the quantity of motion
.
After 2 a.m. Dark as only a night can be in the city, flashy and filled with orange street lamps and the sounds of traffic. The inside of the room seems empty at first, the only light coming from an open laptop, the screen coloring the space in electric blue. Bare feet tap low against the cold tiles and then the wooden floor. She’s coming from the kitchen, a glass with amber liquid filled in half. It’s warm, she has no ice and the night is hot. She’s wearing a thin sleeveless shirt and just the underwear. It doesn’t really matter, she’s alone in the flat anyway. She’s almost always is. Sitting down on a low leather sofa, she stares at the lighted screen and the cursor blinks, marking the beginning of an empty page.
No title, no words, but a lot of heavy frustration mixed with numbness. She takes a sip of her drink, it’s bitter and burns the throat, yet she enjoys it that way, just as bitter and unsatisfying as life itself. Another look at the screen, the cursor still blinking, mocking her lousy existence of a low paid writer.
As if she had written anything good this past year. One book on the shelf and that’s it, the money from it long gone. Crappy apartment and a lot of bills to pay. That’s how her life looks now, and that’s why she writes for the newspaper; short articles about pretty much anything, marked with sarcasm and worldly opinions, but people seemed to enjoy it enough that she still could work there. Pretending that this was a just temporary job while she writes something new. All lies to fill the growing void. Always lies and nothing more. Temporary. Such a comforting word in a pointless existence. Another sip, a big one that almost empties the glass. Damn, it was so hot in this dump. The humidity terrorizing to end her soon if she didn’t do anything about it, the air conditioning just moving the heavy and sticky air in circles. Pointless. And speaking about that - she fills the sweat under her shirt, the material clinging to her skin. She moans in exasperation, finishes her drink and heads to the bathroom. Taking off the little clothes she had still on and sinks into the bathtub. It’s filled with cold water, almost to the brim.
It’s not the first time that she has done this tonight or this day for that matter. She sinks her body under the water until she seems to disappear into it. Just a faint shape in the darkness, the cold caressing her skin, soothing her heated thoughts and mind. Her hands hold the side of the tub while her body starts to squirm, lungs starting to beg for oxygen. She fights it at first, not willing to give up all too easy, the pressure in her chest growing, a heavy rock pinning her down, while a burning sensation, threats to make her lungs explode. Her brain is counting the seconds, thoughts blurring. One more moment, just one more. She resurfaces, the water splashing all over the old tile floor. She inhales and gasps for air, painting like crazy, grasping to the feeling of brand new oxygen circulating under her chest and laughs out. It’s a dark laugh but it fills her with pleasure.
The adrenaline rush giving her a kick that she craved so much, something that she needed more and more lately. Her body floats gently while her fingers trace against her thighs, thoughts wandering in all directions. Her skin fills smooth under the water, needy ideas running through her head, frustration of her senses mixed with the frustrations caused by her writing blockade. Another groan escapes her mouth and it’s not the happy one she could look forward to. Slowly she gets up and stumbles out of the bathtub.
Too disturbed to focus on more than one thing at once. She lifts her sweated shirt, throws in the water and then rinses it out, putting it back on, little drops falling on the already wet floor, she slides the black underwear back on and heads to the laptop, touching it gently so it comes back to life.
She stares at it while the sounds of traffic from an opened window irritate her ears, yet she doesn’t close it; too desperate for any air to cool her down, also knowing the sounds made her thoughts run better. Small pokes making her focus more. She runs a hand through her wet hair and knows they’re soaking into the sofa, but not really caring. Her right hand grabs her shoulder while the chin rests on her arm. Think. You know it’s in you, all you have to do is open the right drawer. She looks to the sides and stares at the small stack of vinyl records laying on the floor next to the turntable she bought over 2 years ago.
Standing up, she walks up to the stack and fishes out the one she wants, the one with the faded red cover. The title calling out to her. “Coming Home.” Sounds like a good place to start. She puts the vinyl on and points the needle in the right place. The music starts to flow, and fills her starving mind, vibrating through her aching, needy body. Eyes closed, she sways, moving her hips to the sides, arms lifted, hands moving gently in the air; swaying with her figure, gliding over her curves. Head shaking and a slow fire building up.
Eyes open and she moves to the sofa, stares at the place where the title should be and types momentum, she blinks a couple of times and moans softly. So easy. Her fingers run over the keyboard as if in a trance and she starts to write. Really write, just like she used to all those years back.
Dark as only a night can be in the city, orange streetlamps and the noises of traffic. An almost empty room with vibrations of warm honey-coated music, not as hot as the air but much more soothing to the soul. The words filling the dark room, the singer’s voice bringing back the sounds of home, something long-lost and forgotten.
Oh, I wanna come near and give ya
Every part of me
But there’s blood on my hands
And my lips aren’t clean
In my darkness, I remember
Momma’s words reoccur to me
“Surrender to the good Lord
And he’ll wipe your slate clean”
Take me to your river
I wanna go
Oh, go on
Take me to your river
I wanna know
Tip me in your smooth waters
I go in
As a man with many crimes
Come up for air
As my sins flow down the Jordan...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CWrodPMhpdw
Leon Bridges - River