Sticks and Bones

The first part of a chronicle of a crush-turned-obsession. I'm sorry, Julie.


To experience this in natural reading order go to A Bright, Ironic Hell: The Straight Read .


Also, try Satellite Dance and Crystal Delusions--Parts 2 and 3, respectively--complete.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Fender Off (11/10/08 Monday)

After an eleven-hour sleep and a ninety-minute dawdle, I left the apartment with just enough Cheerios in my system to get me to Stir Crazy. It wasn't until I'd sat down with my coffee and egg-and-cheese bagel that I realized the possible significance of where I'd come to finish the note to Julie. But I didn't consider it long; I had work to do. It took two large coffees (the second because it was free) and about a couple hours, but I finished the job and left for Carytown--Plan 9, more specifically, for Nilsson Schmilsson. (I settled for Son of Schmilsson.) I strolled slowly through Carytown, not eager to get home, enjoying being on the sidewalks and in the shops with other people. But there was no conversation, save with the stationer, from whom I bought some nice paper for the final transcription of the note, about the selling of his store after thirty years. He wants to retire, but the sale of the store must be strictly a "turnkey" transaction. (Thank god for coffee. How else would I ever initiate a conversation?) A few women initiated smiles and greetings. I felt attractive, despite a three-day, salt-and-pepper beard and a helmet-made hairdo. Another reason not to go home, where there was no one to make me feel good about myself.

As I sat in the coffee shop staring out the window a man walking by stopped to look at my bike. He lingered a long while before coming inside. I met his eyes, smiled and nodded. When he left again he took another look, then suddenly moved closer and bent over the front wheel. He straightened and half-turned to the window, a glint in his eye and grin on his face. He'd seen Julie on the front fender. In Carytown I parked in front of the shops, instead of, as usual, around the corner and out of foot traffic. The front wheel tipped away from the street as I locked it to a tree, and I left it like that, the better to display Julie to passing shoppers. Before leaving the bike I thumbed off a speck of dirt from her cheek.

I'll leave the note overnight, let the words settle on the page, then edit in earnest tomorrow. I want it ready to slip in the bag before Thursday morning.

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