The Long Gone

AKA "Details of the Day"

One: First Thought.
How can he stand to see her naked? This, 
I wonder first thing in the morning, 
awakening from a dream having nothing 
to do with either of them, stretching out 
under the covers of my lonely bed 
thinking faraway thoughts about my long-
gone friend and the woman who took 
him. Face of a fish, eyes bulging, 
puckered lips, bursting at the seams with 
her flabby girth. Too cruel for the 
morning? Her naked self sprawled on top 
of their sheets waiting, leg stubble 
bristling with anticipation, face red and 
insatiable. Ratty hair falling in tangles 
over her meticulously over-plucked brow. 
He sits on the edge of the bed, 
undressing, Just you wait babe once I get 
my socks off, and she says I can’t wait, 
keep them on! I am jolted wide awake 
wondering why I have made myself watch 
this scene, her pale flesh between his 
fingers in groping bulges. Her looks well 
overshadow her personality �" they sit up 
afterward, she with an obnoxious 
cigarette, he with asthma, nothing 
interesting to say since both know this is 
as good as it gets and she can’t quite 
carry on a conversation about fine art. 
I’ve got to get away from this thought, get 
him away from her bed. That’s 
commitment; I’d rather be lonely.

Two: The Man on the Street.
Between the subway station and coffee 
shop he stands ragged opening doors for 
indifferent patrons; bundled in overcoat 
and beard while caffeine junkies stroll 
past, adjusting mp3s and wishing nobody 
was asking for their help. I want to give 
him change, new shoes, a shave, a job, 
subway fare, a guitar, a friend, an 
opportunity, a steady date. Things I don’t 
even know how to get for myself. Maybe 
not so different but what does he care 
about my words and ideas when he 
collects quarters in an old paper cup? 
How much more could I provide? O to 
teach a man to fish! Something inside me 
says Get away as fast as you can! I go 
barreling down the street like an angry 
escaped rhino goring everyone in my 
path, stupefied pedestrians transfixed by 
the sights like they still can’t believe how 
tall these damn skyscrapers are! If you 
can find one damn person in this city who 
walks the same pace as you, marry her 
and walk side by side everywhere happily 
ever after. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. On 
the street I am alone in the sea of 
humanity and running late. I want to get 
his story, know where he came from and 
why he begs. I want to avoid making the 
same mistakes. But two quarters in his 
cup and Have a nice day and I’m off. 
What is a nice day for him? What is a nice 
day for me? It starts with coffee and 
reluctant charity.

Three: Jackson Pollock.
How did Jackson Pollock know when he 
was finished? Hours spent bent over the 
canvas painstakingly expressing himself in 
breathtakingly splattered drops of paint, 
amounting to what? What did he see in 
those colours? Did he simply keep 
pouring and slashing until he felt 
comfortable enough to say My lad, you 
are ready for the world. And did all them 
collectors see what he saw? Would they 
notice if he made a mistake? Too much 
yellow in that corner, really. Or did they 
just want it for wallpaper? I keep working 
at my keyboard ‘til my words escape to 
the world, but the writing’s on the wall. 
I’ll never be known for anything but my 
mistakes. Too much metaphor in that 
corner, really. You can let me off the hook 
for that. My work might be ready for the 
world someday but for now it’s better off 
with Child Protection Services. I was 
never prepared for this. Nobody taught 
me how to fish. We used to go when I 
was a kid, but all we caught was 
mosquitoes. I’m committed to this 
project but I’m pulled away from my desk 
by a text message I can’t ignore. Words 
on a screen, words on a screen.

Four: Another Shot.
I wouldn’t know a good thing if it came up 
to me, smacked me in the face and spit in 
my coffee, wearing a bright neon sign that 
says GOOD THING. I have been brought 
to a bar where I’ve never been before for 
the birthday of a girl I have never met. 
Judging by the time of year she’s a Pisces. 
I nervously watch the door in hopes 
anyone I know appears. So many women 
around, says Cooper, should be like 
shooting fish in a barrel. Something about 
me must seem very appealing to the girl 
casting glances my way from the corner. I 
take a shot of rye and pursue. She takes 
me outside for a walk in the cool spring air 
so we can talk. She’s a mosquito that 
lingers and drains me, I want to be a wasp 
that stings once and buggers off. I spend 
twenty-one years in this conversation 
waiting for a chance to speak. What do I 
know about horseback riding? Plenty 
more now that I’ve spoken to her. 
Doesn’t she know when she’s finished? 
This was a mistake. It begins to rain but 
she didn’t come out here to get wet. I’m 
feeling green around the gills and create a 
Jackson Pollock on the sidewalk. Catch 
and release. Back at the bar, I’ll take 
another shot. She’s got Cooper’s arm 
hooked around her. There are plenty 
more like her in the sea.

Author's Note

Consider recurring phrases, images and themes. Or don't, it's up to you!

Reviews

[Lola Nation]

I am glad I stumbled upon this. Witty, clever and well versed. I enjoyed all four profusely. I kept copying to paste a favorite line but each one left me with something that stood out and made me smirk or nod with understanding...

Great stuff.