O You

O you whom I often and silently come where you are that

I may be with you,

As I walk by your side or sit near, or remain in the same

room with you,

Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake

is playing within me.

WW

He called the first time at 10:30pm. "I followed you to the club Saturday night. Those kids are weird." Why the hell was he calling me?

"You aren’t one of them," he noted, an impressive observation.

"Why do you think that?" I asked, pushing the flowered sheet to the end of the bed with my feet.

"The way you lean against the wall, speaking to no one yet reading them all. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll bet they are beautiful without all that crud around them."

Up on one elbow, I looked down at the black smears on my pillow. "You’re an ass."

The Priscilla curtain clung to the back of the rotating fan. "Wanna pick me up?"

"Um, sure. I’ll be there in twenty." He didn’t ask for directions.

The watermill that greeted visitors and the homeward bound at the front of the apartment complex had been hit again. The foam shimmered beneath the spotlights at the base of the fountain.

I stretched out in the grass, pulled a Camel from the waistband of my black mini, and cursed the mudflap girl on my Zippo. Out of fluid again.

The blue Lincoln turned onto the street, lights off. He made the circle, opening the passenger door before bringing the car to a complete stop. "Where you wanna go?"

I saw only the whites of his eyes and the braids twisting from the top of his head like the tree branches in winter. "Wherever, Baby."

The streetlights cast shadows across my fish netted thighs. I tapped the smoke against the armrest until he offered a light.

He drove a couple of miles away to the park, unbuckled my seatbelt, and pulled me to the middle of the seat. Taking my chin in his hand, he looked me in the eyes, and before kissing me said, "Next time wash that crud off your face."

I wasn’t his regular any more than he was mine yet we had a sickness for each other that killed time. After the shows every weekend, I scrubbed the black putty eyeliner off my eyes, and he lied to his girlfriend about going straight home.

He used to tell me I wasn’t created equal…that there was something about me that frightened the shit out of people.

I dreamt of him the other night….sitting at the park, legs stretched out beneath the picnic table, listening to me ramble about a picture I’d seen of Egyptians shooting up, and woke up wondering what it is about me that scares the shit out of people.