Autor: (839fantasmas )
Sinopse: "I take a sip of coffee and a deep breath..."
Avisos: Side Story (da novel Majnun) escrita há algum tempo que se encaixou no prompt.
I take a sip of coffee and a deep breath. Ich komme aus Portugal. I don't know how do they write this in German. I am not what I should be. People don't like it, when they see... I see that he likes to smoke. I hate smoking. My father used to smoke, mother hated it, so I take her side. I hate my father. I'm talking about genuine hate. I want him to have an awful death. My best friend says I shouldn't be having those thoughts. That I'm going to get punished for thinking like that. The funny thing is that, she doesn't believe in God. When I was a kid, and my mother told me about Alah, I used to blame people for not believing in a god. Things such as “How could you not believe the one who gave you your life, you ingrate piece of garbage?” And I used to get really angry when I saw an atheist. The people I fought to, who would believe I'd become an atheist? Don't get me wrong, I do respect people who have faith. They might be right, who knows. And that means that I'm going to get hell, but whatever. I'll get hell either way. You know what hell means in German? Light. It's so funny... Go and try to understand those Germanic languages. She got angry with me because I said I didn't like English. I have the right to not like a language... At least, I always thought so. But I absolutely love Emily Dickinson and Sylvia Plath. They are my heroines.
It's getting so hot in here. It's not because this guy passed through me. He is what you could call a terminator, if you know what I mean. I wish I could turn my neck to see him passing, but you know, I can't. I'm becoming kind of breathless just to stop and imagine. So I'll take another sip of coffee and pretend I don't exist and that I'm not even human, and that I'm not able to have fantasies with straight guys. Straight. What an annoying word.
I'm a literature professor.
That other guy irritates me. He comes and goes as he pleases. I hate people that behave like this when I have to hold down all the fucking time.
I wanted to get the bus, but getting the bus is a waste of time. But I think he will manage to take the bus, because no thought ever stops him. He is so damn free. Can I be free too? It is not possible, people will judge me. I'm sick of staying so much in evidence. High school used to be hell, because people used to think they could see me and talk to me as they pleased just because they could see me. My college students are annoying. They think I am cold, but bloody hell, I'm just a serious professor who never hits on the girls. I see them gossip about my sexuality. I wonder why the people I sleep with is so important to them. Isn't this my body? Oh yeah, I forgot... My body is less mine, and much everybody else's body.
I have to shake my shirt slowly, with elegant movements, so hardly anyone here will notice. It's so hot... I wish the sun would go away. I'm not happy, Beatles, I'm sorry.
I want to go away. To a very far place. Oh no, I can't believe it. He just entered this Coffee Shop. If he sees me, I'll have to smile and pretend I'm alright. Since I have my back to the bar, I don't think he is going... “Hey,” I hear. No. As I turn, I see him, smiling. Do I have to smile now and pretend? Yes, I do. I show him a smile. He is going to ask that question. Yes, he asked. I mean... We should be able to say honestly “I don't want you to sit here, I'm enjoying myself, could you please understand that and without hurt feelings, go away?” I mean, people used to do this to me all the time in the past, why am I not allowed to do the same? Fucking stupid and useless conscience. It makes me endure so much hardships...
He sits. I start to imagine him undressed. Completely naked. My eyes might tell him that. I play with the idea that he might understand what my eyes want to say and get scared and then, run away. He doesn't. He raises his hand and calls this beautiful white woman. The world is full of them. If you understand sarcasm. I'm not a white man, sorry to disappoint you. My mother was Egyptian, dark skinned. My father is a mixture of black American with Anglican annoying American. I couldn't tell what stands more. He is mixed, and that's all you have to know. The only thing I like about him, is the black ancestry. Nothing else. The guy sitting right besides me, has a hair that looks like blood sometimes, when it gets dark, but most of the time, his hair seems to be burning in the sunlight. It looks like magic. He would hate me, if I said that, because it would seems as if I was turning him into something exotic. I think he is right for not enjoying the idea. It's really silly.
So, I am dark skinned and I have a curly and short black hair, and brown eyes, long eyelashes, a big mouth with undefined color, a nose that stands, and sadly I can't describe it better. Huge eyebrows. I hate myself, to be honest. I mean, I like it when I see a guy with those features, but I'm so... Out of context. How can I be more specific? I think that nothing fits me perfectly. I could look like the guy you might think is the most beautiful man in the whole universe, and still, I would feel out of context. I wouldn't fit. My friend says I should go to therapy. Whatever.
This guy right besides me, has green eyes. That kind of color that makes you wonder, looking in his eyes, why the fucking hell do people have eyes with this color? It's annoying. Such an annoying color... I feel like crying, I don't know.
I hate this guy. He looks so immature. I hate the way he smiles. I hate the color of his lips, the shape of his lips. I hate his unbuttoned shirt. I hate his undershirt. I hate his watch, his necklace, his fake smile. He is faking a smile. I hate how he makes me so interested on physics. I hate how I'm at peace by myself but when he arrives, I start to like his company, and then he leaves and I sort of miss his company, but then I have to deal with being all by myself, and then he arrives and I hate the way he disturbs my peace, to make me feel all alone when he leaves. I hate him. I want to kiss him. That kind of kiss with tongue and sighs. He will probably leave, making me want to kiss him. So I'll have to kiss someone else to get rid of this feeling. But I never go to clubs, so I'll have to kiss my pillow. What a pain... A thirty years old man, that has to kiss his pillow because he can't manage to find a guy (yes, he is homosexual) to kiss when he has this urge to kiss, because this guys left him desiring his lips.
Please, smile and go away before I ask to kiss you. And I'm going to do that. I might be shy, but when it comes to my needs... My shyness flies away. I don't think I want to have sex with him. If I confess that, people will think I am just another promiscuous homosexual guy. As if I care. I don't really understand people who label others as promiscuous. I don't really understand this word. Whatever, I don't want to have sex with him, I like terminator guys, and he is definitely not one. But his lips make me want to kiss him so badly, God. I only call out my supposedly creator's name, at those times.
“Do you want to go for a walk by the bay?”
Yes, why not? That place from that painting The fall of Icarus - only in my imagination, I guess -. I love that painting.
I pay the bill, I pay my bill, I mean. He pays his bill and we go happily through the bay. At this time of the year, there are lots of traditional families going all over the bay and making you feel out of context. Oh, I need to stop feeling like this. I'm not a kid anymore, this is so disrespectful with myself and with others that struggle like me. I'm aware that I did nothing wrong, but they eyes... All the time it feels like they are saying “You're so wrong, man.”
As I walk down the road full of stones, I remember watching once one orchestra playing Beethoven, and the fact that I've heard that piece once, but I couldn't remember the name, just the composer. I wanted to tell him about this piece, but there was nothing much special about it. Only that I was all by myself in my house watching TV and going through all the channels, until I've found this and started to watch. I can't explain, I felt together. It is so hard to feel together those days...
He is silent. His hands inside his pockets. Do you confuse trumpet with tube? I wanted to ask. And I asked. He held this odd stare. I hate it, when I say things out of the blue, because the silence starts to make me itch and the person gives me this odd stare. Mário inside my memory, never gave me this kind of stare... He was so tender... I miss the tender him. Made me feel at peace.
I listen that Liszt Rapisode. The pianist seemed to be so very happy. If I were a pianist I would be happy to be playing in such a place. Suddenly, I'm thirsty. He tells me he knows the difference. And I think that he isn't like me. I stop somewhere to buy orange juice. I don't usually enjoy orange juice, but the sunset made me want it. He asks me if I cared, and then shows me a cigarette. I pondered for a while. This kind of thing really bothers me. But I never feel like making people feel uneasy towards me, so I just say “Go ahead”. He smiles. We go to a place where there are no children, no families going around. I suddenly remember, staring at the ocean, about the day when I find out my ex-boyfriend was sleeping with some other man. And I started to picture them having sex, and I felt sick to my stomach. But then I smile. I'm going to France at the end of the year. And then, to Germany. The maestro spoke in German. I want to take the train to Egypt as well. What about Russia? And Greece... Then I realize I'm the one who is silent. I caught him staring at me. His eyes full of meaning. I smile and tell him about the painting, he seems surprised. I wonder why...
We never do anything and I stop wishing to have the chance to kiss him. I'm always changing my mind.
Polonaise. Chopin. It's heavy. You must have fast fingers to play that. I remember the pianist rejoicing as his fingers went down all the keys. How can a pianist not get immersed by the music he is playing? That pianist was so passionate. He tells me that is the same when he is doing all the research, looking at the starry sky, through his lenses. And yes, I think I feel kind of passionate passing the pages of my books. I'm not sure anymore. Suddenly, I want to change a little.
I remember this other guy I was going out, telling me about seeing a guy who reminded him of some actor, and then, I felt like asking him, if he felt like dating the person he saw, or doing other things... Or as if it would be better to be with that person. I am so damn jealous. That's why I don't want to date anymore. I'm just going to fuck when I feel like doing it, and never get emotionally involved. I don't want to worry if the person wants to fuck someone they see on the street.
Viena Philarmonic Orchestra. I was so immersed...
You know, his eyes look kind of yellowish under this sunset. The ocean is burning, thanks to the sun. Things have changed since that painting - I would say -. Suddenly I feel like running while the cold sun ray touches my skin. There must be something wrong with me. I feel like going by bicycle. I suggest to him for us to rent two bicycles and go around in such sunset. He agrees. We do this. From the moment I saw him, I knew. He was free. I could suggest diving into the ocean, he would agree. He is this kind of guy, who you could call to do the craziest things, because he would agree. I hate people like this. They are always free.
As we go around, I feel just like I'm in one of those French movies. He is so annoying, he smokes as he is cycling, and I laugh out aloud. It seems like I enjoy his company. He enjoys mine. It is good to have a friend to walk around with. I don't want a date, just a friend. But I still wish I could kiss him...
Oh hell, I really hate him.