The annoying whaa whaa of my Little Bastard™ alarm clock pulls me roughly into consciousness like a pair of overly large feds dragging me, kicking my protests into uncaring sheets, into that dark cramped room at the end of the hall: reality. After playing tag with the snooze button for a while I have finally mustered enough stamina to leverage my still mostly-asleep body out of bed and on my way to the shower. The daily cleaning ritual passes without incident, and luckily there are clean blue jeans and T in the closet so dressing myself takes less than the 2 brain cells that are functioning this early in the morning. Grabbing my bag and keys, I navigate Jenna to the parking lot and make the van with time to kill. Much as I would love to catch some sleep on the way to work the van is full today and there’s no respite to be found between the chatter and lack of personal space, so I pick up one of the books I am slogging through and do my best to wake up the rest of my brain with kinesics.
Great stuff, body language. People can talk all day every day for a year, and never speak as plainly or with the simple truth of an awkward glance or the tilt of a smile. I love the spoken word, it’s a constant toy to play; but even at its most diverse and esoteric it pales in comparison to the symphonic cacophony of movement the human body is capable of unleashing. Women: poetry in motion. A woman who understands her body and is comfortable with it can elicit thoughts of anything she puts her wicked mind to. This seemingly innocent ability I attribute to at least 90% of the bad decisions that have propelled me through my life. One of the women I have known to control her aura and presence most compellingly is Emerald. Not having heard from her in a while it’s not much of a surprise when my ringing phone announces her re-entry to my thoughts.
It’s strange the way we can connect with the people in our lives. Some people we can spend vast quantities of time around, perpetually engaged in progressive action; coworkers, people that may as well ride the short bus for all the time they spend on our thoughts. In opposition, some people whom we see with less frequency than the bagger at the grocery store retain immutable places in our mind. Some of these people, you can feel thinking of you from another state or an opposing coast. These are the people whom you can hear smile through the phone; the people whom you know the look on their face when they are in the other room. Such are the conjurations that beset my mind when Emerald and I talk.
Before a few moments have passed I ask, “So did you break up with him?� Never having spoken with me about any relationship she was engaged in, Emerald was understandably nonplussed. Apparently they are just ‘re-evaluating.’ Going on another hunch I ask if she is going to start watching Smallville again. It’s funny to me that she is surprised when I say these things, after the length and breadth of our anarchic relationship it’s almost second nature for us to read one another. We chatter on for a few moments not really saying anything too important, really just enough for Emerald to reaffirm my presence in here mental menagerie. I don’t mind, it’s what we do. She promises to call tonight after Smallville so we can talk some more. I doubt she will, but don’t actually voice my skepticism. Nice start to the day though. Old friends usually are.
