Brown Bird XIX

For the first time in four days, I got out of bed for more than a cigarette and a conversation with the wind in a garden. I needed food. Four days, even for someone like me who’s used to it, is a long time. And the neighbor was busy installing a new subwoofer, insisting on full volume testing—for what reason? I have no idea—maybe the rattling of panels on a beat up old ford focus still holds some socio-cultural value here. Either way it was enough to at least get me into the shower. The shower turned a color I hadn’t seen since my days in the infantry. I thought about a poem I’d read with some intent years ago after a similar dark time. It was a flow chart poem. It’s premise was the transitional choices a father made leading up to his son’s death. Morbid…I know…but at the time it was healing. The point is that the premise of this poem was a focusing on these choices over the coarse of the bereavement period—here in the states…it’s three days…or at least that’s what the poem says. I know that years before it was written, it was longer, and in the years that followed it’s shortened and yet grief has paid no acknowledgement to the time we’ve naively inflicted upon it. It never moves faster, or slower, than it’s supposed to. There is a window of time between the waves now where I can choke it down. After three days with no food, the brain starts to hallucinate a little bit, not a lot, but enough—and with day four the world begins to vibrate. If it weren’t for the nausea, the vibrations wouldn’t have mattered to me either, but the motion sickness was getting to be to much.

There’s a little dive spot in Tallahassee connected to my favorite bookstore. A place called Izzy’s. It’s a sushi bar. Well, more a bar that also has good sushi. Two tables, a bar, a couple of TV’s. All the dishes are that square silky smooth porcelain and the smell of cooking grease sort of hangs in the air. The kind of place where all the whiskey and beer come from Japan, and the walls are either a dark walnut or a light mat tan color. The first time I went there, the bartender was a heavy set gentleman who was every bit the rude, gristly, smart ass guy you want him to be in a place like that. I loved guys like that. The type of guy whose honesty just sort of flows out of his pores like milk and honey. It’s the overly nice ones, the bubbly and pretentious ones, that I can’t stand. He wasn’t there though, and in truth I was counting on his coarse textured personality to help me keep everything at bay. The bar was quiet, only a small party of three in the back, so I grabbed a spot at the bar. The bartender was a nice girl, mid twenties if I had to guess, didn’t get her name but she was kind enough without being superficial. I declined the offer of a saki, and requested a bowl of Korean BBQ instead. It’s like a chicken bite thing, where they fry them then drizzle on some sweet and spicy sauce. They’ll toss in a fried egg. I watched the wind through the window, and waited, the girls in the back gossiped over a guy one of them had recently gotten back together with. I wanted to lean over and ask, “Hey, the important thing is, are you happy?” but I didn’t. Besides what good is a stranger’s opinion, when your own four best friends are right there to decide if you are happy or not for you? Me personally, I’d rather be happy than my friends think I’m happy.

She set the food in front of me, and I ate. The food was amazing as always, and then it hit. Guilt. I was sitting there eating food, I hadn’t prepared yours yet, and my writer mind was preoccupied consuming the oral stories of four college girls bickering over fucking Todd’s latest indiscretion. Then I remembered. I remembered you weren’t at home. I remembered I called your hospital this morning and they assured me that you made it to the crematorium…safely and without issue. I remembered that they said, “Yes sir, don’t worry. I understand.” and, “Don’t worry, we’ll call you next week when the remains can be picked up.” My ears began to ring, and suddenly I couldn’t hear the girls in the back of the bar anymore. I remembered that I hadn’t made your food, because you weren’t there.

I gently pushed the bowl away, and placed my card on the counter.