to distract myself and stuff a piece of prosciutto into my mouth and swallow without chewing. It hurts to swallow and I manage to get out a thank you.

“This area is buzzing! It was never like this when you were a little tacker. Did you know the tram used to run up to Windy Hill?” The moment had passed and we were onto the next topic.

“Yeah, I remember seeing the tracks when I was little, but it was kind of pointless because it was only a few hundred metres.” I said as I put my arm on his shoulder.