I love London. The weather. The grey streets. The rhythm of voices. The food. It’s like New York on beer, fried deli and the 70’s.
I like it.
I like the pubs...fancy dive bars with thick wood.
I’m going there to see Carl. I’m going. Fading. Vanishing.
Disappearing. I was an invisible little girl making myself small
so no one would ask me to clean up for them or cook for them or to get lost. I was invisible. I didn’t matter. I wasn’t important.
I wasn’t wanted. I should have never been born.
I knock on my boyfriend Shawn’s door after ringing the bell over and over. His building uptown in Harlem doesn’t have a doorman like my midtown building does.
As he opens the door for me he doesn’t smile. I notice the phone on the corner table is off the hook. Shawn doesn’t have a shirt on.
I stare at the sweat on his chest. The way it gives a glow to his white Irish skin. Jeff Beck is playing So We Ended As Lovers
on his stereo.
I have the same album. He bought it for me.
Shawn’s last name is Campbell just like the soup.
I’m wearing my uniform of a cut up rock tee shirt, jeans and fry boots. My hair is long and stringy around my face and neck and shoulders. He can’t see my sweat.
It’s a long walk from the train stop on 125th to the river where he lives. The streets are empty at this time of night except on the corners where guys are selling everything from loose joints to hookers. I bought a joint and smoked it on my walk so my head feels soupy like his name.
His shirt is on the hallway floor behind him. I spot it even though the lights aren’t on. His bedroom door at the end of the hall is closed. I can smell his mothers famous stuffed shells that she makes in large batches and freezes for Shawn to heat up while she works late.
His eyes are staring hard at mine as I keep looking at his chest.
It’s muggy in this long hallway and I want to check to see if the kitchen window is open
but I can’t find my legs
instead my eyes sweat streams that drip on my boots.