When I Think of Heaven

out of the ivory palaces, into a world of woe

It was loud and I never really liked liquor anyway.  Everyone looked happy, celebrating for no apparent reason.  My friends did this a lot.  They liked to go to run down bars where they let minors in, minors whose parents had a bit too much money to spare.  We’d rack up a huge bill, go home stumbling down the street, singing the choruses to old rock songs, locked arm-in-arm, but we’d still be dead inside.  We would go home to our parent’s mansions and lay on our nice silk comforters and sleep, thriving on the numbness.  I suppose some would say I lived in a sort of paradise--a paradise drowning in sin and sorrow--but still a paradise to most. 

            I wanted to be on the beach.  I could picture the deep blue colors of the waves and the warmth of the sand, a pleasant contrast to the stifling heat in this tiny room.  The sky would be a pinkish color with the sinking sun, a vision full of promise.  I could be high.  I like smoking more than drinking.  Alcohol makes you dumb.  I could be smoking on the beach, feeling every inch of it between my toes.  I wouldn’t have to be here in a room full of jaded kids.  Their life had no purpose.  They would grow up like their parents, seduced by the image of money and easy living.  They’d burn out too soon.

It’s set in for some of them already.  Clara.  She was beautiful and smart but all the words and ideas poisoned her.  She started with the coke when we were sophomores in high school.  Now, 18, she was homeless, paranoid of her parent’s disappointment.  She spent most of her time performing in small bars like this one, using her young body to her advantage, trying to get enough money for whatever drug it was she was hooked on that week.  I don’t want to burn out like that, but I did the line of coke Robbie offered me.

            I watched her as she danced on the stage, skillfully moving her body effortlessly.  There was a smoke machine for effect that was lazily hidden in the corner.  It looked eerie in the dark.  It looked ethereal.  I didn’t feel so bad for her anymore.  She still looked good.  She made a lot of money.  It’s probably the coke talking.  I guess this isn’t so bad.  I could live like this I think.  I could love someone like that.  Clara could live with me.  I’d take care of her.  I bet she’s a good time.  She kind of looked like an angel on the stage, a fallen, broken angel whose wings have been clipped, but still an angel.  Her makeup was dark and she was sweating as she finished her performance, careful to avoid the wandering hands of the dirty men in the lounge.

            “Hey.”  She had one of those forced smiles on her face, her eyes heavy and tired.  I looked at her.  I could see every cell of her being, every pore on her skin.  I saw her in a way that fascinated me.  What was this creature in front of me?  I was curious.  I should have turned away.  I should have gone to the beach, smoked off this sweaty high.  I should have watched the sun go down as all the young mothers tried to get their children back to their hotels.  I should have laid in the ocean, letting every wave envelope me, wash me of my impurity.  I didn’t. 

            I followed her into the bathroom, against all my best instincts.  I like the numbness I think.  Life is prettier when it’s all in a blur.  I don’t want to burn out like the rest of them, but I did the line of coke.

Author's Note

image: "Venus and Mars" by Botticelli