Oh God

The jet engine’s scream fades, but is only to be replaced by the clip-clop of high heeled demons, thirsty for a deal.* Fallen angels in white with their "stethoscopes", a tool to hear your soul dance. Not to mention the general flock. Lost and found.* Numbers, keys, suitcases. People. Sheep.* "Baaaa."

Oh how I wish I could relate... not. The chaotic nature of an airport stands out to people for some stupid reason. With all the death in the world , all the famine, the theft and murder. You'd think people would worry about more important things. That's one thing I'll never understand about you “humes”.  You take all the peace you actually have on earth, take it for granted and ask god for more. Greedy little buggers if I do say so myself.

Je suis désolé. It looks as though I’ve forgotten to introduce myself. Nathan Ael’s* the name, A-E-L. I’ve already started telling you the story of how it all began, and don’t you get your hopes up. It’s not the beginning of world, or the beginning of the end… I don’t believe in all that junk. I’m talking about the beginning of the only thing that’s ever really mattered to me. The beginning of “us“. My “us”. The beginning of the real me, the way I am now.

It’s dark and raining when I step foot out of the car, and tip the driver. “Keep speeding!” I yell over the ill-attended engine “It’s the only way you’ll be able to afford next week’s rent!” and he speeds off no doubt. My muscles ache and my brain feels like it’s lodged in a vice. Jet lagged and about to expire, the story of my life. I try to close the door quietly, but only in vein. It’s alright though, no ones home. “Ah….” The smell of home. I crack open a beer, and sink into the couch. “Mmmmmm… couch” I mumble. I sit uninterrupted, reading “TIME” and gulping my sweet elixir, until my stomach has something to say about it. After grabbing something to eat I decide to actual sleep in my bed, as oppose to collapsing on my couch or a pile of soft laundry, and contemplate tomorrow.

I figured I would do something today; something interesting, sophisticated. Something to make me feel better about being myself. An art show in southern Philly seems like a good candidate. So I go with it and take the light-rail and PATCO into the city. The people seem pretty bland at first, with their matching clothes, and same-color socks. But all the changes the moment I cross onto south street. This is art central. Reminds me of the days when I attended the University of the Arts. Ah… the old UA. Good school, just didn’t keep my attention for 4 years. Being 20 isn’t all that bad. You can’t drink, but you can drive. It’s not like I’m legally allowed to do both anyway. After my first year, I started dying my hair freaky colors and I got this lip ring. I got bored of my soft pale face, and short brown hair. I have a slim face so I can pull of the punk/angry artist thing real well. A little too well when it comes to authorities. But hey… whatcha gonna do?

A girl offers me a card with some really flashy colors on it, accompanied by some half naked women as I walk into the Specter Gallery. A donation card for the gallery, like these people don’t make enough. Thanks but no thanks. I ripped it up and placed it in the proper receptacle, recycling. Suddenly, a shooting pain goes through my ribs! Nothing too bad, kind of like growing pains where you can’t breathe. Quickly dismissing the pain, I look around to make sure no one saw me hunch over. Another girl, dressed better than the first, walks up to me after seeing me rip the card with the strangest look on her face. I can’t tell if she’s horrified or if she’s seen me before. Regardless of her thoughts, she was beautiful.  Stunning.  A very scary situation.  She notices my confusion and quickly lightens up, as if promoted to friend.  

“Don’t donate much?” she asks half sarcastically, yelling over the music.  
“I do when I can.” I lie with a smile, which she saw straight through.  
“So who are you here to see, Palmer, the Courtneys or maybe Cy?” Too loud, like a club dance floor loud. I motion for her to come with me to a wall, any wall, with a quick few waves of my hand. She takes my hand and this totally freaks me out. Since when do girls this beautiful come happily along, wagging their tales? Whatever, no complaints, just caught me off guard. We arrive at the saftey of a wall, and I stare into her eyes for a good five seconds before I notice she has put her hand out, the universal sign for “shake my freakin’ hand stupid!”. Getting over the embarrassment, we quickly shook hands, and I was back to my “too cool for you” type attitude. She giggles. And I smile my goofy smile. I didn’t care what we talked about. I just wanted her to stay here, with me, and blush.

Her name’s Sarah. We ended up talking about how it was stupid for galleries to play music. We had wine together and strangely enough, bread was served.* I found it a little odd, but I was too hungry to say anything. We laughed, didn’t cry, but it was good enough.

“So… where do you live?” I ask hoping she has a little house close to mine.
“I live up here in the city, and you?” she replies.
“Oh, I live down in Jersey, in a little place called Chesterfield.” I reply, “Its’ really nice and green. Mostly taken up by farmers, so you get your peace.” I feel like I’m trying to get her to move. That’s how much I’ve fallen for her. “Sounds beautiful!” I smile. She smiles. We smile…. We smile until she can’t help but giggle, so I laugh with her.

We spend a good portion of the night out after that, talking about everything we find stupid about this world. Boneless ribs, the President, our high school principles. Everything. It’s great. It’s great until she tells me she’s moving.
“Aw c’mon… I was hoping we’d be able to hang out sometime, maybe grab a few drinks…” I pause. Butterflies. “I feel like we’ve really connected. And I know we’ve only just met, but I really want to get to know you, and also show you who I am…” Damn I sound desperate. But it’s not like I’m in it for the lay. I really feel connected here. Crap. What am I supposed to do?

Just then… She smiles. And with that all my worries vanish. Gone. I feel so comfortably embarrassed, I don’t even notice her crying, hugging me. My insides melt and I’m over come by the warmth.* That internal heat that makes you want to laugh, cry, smile and explode. I love this feeling, and go figure the only thing I can do is sigh.

Before I know it, it’s tomorrow and I’m being torn apart inside. Just laying there, in my bed. I can’t get her out of my head. Her deep hazel eyes, the freckles that bridge her nose. Her soft, milky smooth pale skin. I can almost feel her in my arms, head resting just under my chin. Her smile, and her face partially covered up by her rich brown hair. She’s here in my head, and she’s here to stay.

On the train to work, I explain all this to my friend Kyle Palmer, who ends up telling me to shut up about half a dozen times. An odd fellow but definitely one of my closest friends. He’s a few months older than I, and a few months worth bigger too. A thousand times more Irish and German, and it shows. We talk for about fifteen minutes, if you call complaining about a girl you met one night all train ride talking, before Kyle brings up how ridiculous this sounds.

“Nathan, get a hold of yourself here.” he starts, “She’s left, she’s just a girl, and you will meet another one. What’s so great about her anyway?”

Wow… I think he’s been ignoring me for the past 15 minutes. Here I was thinking I’m ranting like a like an old drunk. Guess not. I just stare at him for a brief moment, then he goes back to his paper.

-sigh- “I know what you’re talking about Kyle.” I point out “We just met and I’m in too deep, I know, I’ve heard it all before.”

“And so have I! I’m just looking out for you, and trying to help you out man.” He makes sense.

Kyle’s right in Kyle’s world, and we’re usually in the same world. I know it’s impossible to show him how much I’ve fallen for this girl, but it doesn’t really change things. Eventually, I make it to my desk. My neck loosens, and I perform the perfect face plant. A flawless ten, right into my desk. I wriggle and moan for a while, smearing my face about. This girl has turned into a health hazard. I need to do something. I really need to do something.

My face hurts, my heart hurts and my eyes hurt, deep in my head. But most of all… for some strange reason, my shoulders burn. Right at the shoulder blades. Something under my skin, in my bones. The marrow, the calcified fibers, matrices. My shoulders are burning up and start to swell. Something is definitely wrong.  I scream in agony, and bundle over. People start to stare, but no one does anything. I hear someone yell “Do something!” but no one does. I hear high heels comfortably walking, minding their own.

“Told you he was a junkie.” Says the high heels. “Tsk… just ignore him.”

Having been clean for three years, this is impossible. Some people are just sick. I know I’ve done my crimes, but what did I do to deserve this. What is going on?

“Oh god…” is all I say, all I could say, and that was that. The whole building explodes. Gone. Poof. SMITED!
Wings.

I was over come by my feelings for Sarah. Nothing else mattered anymore. She let my fly, she gave me wings, big beautiful wings. I took off like a natural, a quick sprint and I was up. The view was nothing short of perfect; my work lay in rubble below me, the sun was setting and the girl of my dreams lay ahead. I could have died I was so happy. I could have...