June 19, 2010

After it all happened I was so deep in there that I forgot to remember it for a while.

The year it happened rolled over to the new one and I was at the lofts we had lived in a couple of years back, at a New Year’s Day party in the same building where we had a ladder to the bed and ornate radiators and clanging pipes. It’s been torn down now, ruthlessly. They tore down the wing we had lived in first.

That first New Year’s Day without you I took Ecstasy for the first time. Just as I and the others were coming up I was in the apartment down the hall, visiting the man who had heard everything through the gaps between the clapped up drywall and those pipes that clanged especially in the middle of winter.

He had heard everything. He had heard us fuck. This was obvious once I observed the interior of his apartment and the position of his bed. And he had heard other things.

Had we fought about anything but your need to leave this planet? I can still see our neighbour through the peephole that one night, a fisheye distortion with his arm up, looking down. What was all that noise? You had already left under the familiar threat, again, the horror clenched solid in my centre. It wasn’t what he feared, I was not in physical danger. I didn’t answer the door. But the way he stood there, needing to do something, to protect a stranger, me.

I was back in that building, in his apartment that New Year’s Day. He was or is a photographer, his surroundings sparse and immaculate. A heartbreakingly gorgeous desolate view of the city and the wintery tracks where you died. I told him what had happened. He was very kind.


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