It Never Quite Goes Away

This past PROMPTuesday, I wrote a little snippet about someone hiding under my bed. In the story, this person was an undesirable someone. A someone you’d most definitely NOT want to find lurking under your bed.

 

And it really happened.

 

A lot really happened those 12 years ago, stuff that I’m going to write about now. I’ve written about it before — in appeals to the police, my apartment manager, credit bureaus, but I’m hoping this time, the story loses its impact and immediacy. It’d be about time.

 

*************************************************************************************

 

In the Beginning….

 

I first saw him in a bar on Fairfax in West Hollywood. I’d just moved from Chicago and a vanilla relationship and I often painted the town, trying to shake out years of boredom with the wrong person. I stood at the bar, and nudged my friend when I made eye contact with a startingly blue-eyed tall man from across the way. Intensity burned in his gaze, a fire I now know was fueled by crazy, but at the time, he was different, alien to all I’d known in Chicago, and that was all I needed.

 

A few minutes later he made his way beside me and ordered a beer. I passed it to him from the bartender and he and I began to talk. I learned that he was an artist, wanted to make a movie called “Acirema,” (“America” spelled backwards), shot entirely in infrared, using dwarf actors. I know. But at the time, it sounded Lynchesque and brilliant and so L.A. that I went along for the ride.

 

We ended up at his place an hour later, a studio apartment just around the corner from the bar. My friend and her boyfriend were waiting for me, so I made my visit quick. Just enough time to check out his artwork and receive a multitude of stolen kisses. His apartment suffered under a coat of dark green paint, punctuated with the infinity symbol splotched across the walls, and even drawn on the windows. A single mattress lay on the floor and books wound their way in serpentine, double-helix patterns between strewn clothes and paint supplies. Large canvasses slanted against every wall, looking vaguely Pollock-like, with a dash of Picasso.

 

 

My creative heart nearly burst. Why, here there be books! Art! Weird symbols on the walls! What more did I need to know? Turns out there was quite a bit more, as you might guess. But that came later.

 

{{I’m sorry…but this must be continued…not on purpose…but I’ve got to wrangle me some peanut butter-wielding kids… I do want to publish what I have though, because if I don’t, I may never write it at all}}

 

Part II Here

Part III Here.

 

21 Responses to “It Never Quite Goes Away”

  1. pajama momma says:

    Now that was just darn right ornery. I was just getting ready to put my pj’s on and pop some popcorn and *POOF story over

    dang girlfriend, this sounds like the intro to a horror flick

  2. Melanie says:

    This is like the “Who Shot JR” episode of Dallas! Talk about leavin’ em hanging!

  3. Oh, for Gawd’s sake, can’t they clean up their own peanut butter? COME BACK TO YOUR KEYBOARD THIS INSTANT!

    You are incredible.

  4. Steph says:

    You and me? We’re downass homies 4 lyfe and all, but we have to talk about this to be continued thing you do.

    I have literary blue balls, yo.

  5. WOW.

    Hurry up and post the next installment, girl.

  6. Karen says:

    Gah. So unfair. Where’s the rest? You need a dog. They are really good at cleaning up peanut butter so you can spend more time writing. I have two, I’ll send one to you, I totally don’t mind. Do you prefer large or small?

  7. manager mom says:

    This is so cool… kudos for you to writing all of this, and double for sharing!

  8. Da Goddess says:

    I remember the start of this story from long ago.

  9. Clink says:

    Ok I am hooked…

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