Peripheral Vision #1

He went to visit her in the octagon. He used the gift as an excuse to make this call. He made himself knock firmly at the door, though he was inwardly quaking from anxiety. He waited expectantly. There were no lights on in the house but smoke rose from the stovepipe. He waited another moment and was preparing to leave when a girl hurried down the ladder from the loft and came to the door. The door opened part way. He could smell the homey aroma of fresh coffee. He wasn’t invited in. Feeling uncomfortable he apologized for interrupting. He held out the beaded basket, handing it to her, mumbling something about getting it off ebay,… a gift for her mother…. He stepped backwards then turned and went down the step.

Now that he was once again on the boardwalk he didn’t have a plan. What should he do? He didn’t want to return to the claustrophobic space of his lifeless apartment. The only allure of the apartment was his bed where there were no demands, no people, just the vortex. His body hurt, the medications caused involuntary cramping and nausea. He found himself descending the hill to the beach. As he came to the “Cloud” cafe he heard the owner call out a hello. He stopped. Though he resisted it he felt compelled to be with other human beings. He wanted to even just be in close proximity to the “normal” that others seemed to fall into so easily. He was struggling to play the “I need to appear ordinary” game. She was standing just outside her front door rolling a cigarette. He said hello and laughing nervously asked if she had any business that day. She smiled and said the last group left about an hour ago, and that she thought she would just have a smoke before cleaning up. She had such an easy way of being. She invited him in for a cup of coffee. In spite of his apprehension he moved towards her, standing next to her as she lit her cigarette. They stood in silence as she pleasurably inhaled the smoke.

They entered the house, the warmth fogging up his glasses. He liked the sensation of being in the warm environment and not being able to see. It somehow made things seem less threatening. He actually found the word “comfortable” forming in his mind. She showed him where the mugs and coffee pot were and told him to help himself. He thought how ironic… Help myself…. She busied herself in the kitchen. As she was stacking the dirty dishes she asked him how school was going. With stock answers he spoke about school mechanically. As he talked he wandered around the room looking at all the myriad things she had displayed. She seemed so foreign and exotic to him, so uncontained, like she could slip through your fingers. He toyed with his mug, still three quarters full. He felt so disconnected. He set the cup on the counter saying he needed to be going.