DEAD SUNDAY AFTERNOONS

                                                DeadSunday Afternoons

            Iwait in cold sterile anticipation for Monday, for this day, a rather staleSunday afternoon in the month of birth, reeks of decay.  Indeed, Monday calls, with its promise offive more days of hell, growing old, old, and old.  Sunday feels limp and crawls slow and suretowards further nothing, a repeating forgettable day, endless malaise of boredom.

            Iwatch others move, action.  I can’t feel,or maybe will not give in to the urge to commit to a single motion, for nothingcan be accomplished.  The dead power ofnothing, Sunday claws with blades of steel, scraping the sides of myveins.  Can this ever be different?

            Robertsipped at his beer, an attempt at motion, not feeling comfortable with hishands lying limp at his sides.  Hedesired silence instead of motion, but the music throbbed insistent into hisears, all the while he eyed a young blonde talk and talk and talk to an elderlygentleman, the curled ringlets of her hair shanking as she looked around her, atangled boredom visible in her movements.

            Hereyes met his; singed nerves, running down his spine, her eyes locked with hisas she traced her fingers over elderly man’s face.  He forgot about his hands, which he no longerknew existed, his body entire ceasing to exist. Numb, the feel of her stare crushed into his thoughts.  He closed his eyes and still there remained apicture of her eyes, hazel, framed thick and heavy with eyeliner, almost as ifshe were a circus performer, the heavy color making her look whorish.  He breathed a hope outward that her eyesstill watched him, prayer, and exhale! 

He opened his eyes tothose same greedy, heavy hazel eyes, which bit into his skin.  He looked at her, seeing, feeling; the slopeof her neck caressing his hands.  Hecould feel velvet on his fingers.  Slow, slow,slow, waiting for time to begin anew, fresh raw emotion digging wounds into hisback, he jumped as if from a physical pain. His thoughts remained blinded, the want of his senses alive.

            Timestopped, silence broke through, the music blinked out of existence. 

            “Hi.”  She said, from the distance, her fingers fullof grey hair, her silken skin touched by the gnarled fingers of age.

            “Ifeel faint.”  He said.  Air pressed in his lungs, desiring escape,the fair life within him revolting all in one moment with a feeling of lightexploding in star shapes, fireworks, as if brazen heaven arrived to taunt himwith a wagged finger. 

            “Softmorning will break and the sight of her eyes will remain with me.”  He said softly to himself.

            “Sarah.”  She said. Words, clouds, light airy being.

            Hazelburned scars on his flesh.  Once more heclosed his eyes.

           

            Robertwoke to the sound of the phone.  His earsprotested, leading to a general feeling of disgust at being awaked, a feelingwhich passed as a wave over his body.

            “Yes.”  He said. He looked at the clock beside his bed, whose red numbers bled harshlight into the darkness.  It was seven o’clockin the morning.

            “No.  I’ll be in at nine.”  He said, irritation in his voice, which stillthick with sleep sounded angry. 

            “Nine,O’clock.”  He repeated, slowly andangrily.  He hung up the phone and rolledaway from the glare of the alarm clock. He closed his eyes once again.

           

            Hesensed her near him and saw her standing next to his chair as he looked in themirror, all of her at once; the thick flesh of her breasts, her thighs pressingagainst his hand.  He ran his palm overher skin, dragging his fingertips slowly, memorizing the feel of her bytouch.  She leaned in close to him,kissing his ear and whispering.

            “I’vebeen watching you all night.”  She said.

            Robertlaughed and put his arm around her waist.

            “Isn’tthat supposed to be my line?”  Heasked.  He breathed deep and called tothe bartender for another beer.  He spunhis chair to face her, pulling her between his legs. 

            “Whatis your name?”  She asked.  She pressed herself against him, which causedagony in his midsection.  He held hertightly against his jeans, the sight of her exposed skin making his head swimwith pleasure.

            “Robert.”

            Shesmiled and asked him to dance.  He didn’tanswer and she put her hand in his and led him towards the back of theroom.  He saw the others, the girls,talking and flirting and sitting with men, bare skin and smiles.  He let himself be led, following Sarah to asmall room, which contained black leather recliners and little light.  He sat and watched her as she waited for thenext song to begin.  She fluffed her hairand pulled a strap of her bra off her shoulder onto her arm.  The music started and she came to him, separatinghis legs with her hands.

            “Sitback and enjoy.”  She said.

           

            Robertslammed the alarm with his hand, silencing its persistent ringing.  He rolled out of bed and made his way towardsthe bathroom, sleep in his walk.  He ranthe water as he shaved the warmth of steam a comfort.  He stepped into the shower and stoodmotionless under the water, letting it run over his face.  Moments passed, which turned into minutes,and he remained under the water, thinking. Then, as if he remembered the business at hand, he grabbed the soap andwith a sigh, began to scrub.

            Hesat with Sarah at a table near the stage, talking.  She sat next to him, rubbing her hands on hislegs, smiling, and her eyes bright and shining. He sipped his beer as she talked and talked, her hands moving, her legsstretched out next to his.  A fast dancesong began to play and Sarah exclaimed with delight.

            “Thisis one of my friends; I want to see her dance.” Sarah said as she turned round and sat between Robert’s legs.  He saw a tall, slim brunette strut onto thestage and swing round on the poles that ran from floor to ceiling. 

            Sarahmoved with the music, her hips pushing back against him.  He put his arms around her and crossed hishands below her breasts.  He felt dizzyfrom excitement and tried little to follow the brunette’s movements across thestage.  He kissed Sarah on her back andher neck. 

            “Isn’tshe good?”  Sarah asked.  She kept moving her hips with the music.

            “Yes.”  He agreed. He ran his hands over her stomach and traced over her breasts with hisfingertips. 

            “Don’tget too frisky now.”  She said her voicelight and airy, the sound of which tickled his spine once more.

            Hemoaned as she rubbed against his erection, his hands getting closer to herbreasts.  The music seemed to fade as hisdesire turned hot in his blood.  The roomaround him vanished, leaving him alone with her, the feel of her flesh in hisarms the singular experience of existence. He gasped as she made time with the music, eyes closed, inhaling herfragrance, the smell of sweet decay.  Hegripped her arms tightly and pulled her closer. He laid his head against her back and with his eyes shut, the worldceased into perfect nothingness as his body shuddered against hers.

           

            Robertdressed for work as he listened to the traffic report on the radio.  The man reading the report sounded dead hethought to himself.  ‘Traffic is moderateto heavy on I-95, with a twenty minute delay at the I-195 exit.  Traffic northbound is heavier due to anaccident at exit twenty five.  That’s thetraffic at ten to the hour.’ 

            Heshut off the radio and grabbed his keys from the desk.  He looked into the mirror near the door,running his hands through his hair, wishing for more time to be ready.  He put his hand on the doorknob andpaused.  He closed his eyes for a moment,his head leaning down.  With a sigh, heopened the door and stepped out into the cold sunlight of January.