FFF #5

My heart broke when it slipped from my hands and collided with the floor. shit shit shit. where at this late hour am i supposed to find a reasonable replacement?

no worries, friends and neighbors. i grab the car keys and fired up my trusty satron and off i jaunt to the all-night organ dealers of the west side. some have livers, some lovers, some spleen and stomach. what's your fancy? new eyes? tired of blue, try brown. my best worst "friend", cease keeps shop there as well, dealing in hearts. a bit shady to be sure: into the laundromat, up the stairs in the back (behind the "employees only" door), last door on the right on the third floor. past the disheveled children playing with crap they find on the floor, past the dingy smell of weeks old fish sauce, past the reggae booming and swaying from behind the colorful rasta posters, all the way to the back. where light is fleeting and senses are confused, where only you can find a good used heart, cheap, any time of the day or night.

i pound on the door. open up cease, we all know you're in there (you never leave, you dirty slut), so open up the goddamned door. a crack, and a sliver of light after the rustling of chains and complaints of squeaky locks, and the solid thump of the deadbolt withdrawn. what now, he wants to know? what else i say, the usual. you know me.

you're clumsy, he hisses, more than says, and careless and stupid. whatever i mumble. i have a need, let me in you fucking paragon of humanity, you know i'll pay. stop judging me and my oh-so-human way with my own heart. door opens. cease in his filthy jogging suit, tall and lanky with a face you never can quite recall when he's gone, when you're gone from him. cease with his dreads, his liquid swagger on too-long legs. cease who never really fails to light some fire in my chest, despite myself. fire elsewhere, as well.

what did you do with the last one, he wants to know as he rifles through a bowl atop the stereo for keys to the closet. i shoot a look to say no business of yours, m'man. he grins knowingly, unlocks the closet and lo! the light that pours out from collected hearts of man and woman alike, the glory of a little encapsulated soul, all yours for the low-low price of whatever you have on you at the time. whattaya got for me, pretty, he slides his cat green eyes over his stores, turns his back to me and starts doing whatever it is he does to choose the right one.

i sigh. hands deep down in the pockets of my coat, i find gum, old lighters, change, paperclips..nothing of worth to me, certainly, but seems there's always something i can't recall having on my person that is of worth or interest to cease. jeans pockets, my schedule on the back of a reciept. two dollars. a bottle cap. nothing cease, what do you want with this crap? i got nothing, and i got no heart to tell you if it's something meaningful. help me, man, i said. you know the deal, he purrs, and turns to face my offerings of nothing-much in my own clumsy, stupid, careless hands. i want this, his says, and his eyes, then hands drop to my belt. gasping inwardly, i hope against hope that it's not actually the belt he wants, but the treasures buried under. i slap myself inwardly, and meet his gaze defiant as a woman without heart can be.

but he wants the belt. his long agile hands, neither black or white, undo the buckle, and he pulls it deftly from my waist. turning again, he selects a jar from the shelf, and pries the lid off, now holding his/my belt in his teeth. thith one, he says behind my belt, and hands me the warm and slightly glowing object. pleath be more careful. slides the belt from his mouth. smiles that wicked slice of moon at me, and guides me (hand-deep-in-small-of-back style, breath quickens) back to the door. chains rustle, deadbolt thumps home.

and out on the street i find myself, again without recall how i got there, only the spicy smell of night always in cease's place still filling my head with a dizziness i admit i love. beltless and mindlessly, i hutch my jeans back to my waist. new heart in hand, keys at the ready, i'm going home, back to light and safety and clean, somehow still empty despite new heart.

i don't love cease, but i need him from time to time. until i learn to be more careful with my hearts, he'll be that dark and dirty fixture of my life, fodder for dreams that make me bite my lower lip and twist into my sheets. back to safety, back to clean, back to job and housecleanings and safe dull men who do nothing to my pulse, back to doing my wicked work on other people, and losing/giving away/breaking my hearts and then and then again, i'll find my way to cease, to a closet of light, to a shiver on my neck, to dreams of brusing his dreads aside like a curtain to gaze into deep green pools of him.

i turn the key. my tiny new heart beats faster in my hand.