found drama

Somehow I’ve come to meet up with an old friend who lives in a part of town (some vague post-industrial city) that is less than savory. I’ve parked a few blocks away, met up with him, and followed him the rest of the way to this, his apartment. The apartment itself isn’t all that bad; I could see it being nice if he’d just clean up maybe. Kitchen with a pass-through to the living room, bedroom and bathroom just off the living room, and a nice balcony; almost reminds me of my place with A. in Baltimore.

But my friend isn’t there much. Almost as soon as we get there, his cell phone rings and he takes the call. He disappears into the kitchen, has a quick chat, gestures to me that he’ll be right back, and disappears. He’s gone for 30-45 minutes at a time. And he does this over and over again. Outside, the sun goes down. It’s getting aggravating. Him and I were never close but we did have something to talk about. And now I’m late for other things and I’m hesitant to go back to my car. I’m not sure I can find my way back and I’m even more hesitant because I don’t feel safe in this neighborhood.

I fold out the couch to sleep, still frustrated.

I wake up with the taste of metal in my mouth. Someone’s kissing me. I can’t make out her face. It’s wrong and we both know it. She’s insisting. I make for the balcony, the only way out.

And when I jump, gravity fails. Gravity gets all wrong. I don’t quite fall. At first, I come down. But slow and it’s as though I can get foot holds on individual oxygen molecules and propel myself back up. I start to float down through the neighborhood. After a few minutes, hovering three, four, and five stories up, I figure out that I’m headed in the wrong direction for my car but I can no longer get turned around. I’m headed toward the docks, drifting out to sea, gravity getting weaker the whole time.

About Rob Friesel