jigsaw scene

I

          

           In his periphery the digital clock flashed twelve…twelve…twelve…twelve repeatedly.  The clicks of the ceiling fan brought to mind the insidious ticking of those battery-operated clocks favored by those who don’t know any better. (you know who you are). These people put them throughout their homes. In the same room even, causing a thunderous cacophony of Chinese water torture.  But digital clocks are worse.   After the power comes back on, resurrection proves the existence of time’s afterlife blinking away ghost hours into eternity. until the prime mover sets it straight again. He couldn’t be bothered.  

He sat on the bed staring at an ornamental window pane on the mantel, leaning against a black wall directly in front of the bed.  Murky grime smothered the glass and slivers of wood were flecking off the casement. The Coca-Cola neon light on 1st avenue sizzled off and on through the blinds reflecting off the grungy pane exposing cracks that resembled hail storm-fractalled windshields.

They had to have picked it up right off the street as a joke for someone to see smut and dilapidation first thing upon waking up in the morning.  It was partitioned into six dingy sections and was flanked by flea market vases and other sundries atop a blackened fireplace.The obnoxious display was nauseating.

He just moved to Manhattan a month ago and got a job as a messenger for Behemoth Dynamic. He wasn’t sure what kind of business it was exactly.  All he knew was that there were over three hundred messengers that worked there.  the company was comprised of two separate buildings that each took up a whole square block in Battery Park City on either side of the Hudson River. He was assigned to Chinatown, TriBeCa, SoHo and Alphabet City.  There were about a dozen companies in each district that he would deliver letters that said eyes only and fragile packages to and from Behemoth Dynamic.  Most of the businesses that were on his route had no signs on the buildings.  Just the numbers. But when you walked into the reception

area you felt like you were James Bond walking into a casino in Monte Carlo. The receptionists were homogeneous.  They looked like those girls in that mtv video playing the guitars with their hair up, black dresses and shiny red lips.

He came to surprise his girlfriend of seven years to propose to her.  She had moved here a year ago because of her job.  When he arrived he discovered she was living with another man.  She had no remorse over it. She simply said she wanted to get out of the country and find a gentleman with polish and means. She said they had no future together.  She had a new lifestyle and wanted to get away from Moonachie (MOON ah kee) and those savage Pequannock Indians that lived up in those mountains behind her house.  They were violent criminals.  She didn’t want to be associated with them and didn’t want anyone to know that she grew up with them.  Despite what happened he decided he would stay.  He had no one to keep him in Moonachie so he would pursue a career in writing.

His real passion was poetry. He started writing for a literary magazine called Frostbite.  It wasn’t a steady income which forced him to take the messenger job.  He kept staring at the  windowpane mesmerized by its repugnance and seeming allure. Empty beer cans were strewn  all over the floor and discarded chinese food containers lay toppled on his desk. He sat up into the night staring at the window pane trying to write a poem.

i am biding time

while city smog fills my lungs

throngs of wolves confine me

trucks rumble inches from my face

and the hem of her skirt eludes me.

i wake to the symphony

of drilling below my window

hard hat weebles in orange

take turns blasting the earth

beneath my feet.

while she sleeps in satin sheets.

white noise emanates in

the odor of chinatown.

noosed roasted ducks

adorn restaurant windows

as she dines in Little Italy

and drinks Chianti.

He saw her through the grimy pane her slingblade smile pondering his musings. He would have to explain it to her several times before she got it. Then her songbird laughter permeated his senses.  He found that charming about her.  He bet the guy didn’t even tell her jokes. Just studded her with diamonds. Stockbrokers had no sense of humor with their striped shirts and camel cuff links.  I’m lucky if i can tie a tie, he thought.