yet a kiss had the power to make a person believe that not only was love possible, it was really quite likely, not only was life going to turn out all right, there was a very good chance it would turn out gloriously.
So it had its deceptive side. But sex inspired hope, the water we swim in.
Kayâs little bedroom was transformed and a strange silence encased it. She had left her petty self behind, and was given over, mind and body and spirit, to the mystery.
WHY WAS HE remembering all this shit? It was all flooding back to him and it wasnât making him feel any better. But did thinking about the past ever make a person feel better? He doubted it.
He looked at the partially open door leading out to Kayâs little hall which led out to her little living room. He remembered one afternoonâit was always the afternoons with Kayâwhen she must have been feeling all right about him because sheâd let him come by and it was snowing and they sat on her couch holding on to each other and watching the snow and hardly talking. He thought of that afternoon often. He could feel that afternoon more than he could feel her here now, sprawled across his hips. Sitting with her that day, heâd felt weightless. The snow was coming down thick and every now and then a spasm of wind sent it spiraling behind the black fire escape bars. They didnât have sex or anything, they were just peaceful. Sheâd made them tea and he remembered at one point she fished the tea bag out of a cup and squeezed the water, then flicked it into a wastebasket across the room, a fly dunk. Everything was lined up. Her hair was long then. She used to hang it over his face. Sheâd drag it back and forth over his chest, doing this playful thing, but with an absent sort of stern expression. He thought of kissing her in the cold outside her place on the East Village street with stray people walking by in the dark. Was that the first winter or the second? He couldnât keep it straight, but he remembered the bulky coat around the body which he wanted to get at and only being able to touch the skin on her face and kissing her mouth which was warm and wet in the cold dry air and that her mouth tasted like milk and how her eyes stayed open just beneath the dark fur of her hat.
He knew more bad than good stuff had happened between them, but he blocked the bad details out. He remembered the good details better. One afternoon which he might have remembered as the day he told Kay that he had finally decided, ten months after Mexico, that he was not going to leave Vanessaâit was definite, they were discussing the wedding againâinstead he remembered as being one of the days he and Kay ended up in bed. Once it was clear where things stood, going to bed wasnât going to complicate things further. It was a way of saying good-bye. After they got dressed, she was in that lovely mood he hardly ever saw, when her eyes were soft and she laughed lazily and was relaxed in general and wasnât reprimanding him for things he couldnât help. She walked out of the apartment with him and for whatever reason (the sex probablyâit usually had a pretty good effect on Kay) she was not morose or blaming. Maybe theyâd been through enough of that. It was a nice evening in late September with the streets quiet and the shadows long. It was unusual for them to be out in daylight together. He felt between them an air of resolve and understanding, as if they were an old married couple who knew by now what was important and what lasted and what didnât. They walked for a while together with her holding tight on to his arm till they came to Washington Square Park where the sky was lit up pink behind the church steeple and he felt as if all the people going about their business seemingly unconcerned were actually extras in a movie, having shown up for their benefit. He said good-bye to her and she smiled and kissed him on the mouth. She
So it had its deceptive side. But sex inspired hope, the water we swim in.
Kayâs little bedroom was transformed and a strange silence encased it. She had left her petty self behind, and was given over, mind and body and spirit, to the mystery.
WHY WAS HE remembering all this shit? It was all flooding back to him and it wasnât making him feel any better. But did thinking about the past ever make a person feel better? He doubted it.
He looked at the partially open door leading out to Kayâs little hall which led out to her little living room. He remembered one afternoonâit was always the afternoons with Kayâwhen she must have been feeling all right about him because sheâd let him come by and it was snowing and they sat on her couch holding on to each other and watching the snow and hardly talking. He thought of that afternoon often. He could feel that afternoon more than he could feel her here now, sprawled across his hips. Sitting with her that day, heâd felt weightless. The snow was coming down thick and every now and then a spasm of wind sent it spiraling behind the black fire escape bars. They didnât have sex or anything, they were just peaceful. Sheâd made them tea and he remembered at one point she fished the tea bag out of a cup and squeezed the water, then flicked it into a wastebasket across the room, a fly dunk. Everything was lined up. Her hair was long then. She used to hang it over his face. Sheâd drag it back and forth over his chest, doing this playful thing, but with an absent sort of stern expression. He thought of kissing her in the cold outside her place on the East Village street with stray people walking by in the dark. Was that the first winter or the second? He couldnât keep it straight, but he remembered the bulky coat around the body which he wanted to get at and only being able to touch the skin on her face and kissing her mouth which was warm and wet in the cold dry air and that her mouth tasted like milk and how her eyes stayed open just beneath the dark fur of her hat.
He knew more bad than good stuff had happened between them, but he blocked the bad details out. He remembered the good details better. One afternoon which he might have remembered as the day he told Kay that he had finally decided, ten months after Mexico, that he was not going to leave Vanessaâit was definite, they were discussing the wedding againâinstead he remembered as being one of the days he and Kay ended up in bed. Once it was clear where things stood, going to bed wasnât going to complicate things further. It was a way of saying good-bye. After they got dressed, she was in that lovely mood he hardly ever saw, when her eyes were soft and she laughed lazily and was relaxed in general and wasnât reprimanding him for things he couldnât help. She walked out of the apartment with him and for whatever reason (the sex probablyâit usually had a pretty good effect on Kay) she was not morose or blaming. Maybe theyâd been through enough of that. It was a nice evening in late September with the streets quiet and the shadows long. It was unusual for them to be out in daylight together. He felt between them an air of resolve and understanding, as if they were an old married couple who knew by now what was important and what lasted and what didnât. They walked for a while together with her holding tight on to his arm till they came to Washington Square Park where the sky was lit up pink behind the church steeple and he felt as if all the people going about their business seemingly unconcerned were actually extras in a movie, having shown up for their benefit. He said good-bye to her and she smiled and kissed him on the mouth. She
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