She was fifteen and I was twenty three. She was a lesbian and hated men. She told me: “I want to date some guys now. I’m tired of girls”. But she would tell everybody: “I hate guys”
I thought: “Is this girl hitting on me?”
She was a kid and she was a woman. And I had seen love already. I felt like I could love just about anything. She was a challenge, I guess. At the very beginning, I wondered if I could raise love among us.
But she wasn’t looking for love. I don’t really know what she was looking for. Something unreasonable. I aimed at love, though, and shot myself there. And she beat me along the way. She would fight and deny and suspect me and later accuse me of having her only to go at my house and masturbate me. I said: “Shit, what a whole lot of work I had for a handjob, then...” It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t listen.
But love was there. She wouldn’t listen. She would attack me as I was so naked. But it was a challenge, in a way, and I had to know. She had the strongest temper I’ve ever seem in a girl – and this can’t be taken lightly. But she was a kid, and she was a woman and she needed love. And I loved her. And I kept going – you see, so what if I bleed?
But I had to decide things myself too. I could choose between security or throwing my life in an abyss. I loved her but she didn’t know how to behave. These chains were not strong enough to hold me. The fire wasn’t enough to scare me away, as I wanted to stay, but if I want to let go there was nothing to hold me. I haven’t yet met chains strong enough to hold me when I wanna go. I said: “I can’t take this no more. I’m going away. I’m going to Europe and I’ll be a beggar in Paris. And mostly everything you know in me will die. We have a few months, though. You can choose. We can be together this time”
She said yes. I asked her to try for beautiful months. She did try. But trying is a very precise word for what she did.
She would break up for no reason and come back to me in a few days. She would argue for no reason. Hurt me for no reason. I’d say: “Can’t you see I love you? We have a few days together before I leave and I wanted so much for these days to be beautiful, why are you doing this?”
She’d cry “I’m sorry” and do it again later. She couldn’t control it. It was difficult for her too, I guess.
And my last Saturday in Brazil I spent lying on the floor, watching her sleeping at my bed. I picked her up in the middle of the night, drunk and vomiting all over the street. Earlier that day she broke up with me because I wouldn’t perform cunnilingus on her. Shit, I was tired. I wanted to sleep. I had eaten her pussy for half an hour just a few hours ago. Half an hour is not a loose number. The whole Moon Safari album. Forty three minutes. She didn’t even want that anymore. I felt it. She just wanted to control me. She knew I wouldn’t control or let myself be controlled. She just wanted to fuck things up. And she did. And at night she called, drunk and crying, and I got up from my sleep to drive downtown and I picked her up and brought her home and put her in my bed and lied on the floor and she said “I’m sorry” a thousand times all the way and I said nothing and when she slept I watched her and I cried.
It was so beautiful when she wasn’t trying to kill it. But she was just an angry kid and this must pass. She was just a kid and I was supposed to be a man so I took things like a man and I regret nothing.
Today she’s older and we talk and for some reason she’s actually the one I miss. I wrote a book about her. I wrote a whole book about her because I was always thinking about her and the things she is and what she meant to me.
I’ve seem too much disappointment and learned to expect lonely nights and cold mornings. Though I long for almost nothing, I’ve been longing for the day I’ll see her again. There was just something magic in her curious eyes and even in the ballet of her tempers. Something in the way we felt when we were together – and the whole world was nothing but a strange breeze passing under our feet.
No comments:
Post a Comment