If Amanda
were a season, David thinks she would be the cold reality of winter. Biting yet
numbing all at the same time. Her cold demeanor pushes David away, makes him
want to crawl back to something warm and comforting and just loose himself
there for a while. David wants the warm comfort but he knows that the cold is
needed, that everything needs the space in order to appreciate those who do comfort.
That’s why he’s stuck here, waiting in the cold, waiting for the warmth to
finally come. Yet occasionally a ray of sunshine emerges from that cold. A warm
reminder to stay a while, that warmth is around the corner if he just sticks it
out.
If Amanda
were a food, David thinks she would be a stale cookie. He knows that at one
time she was capable of being a source of comfort. Her warmth was irresistible
allowing many men to enjoy her sweetness, her coziness, and her heat. David
just came at the wrong time. Over time she’s been left to harden and crack. He
wants to enjoy the cookie but it’s difficult and takes time. She almost needs
to be nuked in the microwave for five seconds so she can revert back to being
warm and inviting, but even then she’s not the same. There’s the aftertaste,
the dusty remnants of a stale cookie.
If Amanda
were a sport, David thinks she would be hockey. The cold, the aggression, and
the pain all remind him of Amanda. He watched a hockey game once. His buddy
bought tickets and the seats were close to the edge of the rink so he felt
obligated to go. He didn’t know anything about hockey, but he knew the look on
the man’s face when he was pressed up against the glass. His nose buckled under
the pressure of the man’s elbow, blood spurted on to the ice. The player turned
around and looked David in the eye. He recognized that fear and the pain in the
player’s eyes. The man looked as if he didn’t understand why he had chosen this
sport, but there was also that gleam in his eye as he turned back to keep
playing. The pain was worth it, he wanted to come out successful. He remembered
his buddy asking how Amanda was doing while they were at the game. He must have
thought of her too.
If Amanda were a song, David
thinks Amanda would be “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” by the Beatles. Harrison
got it right, he thought one day listening to the epic rock ballad. He didn’t
know her past, he didn’t know if he wanted to. He just knew that he loved,
whether it was she or not he wasn’t quite sure. I don’t know why/ Nobody told you, how to unfold your love. I don't know how, someone controlled you/ They bought and sold
you.
David wept over his love. David wept over Amanda.
If Amanda
were a form of transportation, David thinks she would be the bare feet of a
homeless person. Chapped and callused from the constant twists and turns of her
life. He dreamt that she was a hobo looking for a crawlspace to call home for
the night. She would curl up in a ball and warm those callused feet against a
burning barrel. Her eyes would dodge suspiciously from one hobo to another until
she crawls back into her corner.
If David
were a city, he’d be Detroit. He once was successful but then I came along and
ruined him. He was like the epicenter for industrial success, a real
highty-toity businessman with a future. He could have had a wife and kids by
now. Some beamer in the driveway, two dogs, yeah I can see it, golden labs
happy to go on walks with him and his baby boy and his blonde bombshell beauty.
But then there’s me. The home wrecker. That’s what men call me. Home wrecker. I wreck any possibility
they might have for a normal life. David’s tied to me now. He’s Detroit.
If David
were a foreign language, he’d be Latin, I know that’s a dead language but
that’s the point. He’d be that. Beautiful and the basis for everything, I know
he’s my base, my rock that I let myself lean on. My petræ. He would like that; he’s the smart type too. I’ve never been
the smart type, yet that’s the kind of people I attract. In many older versions
of English “smart” also, means pain, David told me that. Dolor in Latin is pain, anguish and smart. That’s what I attract. A
pain. They’re willing to go through it, to save me. Ego saluari. I am to be saved.
If David
were a subject in school, he’d be English. Filled with an undetected beauty
that no one completely understands. It’s abused and underestimated. People use
it all of the time without thinking about the work that goes into something
like that. For a subject so complex to understand the world makes an effort to understand
it. That’s what I feel like I try to do with David. He continues to work,
continues to learn, continues to teach, and continues to be with me. “I’m
fascinated by complexity.” He said that to me once as we held each other one
night. He dozed off that night. I didn’t sleep.
If David
were a dance, he’d be a Russian ballet. He holds all of the grace and skill of
the dance. I watched him get dressed for work one morning. He searched for a
pair of trouser pants, his legs seemed to tense up as he walked to the closet.
I admired his form. There was a grace in his build. His lines seemed to flow as
he slid on a button up over his shoulders. I wanted to touch him and transform
myself into his arm so I could feel his movement. He would use me; I would be
useful to him. He would use me to pick up his coffee mug, to brush his dark
hair out of his eyes to read the paper, to hail a taxi on his way to work. To
hold a door open for the woman who works two floors above him. To shake her
hand on the elevator when they meet. To wave to her every morning and every
night, only to come home to a mess like me.
If David
were a form of government he’d be anarchy. Or at least, that’s what he falls
into. He knows that anarchy isn’t good for him, but the idea of not having
rules and being his own keeper appeals to him. I didn’t want him he wanted me.
He wanted the pain and the suffering. He wanted to be strapped to a worn out
girl who was torn apart by every person she came to know. He met me at some art
school function. He was with the group of high-strung individuals funding the
event. I was with the group trying to be sponsored. I remember him picking me
up immediately. He sauntered over in another one of his cookie-cutter suits. I
held a Marlboro in my hand, the most expensive thing I owned back then. I knew
he wanted to break the rules.
