Her friends warned her about him.
Yes, they warned her well. Stories were going in circles, swirled like the wind and gathered along the way dust and deceits, carrying them faster, until it rolled the whole bundle of things right up to her feet, leaving them onto her doorstep. And? Now what?
Entangled and twisted, laid all sorts of nonsense and perversions about him, his relationships with whomever and wherever, him not having regard either to mother nature or to his own, him who gets involved in a variety of licking, swallowing, looking the other away, lingering with girlfriends of his best friends or their sisters, with teachers or married ladies, and all other kinds of loafers and god know what else. In the middle of the hank, while trying to extract some clues of truth, while other people’s hair that was there who knows how were cracking, there was one story, told a long time ago. For this one, she knew it was somehow true, but it had already been added so much to it due to the time that has passed, that no one longer cared what happened actually, but something terrible happened. And because of that terrible story about his terrible past, due to infidelity, atrocities, abortions, evasions and dark powers, he was just more appealing because he had hank at all, and all that just pushed her towards him.
She did not care. Why exactly to care. She was a hundred and eighty-five years old. Exactly that much. Old. Or one hundred and eighty-six? Um, maybe she lost count? No matter, she was very old. The eyelids were down, wrinkles around them were obvious even without laughing and bright sun, and on her forehead, several lines of different forms were outlined and constantly present. What to care about, then? This excessive concern of these so-called friends who all knew what to say, to retell all! Girlfriends, who loved someone’s back, who patiently waited for a mistake, who were all ears, who pretended not to see, who discussed which keyhole is better and through which you can see more clearly.
So she did not care. She was old, and friends were not really friends. And he stood firm and young and lascivious in front of her, also babbling lies to somehow force her to be embroiled in the hank. She did not mind. On the contrary, she thought that he was kind because he’s trying to force an old lady of one hundred and eighty-five or six into a doggy or lying position, and because he generally considers that the same of her elderly remains are worth his incandescent look and because she felt burns from it. He did not lose any interest when she went to smear tired circles under her eyes with concealer, bloody purple and swollen, not even when she removed the hole in her nylons (fish netted, voila!) that accidentally popped out from the phenomenal high heel shoes that she bought a hundred years ago, when she was younger granny in her eighties, but which did not age as fast as her.
He told her that she smells great, surely she exercises, talks funny, she’s dressed well, she stands stable (for her age right?), and all series of compliments that the old woman had not heard for a while, so they crawled down her ears and tickled, and she laughed (with a wrinkled smile), and he praised both smile and teeth, those pearls that are well kept and have not fallen out yet, but here, they will soon, rotten molars will be spited out, she was sure, in a day or two.
She took his palm and laid it on her thigh, and warmth spread from his sweaty hand or her eagerly body, and that ray of sun that burst from her hip and warmed now smaller and smaller space between them, that later so often fragmented moment, was perfectly hot and intoxicating. A hunk of rumors with his name disappeared. Her wrinkles and limp limbs, her occasional gray hair, her extinguished glow in the eye, her silence and calm voice, all went to rest for about fifteen minutes.
Desperate desire appeared to scratch long searched indifference under which blaze covered with dust was kept, what should have been done or not (how was it, hand on his back, other on the groin, and the tongue on his neck or…?) and flesh moved, shook, throw of the feet, received worn out comments but with words that light old ember; like: you do that so good, I have never, and is it possible, how are you doing this, with all the huh, ah, oh in between, with long extended m, with sighs and trap consisting of all this, in which she deliberately fell into.
She fixed her strap after that, returned it to the dead bitten shoulder, pull her skirt down to her knees, and stroked his hair. The golden boy has fulfilled withered dreams. He told her he would call her, he even copied her number into his phone for an unknown reason, and went away, kissing her long into swollen lips.
Ok, for an old woman like she was, it was more than enough. The flame was lit for a few minutes, there was too little wood, but she didn’t mind. What did they warn her about anyway, except about his enchanting beauty? Nothing so spectacularly different this so-called mischievous with spindled muscles did, all that together was nothing special. She went to sleep alone – through relaxed arms rough blood streamed and cold bed pleased heated up body.
The next day she woke up without thinking and she didn’t have the need to remember anything. However, some details came out of the beat of the clock, and recounted to her what she had done, and the end of her mouth at one point of the day even moved. But at 6 o’clock and 23 minutes, something happened what she couldn’t have even imagined.
– Yes! – She spoke hoarsely – Who are looking for my child? What?? Where did you have a nice time? Aha…
Ostentatious torso invited her to warm her again, and she did not know why to turn down – in the end rumors did not concern his performance, but his reputation, that wasn’t of her interest. Who knows, maybe he would pour some serum of gods down her throat and rejuvenate her, maybe he could make her stomach to be like his, flat and smooth, and her skin will be tightened again. If nothing else, she will have a lot to boast about in front of her friends.
He kissed her right away, when they met, wet and greasy, in the middle of the lips he kissed, and in the middle of the street, while stunned passers-by stared at them, not believing that such a young hunk can smooch such an old fart. He took her to the renowned bar, wanting to listen to her immensely; and he had what to say. Horrifyingly infantile and tediously ambitious, he looked as an enthusiastic warrior who wanted to save her from the jungle carrying a knife between his teeth, while waving his hands like crazy. But, besides all this, he was perky, arrogant and well dressed. That’s why her snakeskin adapted to its heat in the end, and moved to the rhythm of his steps, pretending that all is great, pretending that all of his tricks are working, that he is hilarious (and he was a bit hilarious). Her dress fit her neatly, except when he pulls it off her collarbone to erase her age again, it was ironed and starched, collar in place, except when he unbuttoned it trembling, and she wasn’t sure why, so she trembled also, for him not to be alone, and to make it easier.
There was more than enough material for retelling.
Two days later, at almost the same time, the phone rang again. And it was him again. Thoughts have confused her, this crystal bright young boy, originally described as the biggest scumbag, only wanted to hear her voice. She frowned. Fool. Kid. What’s wrong with him? What stood behind a glass smile? There’s no way that he’s so nice and so pretty. Why would someone be nice to her after all? There has to be some reason… Besides fans, trinkets, beads, artificial dentures, smeared words and squinty looks, she did not have anything. And she wasn’t someone you can ask something for. Just a long decrepit and forgotten old maid who struggled to be in the spotlight, as everyone else at her age.
That’s why this time she did not eagerly accepted, and postponed the meeting for another day. She realised that the rascal requires more from her, that he orders to give him more, and she wondered who’s going to pay for all. Before she left, she choose lipstick for a long time, applied a longer line of eyeliner and put perfume on both arms. On her neck there was no one else’s fingerprints, but she hides her flick tongue under her teeth, just in case. The hank didn’t reveal behind him when he appeared, but she did not know if he’s hiding it somewhere, so she cautiously lifted heels high, for her stilettos not to get entangled. His young and impatient desire rushed onto her immediately, just how fantastic she is, greedily hands took her clothes off, but she was skeptical in slow motion and every now and then asked to see his eyes, that have burned long since.
But yes, yes, suddenly it came to her! Well yes, he can like anyone! Every warmer look, tickly smile, fragrant curves, wet silky hair, artistically elongated feet, manicured nails, on the surface he can find a grain of hope to hold onto in anyone! He justified his leisurely physical need with emotions, like a real minor. But, what did they warn her about then?
And she was about to think that all that is just nonsense, when in a panorama of a sweet coated evening that was seen from his window, the terrible story came onto the surface. In an embrace after barely calm breathing, this terrible story was suddenly there, and fell from his lips. It was not really so terrible, it wasn’t hard either and she saw herself as she nods and justifies all his actions respectively, finding the reasons and explanations. Yes, well yes, it is all so clear. Well he just wanted to… He didn’t mean that, right? He firmly convinced her that all these are all just knick-knacks, irrelevant things and fabrications, furnished and stapled onto him out of spite. It was a whole series of set of circumstances that have forced him into this, he didn’t do it intentionally. Well, of course. It could not be any other way.
And so she herself, at the end of the evening, tangled into the hank.
One day, she woke up and found him beside herself, asleep in her arms. A few times moon reversed around its axis, and she was now looking at a pillow covered with his hair, wisps of golden rays, a fire that sleeps, and why did he sleep at hers after all? He fell in love, and cooed to her, neglected her flaws, stroked her limbs, and he loved her even when she came off the pedestal, short and with thick legs. He wanted to give her the sun and the moon, and all the stars just poured into her pupil, and she was simply sick of it all.
She realised that between bracelets and rings she couldn’t recognise her hands, from solid gold and soft silver, hands that have been moving toward to pamper his cheek, his loutish lips (upon whose taste she might think about too long), his stomach, so properly indented… Her own words she never heard, that told him some thoughts that she didn’t know she had, that confessed, that was full of some sugary juice that sticks to the hair. She no longer managed to wash away his smell from herself, and he was always there – in advertisements, in pajamas, in birds, clouds, passers-by, he began to appear as a ghost and excessive desire, and friends have been possible right to warn her about him.
Hastily she called some of them to consult them. Right, what does she knows, when others knew better than her. That promiscuous brat? To have serious intentions? For God’s sake, what is she thinking! (These cups are lovely.) She can’t probably think to be bothered with someone, someone so frivolous?! He is not for her, period! Didn’t she hear what they say about him? And the terrible story?! And in spite of that she continued to see him?! Oh gosh, what a scandal! She has to leave him now faster-the-better! (Tap on the knee in the rhythm.) Or no, let her just continue! She may enjoy for a while, an older lady (if you please!) in young skin that worships her until he finds a younger thigh! How will she be laughing when she is awakened from her sleep by snotty children or even worse his mother, between books she is too lazy to read and her stomach that she, persistently, “can’t take off”! Let her enjoy, so enslaved, five hundred years with one and the same and always the wrong one, let her enjoy while someone enjoys in her, if she can! While she can do it all and everything is allowed! BUT… (significant cluck with the tongue) how long – does – she – thinks – to – do – so?!
My God, my God… How blind she is… He is a skin that shrinks after it fulfills all wishes and because of which you lose yourself. If she was carrying a stone, it would be difficult to leave it, yes he is just a stone, just a beautiful stone in your pocket without any value, just a stupid habit of rubbing. Grandma is not for this! She realised that her every sigh tangled her thoughts too much, and she immediately sent him away. She called him and said: have a walk kid! She told him: go find someone younger, go call your schoolgirls and princesses, mollycoddles, go wash your face and wipe your drooling! She grew out of this nonsense!
But, after thirty and something minutes, he came running loudly blushed to tell her not to do it, that he doesn’t believe she wants that. All these are stupid things, he has changed, he would do anything, how doesn’t she understand? – he waved his arms again. She knows very well, he’s just a child who thinks he knows the world, and so many things are ahead of him. It’s better for him to go. And she had to let him go… After all, what on earth he will do with her? Wipe her when she grows older before him? Bury her? Throw himself at the coffin? And just when she demonstrably decided to close the door, he asked her how could she even think such a thing. He smiled with a sticky smile, laid hands on her (and it was warm again) and she suddenly did not know what to do. He said he wanted to spend time with her. He said he wanted to kiss her. That he can’t stop thinking about her. And she was stunned when she heard her own funny, elderly voice:
– Don’t stop thinking about me. Think about me.
It was the beginning of well-tailored madness. As soon as she could put her head down on him without fear of being undesirable, she began to see what she has to lose. She became someone with whom he can do whatever he wants, numb while feeling insects in her stomach that flicker their wings and then she repeats gestures and actions that she repeated with so many of them and convinces herself that it doesn’t make any sense and that he is just the same and that is the same, but… She would sulk and kick the hank, pulling out the terrible story from it, waved it in front of his nose, tore it to detail and atoms, all participants were fishy, she would ask for numbers and evidence, but he just shook his head. She would again re-examine all, all over again, until her brain wouldn’t turn blue from effort, and then she would fell into his arms broken, and shouted to forgive her as such, because she’s old and doesn’t know what she’s saying, and he stroked her hair strand by strand, caressing every hair. A feeling of being in love was terribly tedious. And blinding. Hands that strangled her, were her own. She provoked him and deliberately annoyed him, and after she regretted it. She was horrified by herself, horrified by her behavior and terrible need for him, this unreasonable inside of her that wants him all the time. She didn’t know… She didn’t know how it all… You think you know yourself and then more and more you can’t recognise yourself!
Frightened, she wanted him to hurt her to the utmost, to take it out on her, to hurt so much that she cannot regain consciousness and to leave her because she had no strength to let him go. She wanted again to be just a trace of lips that morning wipes out. But he on the contrary gave his best, and justified himself more, only showing his affection more deeply. It wasn’t worth it, everything was discussed and it seemed to her that love is a difficult, difficult disease from which everyone falls in the bed at least once, and they don’t want to stand up for days. When at the peak of her madness she drove him away for the millionth time because she was sick of herself, slobbery she understood she was struggling in quicksand. Without knowing where to go anymore, she quickly found a phone from a richer grandpa, some old man who wore more expensive things, walked with minors and flaunted around with brighter feathers. Because the devil knows many things because he is old and it suits her to be seen with someone of her own caliber (whatever that means).
She was yawning bored to death. Old goat meat stank terrible, it stank of dung in which he deliberately rolled in so you could’ve felt it miles away. He smoked fancy cigars and spun button on his jacket, pulled out a glittering crowd of banknotes and coins to blind her with, so she wouldn’t think too much. Hands ran across knees, lumpy and sprinkled with freckles and gray hair, they washed away young fragrance from her, but she didn’t put them away. It was pleasant for her to feel something else, though horrible and nasty, something different was pleasant than the hard-tiring, feverish feeling of being in love. Touch itself was vomiting, but the excitement that he felt and she didn’t, limp limbs that were dangling towards her, his breath, unknown, it will all finally save her from the jaws of happiness she knew. He held her chair, opened the door for her and urinated after all to mark his new conquered territory.
Strange feeling. She thought it would be hard and she closed her eyes while she did it, but suddenly – she didn’t feel this for years – burden falls from her chest, somewhere deep down, into the depths. At the same time, the wound starts to bleed. The stone that she carried for such a long time was lying there, that it made a wound. She felt the blood flowing. Pain and relief in one. Very strange.
And while disgustingly expensive perfume stood in the air, she began to cry. She was crying like never in her life. All night. She was crying like a million rains, in a million ways. Whimpered and wept. The Nile of tears this one hundred eighty-five years old dropped for her golden boy… She thought she didn’t want to lose herself for the sake of some brat, but now it wasn’t clear to her what exactly is the benefit of that? What will she do with herself, nagging, sour and boring?
She woke up the next day swollen from tears and looked at the phone. She didn’t answer to anyone for she could hide feelings from everyone, her greatest shame of all time. She got up, washed her face, cleaned the mess around the altar and solemnly renounced love (without witnesses). Finally, it was over. But just a little bit, just a little tiny tiny bit she wanted to keep him still beside her, just a bit to give her, a little just to sleep next to his words, warm in his placenta, and to feel the hunger of his touch.
Maybe she should call him?
She opened the door, and stood rigidly. His puppy eyes, his wet mouth like a snout, his hair like the coat, his sinewy, muscular, animal body were not there. He didn’t embrace her more than ever before, he didn’t approach her, the harlot, and again fell to his knees, to beg her for mercy, never to drive him away, just not to drive him away. She was calm. She closed the door and did not call him. Ever again.
But, her friends did warn her about him.
Yes, they did warn her fairly.