Underneath Your Clothes

A Thin White Line

Finally, we had arrived on the 4th floor. The soles of my shoes clicked against the dark wood as we headed toward his flat at the end of the hall. He unlocked his door and flipped the light on as we entered. Roger dead-bolted the lock behind us as I took my shoes off, leaving them beside the door. His flat smelled just like him. He pressed his body into mine, pushing me against the door. “You want a beer?” he asked. I kissed him repeatedly.

 “You get us a beer….I’ll cut ya’ a line.” I said putting my hand on the side of his face. “You got a razorblade?”

 “Uhh…maybe…go look in that top drawer in the bathroom.” He said kissing me again. I took my coat off, putting it on his kitchen table. I reached into my inner pocket of my coat and pulled out a small bag of white powder, throwing it on the table in front of the couch on my way to his bathroom. It was a rather spacious studio.

 He had a large rug underneath the table in front of the couch. The floors were original wood, it was hard telling all the stories the scratches and scuffs could tell. None of his furniture exactly matched. The table beside his couch and the table in front did. His couch, a mustard color. There was a lamp on the table nearby. It was dark blue with a large shade. There was a counter in the kitchen as well, off-white flickered with black. Obviously installed more recently than this building itself had been built. His cabinets had been painted white at some point by someone. God only knew what color they used to be. Roger always had a tea kettle sitting on the stove and the whole place was always clean. There was a closet to the right as you came inside his flat, and another on the wall where the kitchen countertop was connected.

 His kitchen table sat directly across from the couch on the opposite wall. It was small, chrome and covered in black vinyl. Some of the vinyl was ripped but it didn’t seem to matter because it seemed he rarely used it for much. His bed was in the opposite corner of the room, underneath the almost solid wall of windows. It was propped up on a box style base and there was a shelf that lined the wall beside it. He had another lamp by his bed. It was clear glass with another large shade. It was funny because it seemed to change locations from the floor to the shelf depending on what day I was here. There was a crudely hung curtain that divided the area where his bed sat from the other corner of the room.

 Here, there was a record player and another corner shelf that was quite large. Everything sat on another rug in this part of his flat.  His records were lined up, probably fifty of them. But what really defined the area was this being the spot where his drum kit sat…had it come home with him tonight, of course. I paused before going into the bathroom. Right now, it was organized. I counted seventeen unopened drumheads on the shelf...various sizes. Six busted or badly beaten heads on the floor, probably half a dozen drum keys. I saw what was left of a high-hat…all that remained was it’s skeleton. He had cymbals in a pile, some larger than others and some in bags and some not.

 I couldn’t even begin to decipher the bowl of bolts, pads, screws, clamps, and parts. There were four bass drum pedals…all serving a different purpose I’m sure…I just didn’t know what. I imagine he interchanged them. There was a floor tom sitting there and the sticks…oh there were sticks everywhere. Some broken, some partially broken, some intact, some still wrapped together. Point was, there were at least thirty pair. I simply loved all of it and normally he kept all quite orderly. I could see the indentions in the rug where there complete kit normally was.

 I turned on the light next to his couch and entered the bathroom, turning the light on in there as well. It was very small, white tile and a pedestal sink. There was a set of two drawers beside the sink. The fluorescent light in here made the whole bathroom seem more like a surgical room it was so bright. There was a small window where the bathtub was situated. I thought the bathroom rug felt bit damp for whatever reason. He had clothes piled up in a corner. It was apparent laundry day hadn’t yet arrived.  I searched the top drawer for anything resembling a razorblade. I didn’t any, but I did find a box of condoms. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said he had gotten more. This would work, I opened the box took three out and turned the bathroom light out. I threw two foil packages beside the bed on the floor and kept one.