coffeeshoptable

[coffeeshoptable]

I think the biggest problem with pain is that you can’t force it to stop, you can’t sequester it away until it’s a better time to face it, it happens in real time.

Nothing around you waits for pain. The later into a night it goes the worse it gets, and the simple solution is go to bed.

The problem lies therein. The bed is cold. The bed does not care about your pain. It sits static, like the buzzing in your head. The noises have stopped. You can only hear the ticking of a clock of your own imagination.

It says you’ll die alone.

Pain tells you how the people that love you only love you in the daytime or weekends or if you can provide for them in some valuable way.

You want to post on Facebook or Twitter or somewhere what you are feeling, but what do you say? A little quote? A picture of two people meeting in a meadow with some inspirational message etched into the grass?

How do you tell your friends the note was there and they missed it?

How do you tell them all goodbye in way that they won’t hate you? How do you tell them in a way they won’t STOP you?

Grief is not linear. It never has been. Yet, the suffering remains on the straightest of lines, like train tracks begging to be ventured.

I want to go, I want to disappear, I want to fade away.

I’ve done everything for everyone thousands of times and yet the pain still finds it’s way in, clawing through my body as if rusty nails were owed a debt.

I can’t ask for help. I want to scream.

Help me. Help me please.

But I don’t ask.

Because pain always wins when it needs to.

[coffeeshoptable]

Love-30: A tennis origin story

Its 1998, a year many of you may not even remember or have been around for. Thats ok, this is just a timeline for me and you can walk down the path - Ill do my best to help you follow along. (Try to keep up, I move fast) 

So, yeah, its 1998. Im sitting on the wood floor of my living room. My mom has decided she needs me to do anything besides sit in the living room. Sit outside, sit on the washer, sit under a bed, just get out of this living room. I ask if I can watch TV. Shes at her wits end, im driving her up the wall and Im STILL motionless. She agrees. We have exactly one TV in the house, a small 19 inch TV (at best) that I believe was advertised as color but its long since faded into something resembling a static black and white set. Its in my parents bedroom, and since that is NOT the living room that she is desperately trying to clean for company, she doesnt care if my brain rots today. 

We dont have cable. I have an option of maybe 4 channels, all the way up to 6 if the antenna behaves (it wont) and down to 2 if it acts up (it will). When we used to say “theres nothing on TV” we actually meant it. I was just excited to watch ANYTHING so i turned the dial (yes, you heard me, it had an actual dial) and sat on the end of my parents bed, content. Channel 8 was news. Boring. Channel 12 is.... whats this? Tennis? Ive heard about this before, in passing. My mother HATES this thing. That means I must love it with all my heart and soul. 

This seems important. Court is green. Lots of grass, lots of people wearing fancy white clothing. Someone is talking about the championship match about to happen. Theres an American playing! Hes probably the best, honestly, because I live in America right now and thats how Americans think. Thats how the people talking are acting too, so Im sure Im right. Pete Sampras is his name and to me he looks like a generic man. Im not so sure hes the best anymore, but he is apparently the main character of tennis so I need to figure this out quick. He is playing some man named Goran. Ive never heard that name before but it sounds really cool. Ivanisevic. How do you say that? Im going to learn because who else can say cool big words like that? Ive changed my mind, Goran is the best now. Im going to sound very fancy when I say his name to people. I hope he wins. 

How long does this last? Ive been here for a pretty long time, but Im hooked. They are pretty fast and I dont know how theyre hitting the ball this hard back and forth. I think thats a point, but why did he get 15? Oh. Each point is worth 15 points because... wait now its 40? Is it always 40? Ok you have to get to 7 and I see Goran has done this. He is the winner? No? Oh they do it again. Hmm. Ok, well I hear the vacuum cleaner in the other room so I cant tell what theyre saying, but it seems theyre playing still. Now the Pete guy has 7. Can there be a tie like in football? 

Im so lost. I have to keep watching. I need people to know that I am the king of knowing things about tennis. I am the smartest boy who has ever watched tennis, and I definitely understand the rules now. You have to get 7 and then it resta.... hold on. He just got 6 and thats it? THEY ARE STARTING OVER AGAIN? Ok, I see why my mom hates this. The last time she came in here to check on me because I was so quiet she said “the points dont make any sense at all” and I emphatically told her “YES THEY DO” and explained them to her. Im really good at knowing tennis. I will know tennis to spite her. I wanted to be in the living room. Youve done this to me.

Ok, it seems like this Pete guy is going to win. They just said he needs one set to win the championship. Bet it looks cool, I wonder if its a big belt like the wrestlers get or maybe like a trophy like my dad has with the little shooting man on it, but maybe with a tennis ball instead because thats what these guys use. Im going to imagine what this championship looks like now and completely miss the part where Goran (what a cool name) wins the set. Now, somehow, theyve both gotten 7 and both gotten 6, maybe they only need 5 now? How long does this last? Wheres the time limit? Im going to figure this out. Im the smartest.

Oh the crowd is really excited and that Pete guy seems really happy. He just got 6 again so hes doing well. Hold on, its over now? Aw man, the Pete guy won. Ill never forgive him as long as I live, because I am now the king of tennis and personally will see to it that Pete will never work in this town again. Im very upset so Im going to scream at the TV. I will not be quiet, mother, dont you understand a theft has happened here, in this very room? A theft of joy? This is the wrong ending. Lets see what Pete has to say for himself.

Oh, thats pretty nice. Maybe these guys are friends. Well, Pete isnt THAT bad I guess.That is the championship? Looks like its worth alot of money. Maybe one day Ill have that much money. Probably not, we only have one stupid TV and my dinner last night was a can of spaghetti. Thats not the kind of thing I can buy. Maybe if I save up my whole life and get $500 I can buy it. Theyre saying alot of things, I wonder how they decided these guys were the guys who played for this championship. It seems like Pete has done some good tennis things before so thats probably why hes here. Im going to ask every single stranger I know for the next four months why Goran got to be in this match. 

Oh its over now. Hmm. I can go back into the living room and tell my mom all about how tennis is my favorite sport now. She will be so mad at me and that will be pretty funny. Im the biggest and best tennis fan and I will figure out how this point thing works if its the last thing I ever do. Adults will ask me about tennis for the rest of my life. Im so proud of how smart I am. My mom will ask me to be quiet for years after this. 

Then tomorrow, I will watch THAT championship match too, and the day after, and the day after, and I’ll watch every championship match for the rest of my life!

And I did. Including 2001, when the guy with the coolest name ever, Goran Ivanisevic, raised the Wimbledon trophy. Wow, it probably wont ever get any cooler than this..... but Im going to watch and see, after all, Im the best tennis fan that has ever lived.

[coffeeshoptable]

It is November. Somewhere between the first and the fifth. Probably. It could be the seventh, but im too far gone to know the date in the moment.

I can see my breath as it floats down over the balcony railing where you lean, eyes faded, staring at something that no one sees but you. The door behind us opens and shuts, over and over, while the electronic bumps filter in and out - a ringtone on a call we will not answer.

We left the rave over an hour ago. Youve been crying, on and off, which was more welcome than the silence we both sink into. People walk behind us, laughing, joking, dancing, singing. They are still present in the moment. At some point they will filter back into the dance, more than likely, or they will disappear back into the hotel until dawn emerges.

Ive been awake 48 hours.

You had the luxury of a nap on my chest less than ten hours ago. Neither of us can see straight. Your cosplay sleeve is ripped, I had noticed earlier but said nothing. It is definitely getting worse now. You wont look at me. My eyes cannot close and yet they cannot reach yours.

A sniffle breaks the silence.

I pretend to ignore it.

Someone starts smoking directly next to us. Weve been frozen in time for 70 minutes at least at this point. I refuse to speak, you refuse to speak. Its a game of chicken to see who will break first.

I played it all back. I ran into you for the first time in two years the previous night at the first rave. You lowered your neon mask and took off your goggles and smiled at me. You remembered me. You looked the exact same as you did the first time.

I complimented your outfit. Dark red hair falls, white contacts. Goggles identical to the ones I owned, our first shared experience. A light pink push up bra (that didnt really push much up) underneath dark pink fishnet. A short pink skirt. Bright green belt overtop but not connected. Moon boots that made you slightly taller than before, but still not my height. I teased you for still being shorter than me. You kissed me on the cheek and we danced for hours.

We went out to the same balcony that night. I had been awake 24 hours but it was ok, it was worth it to catch up. You popped a pill, maybe a mint actually, and told me about the last two years of your life. I told you about mine.

We both shared heartbreak. I held your face in my hands. You recoiled, I was cold. I apologized and stepped away.

You grabbed my hands, grinned at me, your face red and frozen. I kissed you for the first time. A girl told us to get a room and you politely told her to fuck off and kissed me again. Your lips were cold, but I didnt recoil.

It quickly became 4am. 5. 6. 7.

We ate breakfast for free in a hotel we werent staying in. You lamented having a more expensive and fancier hotel but not free breakfast. I asked you to show me your room to prove it was better. You told me your friends were in the room and they didnt know me. Fine, ill show you my room, all my friends are going out for the morning, we can sleep.

You can sleep.

I can stay awake. Its been 36 hours.

The fishnet and the skirt come off. I asked if you wanted a shirt to sleep in, in case my friends came back. You took your bra off and slid my anime shirt on. Which anime? I don’t even know. I wasnt focused on it at the time. It was way too big on you, but a medium could have eclipsed you.

You snuggled up to me, and I realized you felt safe .I felt needed. You put your hand into my pants and fell asleep. I moved it out, interlocked our fingers and watched you for a while.

You woke up when my friends came back. They slinked out of the room and apologized for interrupting, disappeared into the living room area. You kissed me, hard. I looked into your eyes. The next few hours I explored your body, and many things I wont put here and I thought things were ok.

You left for your room, still wearing my shirt, your hair disheveled, both of us sticky and in need of a shower. You wanted to put on your cosplay. My friends made some comment and then came into the room while I fumbled for glasses and clothing.

You cough and im right back on the balcony with you.

Youre looking at me. You’re crying. Again. Its noise so I can handle it. I try to grab your hand and you pull away. Im trying to take you seriously, as Kyoko from Madoka Magica. Your teal hoodie is still ripped. I hadnt dreamed it.

Your jean shorts barely cover areas im still thinking about, but this is the wrong time. You wont explain whats wrong. I sit. Im looking out into the water and you sit behind me, and wrap around me. I again reach for your hand, you give it to me. You kiss my ear and whisper sorry. I am internally screaming. Im exhausted, im seeing double, triple, quadruple of every light in a ten mile radius. You tell me you’re moving to the west coast.

How you wanted to stay.

How seeing me again felt perfect. I close my eyes. You bury your face into my neck and sob.

It quickly became 4am. 5. 6.

We go to breakfast but we do not eat. We sip coffee and orange juice and apple juice and pineapple juice and milk and we laugh about how ridiculous this all is. A roller coaster. Today is the last day we will more than likely see each other, a small little con fling. Weve both ignored our friends the entire weekend save for a few minutes. I cant stop staring. I push my foot into your chair and slide your legs apart, resting my foot on the inside of your thigh. You blush. You ask if im out of condoms. Im not. The goal is to be out.

I’ve been awake 60 hours.

I want to breathe you in, I want to fall asleep, I want to be gentle and kiss you and hug you.

I tell you I dont know what love is but that I have had a great time. That maybe this feels like love. You cry a little and hand me back my shirt. I tell you to keep it. I hold your hand all the way down to the car. My friends tease me. I don’t care.

I see you again, almost five years later, at the same venue. You’re still short. Youre still cute. You havent aged one bit. You have a guy with you and hes beautiful.

I see the ring on your finger.

I put my head down, my hoodie up, and disappear out onto the balcony without letting you see me.

Its November. Somewhere between the first and the fifth. This time Im sure of it.

Im still too far gone.