Day by Day

Friday Night:
       Corvey finds himself at The Bungalow, finishing his
third gin on the rocks with a wedge of lime.
       “Hey, slow down, Cowboy!” Posh sings as he fills up a
glass of Anchor Steam for a stout woman.
       “Thanks, dude,” she says, and heads off to a group of
women ranging from drop dead gorgeous to full-on men
without penises.  Corvey feels a hand rest gently on
his left shoulder.  He swivels in his stool and looks
up into the smooth, neat face of his best friend,
Antonio.
       “Someone’s birthday’s right around the corner!”
Corvey crunches some ice while he casually smiles out
of the side of his mouth.  “Hell yeah, baby!”
       “You’re gunna be, like, what?  Twenty-six,
twenty-seven?”
       “Hah!  You got it, Toni, twenty-six.”  He swirls the
ice around in his glass.  “Twenty-six plus a fucking
decade, man.”  Corvey sighs and lowers his head in
disappointment.  “Thirty-fucking-six years old, man,
and more alone than ever.”  He places his glass back
on the counter, purposely avoiding the coaster.  He
slides his glass around, making long, thick wet marks
in front of him.
       “Hey, loosen up, baby.”  Antonio orders a
cosmopolitan and begins to sway his hips to the music
of socializing.  He raises his arms and his skin tight
T-shirt lifts up just enough for Corvey to get a peak
at the hair leading from his friend’s belly button
down to his crotch.
       Corvey leans in.  “I’m just gunna go home, Toni,”
       Antonio crosses his arms.  “Oh, yeah?”  He teases.
“Whatchya gunna do?”
       Corvey stands suddenly which makes the stool skid
against the beer-stained floor.  “I’m gunna exercise
my mind. “  His eyes get wide as he inches his head
closer to Antonio’s.  “I’m gunna do this shit called
‘reading.’”
       “Books?  Ew!”  Antonio scrunches his nose and sticks
out his tongue in disgust.  Corvey chuckles.
       “You’re such a fag, man!”
       “And proud of it!”  he shouts as he dances away into
the crowds of men who all want to get a taste of him.


Home:
       Corvey unlocks the door to his place, mail in his
mouth, groceries by his feet.  He kicks in the bag of
food and switches on the light in the overflowed
living room.  TomandAmy must be out drinking.  Not Tom
and Amy, but TomandAmy, two young people considered as
one because of the love they share.  Jerks.  He
stumbles towards the kitchen, tripping into boxes and
empty alcohol bottles on the way.
       “Great,” Corvey mutters as he sees the dishes in the
sink covered in some dried up, refried bean looking
crap.

       He finishes his dinner.  He finishes the dishes.  He
brushes his teeth, and look in the mirror.  He
finishes his night.


Sunday: Birthday Morning:
       My phone’s ringing.  Goddammit, stupid ring tone.  I
gotta find my phone.  Where is it?  I  needa answer my
phone! Ahhh!  Make the ringing stop!  Here we go;
here’s my phone.  Who’s calling?  Cher.  It’s Cher.
Cher?........And, I’m awake.  He smacks the beeping
alarm clock.  8:39.  I’m awake.  I’m awake and I’m
thirty-six.  Both things are really good additions to
my day.  He turns his head to look at the left side of
his bed.  Oh and of course, I’m alone.
       Corvey rubs his eyes.  He lifts his comforter and
moves to sit on the edge of his bed.  He puts his hand
down his boxers and just sits there, staring at his
blank wall. God.  This sucks.  He takes a look around
his room, really trying to see it for what it was.
Cigarette butts, condom wrappers, a dirty blue towel,
laptop, porns, Oscar the Grouch stuffed animal, cups
and plates, photographs.  Jesus.  Who am I?  He shakes
it off, stretches, and heads to the kitchen.
       Oh.  There’s a body on my futon.  He squats.  “Amy,”
he whispers.  “Amy, I need my birthday pancakes,
pronto!  Amy unburies her head and squints at Corvey.
       Woah.  That’s not Amy.  “Sorry, kid.  Go back to
sleep, “ he says and pats the pillow.  Jesus.  That
girl’s like sixteen.


Monday:
       Corvey jumps into the passenger seat with the box on
his lap and slams the door in order to get out of the
rain as fast as he can.  He puts his bare hands right
in front of the heaters.  “Thanks for picking me up,
man.  I’m so fucking late,” he says.
       “Yeah, no problem.”  They ride all the way there in
comfortable silence with only the calming sound of
windshield wipers going back and forth.  Antonio turns
onto Dominguez Ct. and starts to pull over.
       “Alright, here’s fine.”   Corvey opens the door while
the car is still moving.  “Have fun on your date
with...Marvin?...Melvin?...”
       “Michael!”  Antonio screeches.
       “Yeah, yeah.  All your boys are the same,”  Corvey
mutters.  “Thanks again, man.”  He grabs the box,
closes the door, and tries to shield himself from the
streams of rain as he runs up the street.  He makes it
to 1747 Dominguez Ct.  He runs up the slippery red
stairs and lets himself in.  He hears voices clumped
together in the distance.  He peers down the hall to
see if anyone’s around.  It’s empty.  Fuck.  I gotta
do this fast.  I can’t let them see me like this.
Corvey shifts the box and begins to wobble down the
hall.
       “Oh, I just need to use the restroom real quick.
I’ll be back soon,” he hears a woman call out as her
heels clunk closer and closer to the hall.  Corvey
ducks into the first room he sees.  Oh shit.  It’s the
bathroom.  He drops the box and starts yanking off all
his clothes.  The clunking of the woman’s footsteps
are getting louder and louder.  Corvey trembles in his
underwear, fishing around in the box for the right
stuff.
       The doorknob rattles.  What do I do?  Do I respond?
       It rattles again.  There are three knocks on the
door.
       “Uh...” he says shakily.  “Just a minute.”  There is
silence on the other side.  The doorknob rattles
again.
       “Just a minute,” he says louder as he gets himself
ready.
       “Who’s in there?” the woman suspiciously asks.
       “Uh...I’m just gunna...I just need a minute.”
       “Who is that?  Who’s in there?”  She sounds worried.
       Fuck.  Stay quiet.  Just stay quiet.
       The woman clunks hurriedly down the hall.  Whew.
Glad that’s over.  Corvey stops to look at his flushed
image in the mirror.  God.  I’m such a joke.  He hears
a stampede of clunks coming his way.  He slips on the
too-big-shoes.  The doorknob is rattling and there is
pounding on the door, almost as loud as his heartbeat.
 The voices on the other side of the door can’t stop
chattering.  He pops on the red nose and swings open
the door.  He hears gasps surrounding him.
       “It’s a CLOWN!” a little girl in a princess dress
squeals.
       “You must be Elizabeth,” he says slyly.


Thursday:
       He opens the heavy door to the cafe.  Whew.  It’s hot
in here.  He looks around for her.  The people are all
paired up: An elderly couple reading the newspaper,
enjoying each others silence, a mother and daughter
sharing a croissant and hot chocolate which is
overflowed with whipped cream.  And there she is,
Lila, in the corner, waiting for his company.  She
looks a little older now, in this environment, no
longer groggy and frazzled from sleeping on his cheap
Ikea futon.  Her hair is clean and combed, long and
black.  She sits there so naturally alone, living in
her thoughts.  God she’s gorgeous.  He walks towards
her focusing on her beauty.  He gets closer to her
corner of the cafe.  She lifts her gaze.  She easily
gives him her most genuine smile.


Saturday:
       Corvey opens the bedroom door.  He stands there in
his boxers, looking down the hall, considering the
walk to his kitchen.  Ugh.  He sighs.  Might as
well...I got nothin' else to do.  He sighs again and
gets started on his journey.  Oh crap, too late to
avoid the mirror.  He takes a couple of steps and
turns his head to face himself.  He rolls his eyes.
       “Jesus fucking Christ,” bursts out of his mouth, and
then he’s back on track to the kitchen.  God, this
sucks.  I look like a fuckin' grizzly bear.  He yawns.
 What the fuck am I gunna do today?  He looks at the
fluorescent red numbers on the shelf, yelling 2:37 pm
at him.  Ugh.  Everyone else has something to do right
now.  All I there is for me to do is wait.  He looks
out the living room window at the people below him,
living their lives.  His eyes land on the futon where
her image was implanted, from the first time he saw
her.  I gotta kill time.  He walks into the kitchen,
his socks slipping on the fake tile floor design.
3:40, 4:40, 5:40...  He thumb touches each of his
fingers as he counts.  Whew.  Only like 28 hours till
I see her.  He opens the fridge.  The lowercase “a”
magnet on the freezer is posting up  a picture of
TomandAmy, kissing.  Ugh.  He focuses in on the
fridge.  Mustard, dried-up chow mein, Diet Coke, apple
sauce, Sierra Nevada, chocolate frosting, moldy
cheese.  He leans back and rubs his stomach.  Perfect.
 He grabs the last beer and slams the top on the
counter.  The cap flies off.  He slumps back to his
room.  He grabs Oscar the Grouch.  He flops on the
bed.  He ends his morning.


Sunday night:
       He sees her long dark hair in the distance.  Her body
is lit up by the restaurant’s glow.  She is smoking a
cigarette, leaning on the dark green newspaper stand.
His steps get faster.  She turns her head in his
direction.  Everything inside him freezes, but his
body keeps going, getting closer and closer to her.
Her lips, her chin, her cheeks, her nose.  Her eyes.
Her stunning, dark eyes.  She takes a huge drag,
pushes herself forward to stand on her own two feet,
flicks the cigarette away, and lets out her amazing
smile, only for him.  He is taken aback by her beauty.
 The way her whole face shifts to make room for her
smile.  Her eyes squint, her nostrils flare, her
cheeks rise and turn rosy- it’s beautiful.  She’s
beautiful.  She is beauty.  He remembers to smile back
at her, but it comes out shaky and nervous.  He is
close to her.
       “Hey,”  Corvey says a little too loud, not realizing
how close she really was.
       She exhales laughter.
       “Hey, Corvey.”  She touches his arm.  “You’re
lookin'' really good,”  she says right into his eyes.

       He stands there for a moment, looking back into her
eyes, once again in shock.  He gestures his hand
towards the door.  “Uh...shall we?” he asks.
       She lets out a soft approval.  They head in.  Corvey
notices everyone’s eyes on them- on her.  They can’t
get enough of her beauty.  As they’re on their way to
the table, they pass all the other people in the
restaurant.  They pass couples who stop mid-sentence
to get a look at her.  An old man turns around in his
chair to look at this girl.  People stop chewing.
They stop talking.  It’s not a phenomenon.  It’s just
for a split second.  Every person stops caring about
themselves because they want to look at her.  They
want to see her, to understand her.  And then it’s
over.
       They get to their table at the back of the
restaurant.  Lila sits with her face exposed to the
whole place.  He orders a beer, she orders a Coke.
They have bread and butter on the side of their
conversation.  He looks all over her face when she
speaks.  School, work, piercings, family.  Corvey
notices the sadness in her eyes when she talks about
school.  Their conversation flows.
       They order.  They eat.
       Lila takes a sip of her Coke out of the straw.
Corvey rubs his full stomach.  He pulls the hair
around his belly button.  She looks deep into his
eyes.  She leans out of her chair, puts her hand on
either side of his face, and pulls his lips into hers.
 They kiss.
       His body tightens.  Corvey stands up.  He reaches
into his back pocket and pulls out two twenties.
       “I gotta go,” he says as he shoves the money into her
hand.
       Her eyes are confused.  He looks down at the money
clenched in her hand.
       “It’s to pay for the meal,” he tried to clarify.
       She glances at the door and back at him.  Confused.
       “I’m in love with knowing you, Lila.”  He looks
around.  “Everybody is.  But you’re sixteen.  Go have
a good life...you deserve it.”  Her eyes glisten with
soon-to-be tears.  He kisses her on the forehead.  She
tries to grab his arm, but he’s gone.  He’s out the
door and gone.