Pumice Seed

1

Saturday, lost it all. I drank to forget and the only liquor I touched all night was brown with an aftertaste that calmed my nerves and purified my psyche. Faces circled around me all laughing and smiling reminiscing on old times long gone.

On occasion I would raise my head and snicker, look into the empty glass and not realize what I was happy about. Shook the half melted cubes that once danced inside my mouth around, touched by its unique fervour. It was loud and lively but I could only make out the bass kicking the speakers.

The world as I knew it split in two through my jilted vision, bound to a face that sagged dull. Couldn't take any more of it so I stood up then trotted away from the table. I held onto people while I ambulate through the congregation of bodies on the dance floor writhing up against each other like elks mating. Reaching out the door ran away from me as I fell into the restrooms planting hands onto familiar wall tiles and sliding across its bleached decay until I met the border swaying crossed grip to a new location.

A faucet drew chilled water. I couldn't wait and splashed it to my face. Music that flooded through timber and stone nullified by the walls haunted me, its tone undecipherable and backwards. Nonetheless that scattered pile of tissues, a dank-cold prison like box was my capsule of security. Badly stained urinals and a lonely cistern humming in isolation kept my nerves together somehow.

Only thing I remembered after that was his face luring over me while he was propping me up helping me to walk straight. That callous glee of his etched into my recollection, black lips, make-up and raccoon eyes assist me up the dusty path home. He talks to me but I can't make out the words so I watch him mouth out advice. Nod my head once the mimed sermon of his has ended.

He helps me into bed and takes off my shoes, even tucks me in. Then the light bulb crackle fades and I see the honey tinted dispersion from an open door swirl as it slowly creaks toward a matched slotted nook.

Alone now, I roll my depleted saliva around and guide a flat tongue across the roof of my mouth and out. A dog barks, I stir. Peering into the dark from the foot of my bed at the distinct wall that had been knocked through. Its brickwork protruding from the points of impact from a sledgehammer were jutting out in chaotic angles. Dust and mortar covered the floor, sporadic footprints in the mess fading into the concrete. Voices inside the hole resonate. High pitch, vocal and confident but a morass overtaking another as each one grows louder trying to gain authority over all whom hear their words.

The woman chatters enamel, a man chants his psalm. All I want is for it to end. My pillow beside me serves no other so I curl into it. Frigid shards of glass cascade to a heap onto a granite footer. That ancient itch of sand down my back as fire whips at my stomach. Am I sick or hungry? A hollow pop and that taste of powdered chemicals meets my tongue. Slowly I drift off feeling numb. The voices subdued partially as I sleep with only the sound of a cavalry drum spat from the mouth of a child looping in my mind.

Sunday morning, perspiration envelops my book, I flip it over and stare at the ceiling. Mildew collects in the top corners of the window frame extending out its reach like vines or bacteria, multiplying its stock it crawls over the edges. Lucidity wanders over to the feather. I look back to the damp stain and it appears to have grown. Desert grains tap at the pane.

Upright from my chair to examine Hot Springs matchbox of apartments. A shanty for the lesser worthy residents of Coachella Valley. A junkies and drunks paradise with all the pleasing entities at their doorstep. Springs is filled with pimps, pushers and whores. Some of them are outside doing their thing. When it got bad it was good, they would rob the other Springs blind across from Route 10, kudos to Palm Springs. Business and pleasures can't reside in the same building and the dealers like it that way but it doesn't stop the flakes from begging for freebies every time they've pumped their own vice into their body and ran out of stuff to fleece. This derelict was bait for any jumped up loser looking for a fix and I lived among it.

Out of my seat, feet onto an exposed concrete floor and its chilly as I tiptoe to the bathroom. Bottom feeders that walk the adjacent halls mimic my own steps.

The waters too hot at first then it drops to that perfect temperature, an everyday Goldilocks story for the masses. I stand there taking in the warm water directly onto the scalp. The fogged up screen becomes my new plaything, I doodled a smiley into the wet. Don't like to stay in for too long as it withers skin on the fingertips and makes me nauseous when I feel the bumps.

Pat myself over then wrap a towel around my waist tight. Push aside the medication bottles looking for a clean blade and I see the remaining one is all rusted at the sides. I use it anyway.

Cracked a sneer and wipe my face anew when I'm finished shaving. Both hands clasped around the sink I flaunt the mirror, feel my way around each hair follicle checking for inconsistencies. Out from the hall the phone rings. I took it and sit on the bed.

'Hello, that Ralph.'

'Who's asking,' I say.

'It's Stan. I'm um, standing in for Dominick.'

He sounded tired and wreaked of too many hours put in working the job a week.

'Is there a problem Stanley.'

'We can talk about it. I'm at the clam house on West Point. Can you come now?'

The sun's crown broke over the apartments and through the window its light entered my dark circles. While he talks I slip on some pants and over the shoulder I throw the trailing towel onto a chair. I go into the other room dragging the telephone with me its curly cord stretching in my wake.

'There's been a break in. It's important you see this for yourself.'

'Fine, I'll be there in two hours,' I say.

I hang up and smoke a cigarette, my ash tray a cup resting on the coffee table. I watch for a moment as the fumes rise.