Kissing is ridiculous. It is the strangest and most beautiful of human procedures. Kissing you is like licking nine volt batteries; my lips erupt in static, they feel fresh like mint chapstick on bare lips in winter. My skin feels like I have been exposed to hot water and ice in an instant, a flash flood of heat followed by shocking cold and no philosopher in the world can tell me I don’t exist or feed me any of that existential bullshit I know I’m here because nothing could be more real than this.
My eyes close automatically and for the few minutes we are together joined at the lips, we are somewhere else. Somewhere safe – a room filled with pine scented car fresheners and walls lined ten feet thick with lead. Like a time capsule, the world continues around us while we lose ourselves in each other, at a basic level, an exchange of saliva, hormones and proteins but when I’m with you, nothing is ever basic, nothing is ever simple.
When our lips part, time has been, caressed your skin, left it’s imprint on the tiny wrinkles of your closed eyes and passed on to the future searching out the moment we will do this again.
I look at your lips, paling and parted to draw air desperately but so gracefully, colour is fading away even from the smudged lipstick that breaks onto your cheek – as I carried you up the fire escape and your head fell to one side I smudged your lips as I adjusted your head to look at mine.
You are the only person in the world who sees me like this. I am reduced to simple expression and gestures in your presence, no wit, no sarcasm you strip me away like a vicious ocean at a cliff face; I am jagged and exposed against the elements of the world. In my own opinion, I’m wasted opportunity, missed chances and a brilliant example of what could have been if only I had applied myself or concentrated at anything during my whole life. To you, I am the arms that hold you at night and keep you warm, the reassuring voice as you asleep and the one person in the world who will never let you down.
Until today. I’ve protected you until now, kept you safe throughout every car chase, every hurried dash from motel rooms and apartment blocks to avoid police raids and pissed off businessmen we’ve hustled and taken for every dime. Until today we’ve got away with everything, never left a trace and never been caught. But something went wrong. I don’t know if we’ve been set up or I got complacent but the cops shouldn’t have there. I wasn’t expecting them there.
As we ran out of the bank, luggage holders full of $100 bills and rain pissing down all over the pavement, they were waiting. Guns ready and pointed directly at us. Shots fire and I pull you behind me, shielding you from the bullets but I’m already too late. We run across the corner into an alley way and I frantically search for the nearest exit. You drag on my arm and as I look round there’s a huge red puncture mark in your side, I stop and throw you over my shoulder and you offer no resistance. I head for a fire escape stairwell and begin to run up and up but the rain is too heavy and the floor too wet, my strength is gone after a couple of flights.
This is how ended up here. Two floors up the side of building hiding on a fire escape. No way down and no way out.
There is a fine layer of dew across your brow, the rain has slowed down almost to a stop and the fog in the air is settling on us both but I don’t feel it’s chill. Tiny droplets of water have formed on your sweater and somehow fought their way into the space between your hand and mine, even though my grip on you is tight.
With my other hand I cradle your head, your dark brown hair, some shade of organic chocolate, spills out onto the staircase, every strand so precious to me, especially now. Minutes passing by like centuries, time feels like concrete holding us fast in one place.
Your eyes drift open and closed like a restless child in slumber, if you’re dreaming I do not know but every now again I see the smile I know so well creases the corners of your eyes and draw your cheeks up. I hope you are thinking of me.
I see your figure in my mind, the arch of your back, the curve of your shoulders, always poised like a classical sculpture on display in the most magnificent of museums. For you fashion is a follower not a leader, you are not bound by catwalks and industry trends you occupy a space in time that is effervescent, no beginning and no end. Your outfits do not date and your appearance does not tire in my eyes, I could stare at you forever, as each morning you fulfill your daily routine of cleansing, make-up and dressing your delicate frame to venture out into the world, a siren on every street you walk upon. You have driven men to distraction, especially me.
Car crashes, near misses and collisions between people can be traced back to your appearance at locations across town. You stop us all. On occasion it’s been the difference between winning and losing and getting away with a fortune.
Your chest rises slowly, almost mechanically now, as you try to draw in air and I can tell it’s getting harder as the minutes go on. The bullet went into your chest and I don’t even want to think about the damage it’s done but I’m not stupid. I’ve seen enough movies to know how this ends. I pull you closer to me, your head now resting on my stomach, your back stretched across my thighs arching your body so you can breathe better.
Around us there is so much noise. I can only pick out sirens and steam vents, a radio three floors above playing forties hits at full volume. The rest is static, hissing at us through the fog and the drizzle, clouding my mind and slowing my synapses – I can’t think of a way out of this.
The smell of your perfume, designer, laced with citrus and melon infiltrates my every breath like a calling card for the inevitable, cutting through the rising smell of damp city streets and steam ejected from take away restaurants and launderettes, mixing together and drifting across the city.
Water begins to drip down my head, the fog is settling and condensing further on us and now your t-shirt is skin tight under your sweater, showing the finest details of the stitching in your bra. Your skirt clings to your thighs like sheet plastic. I pull your sweater over your chest to keep you warm, buttoning it up at the top. A futile act like holding a hand up to stop a bullet. Never going to work.
Your legs shift, straightening and relaxing again, a half-hearted attempt at comfort as your bare shins touch the cold, wet metal of the fire escape floor. Your skirt only goes as far as your knees which are raw from the cold and small pools of water are gathering at your ankles, soaking your shoes. I doubt you can feel your feet anymore. I brush the moisture off your legs, one by one, sending splashes onto the floor setting a chain reaction of ripples in the pools.
From somewhere down below a voice, projected through a loudspeaker calls your name. They call my name. You don’t move a muscle.
Come down they say. There is nowhere to go. This is crazy. Thing is, they’re right. You can’t move and I have nowhere to go. If I go up I’m stuck on the roof and there are no buildings close enough I can jump to. I’m not strong enough to carry you with me and I won’t leave you behind while I escape. We started this together and we’ll finish up the same way.
We are in bed, I am holding you. I never actually knew your true height you gave three alternative versions because you always felt you were a little short but you were the perfect size to fit me. We joined together like precision cast machine parts, no function needed just engineered perfection. My arm reaches over your stomach and secures you in place, I can smell your hair, a vague aroma of coconut, and the fading traces of cleanser on your skin. We both face the window, allowing the light to dissipate through the blind and illuminate us like an amateur effects displays from the street lights outside.
I hear gunshots.
Bullets ricochet off the fire escape stairs a few metres above us but the fog is still hiding us like a protective mother of its children.
The voice from below shouts me again. He says he can help us if I just come down.
It’s dawning on me now we are past the point of redemption, we are past being saved. There is a ticking sound in my ears, my subconscious is counting down the seconds with every struggled breath you make.
Your eyes flicker open, instantly catching mine. You cannot speak there is not enough air in your lungs to get the words out, the bullet has seen to that. There is not enough fluid in your veins for your mind to make sense of the situation, your blood washes dilutes into the water across the fire escape floor and drips away below. Tiny little drops of you are already escaping me.
Your hand grips mine as tight as it can, just strong enough for me to feel. We do not need words to communicate right now, I love you and you love me it is that black and white. There are no other complications now, no mortgages, bills, demands, traffic queues, appointments, lunch breaks, shopping trips or phone calls.
Your lips melt into a smile and I see the face I think of every time I close my eyes. You exhale, your chest barely moving at all. With you laid across my legs, it’s like I’m holding the beautiful porcelain doll in the world.
You inhale, struggling to fill your lungs with the wet air, your chest falls as the air leaves your lungs and you don’t inhale again.
Minutes go by and I watch your chest for signs of movement. My hand is still in yours and I am squeezing so tight it has gone white. I let go and your arm falls to your side, your finger tips touching the floor.
I cannot cry I cannot make any sound. Like the impact of a car crash I am hit with the realisation that every single minute I have ever spent with you is confined to memory now, electrical impulses stored in my head for as long as I can retain them. No new images, no new senses. In an instant you have become the past and my future has closed shut.
The voice calls out again. Come down. We can save you both. Fuck off.
I lift your head off my stomach, your body is heavier now, you are a life-size doll wrapped in cold flesh and wet clothes. I place you down gently on the floor, delicately resting your arms each down by your sides. Tiny droplets are forming on your eyelashes, nature is crying the tears you do not have the energy to.
As I stand up, familiar smells return to me, the stench of steam, smoke and rotting garbage that pollute the alleys of this town.
My legs ache like they have been knifed, I don’t know how long we have been here on this fire escape any more. It could be ten minutes it could be an hour. You look so out of place in this industrial setting, a beautiful flower rising up out a scrapheap.
Come down the voice says.
I close my eyes and I see you looking back at me, smiling, your eye creased and lips alive with colour. There is a glint in your eye that contains more energy than a new-formed star.
When I open my eyes again all I see are faded colours. Greys, whites and rusty reds, bricks and metal with no discernable shading.
Come down the voice says.
I move to the edge of the fire escape and look over the edge. There are people down there, in what number I have no idea. I can make out police uniforms and firemen. Flashing red and blue light dancing on top of police cars.
Come down the voice says.
I do this for you. I do this because without you there is no future for me here.
I grasp holding of the railing, wet and cold the flecks of paint peeling off dig into my skin.
I raise myself upon on the railing, it is just wide enough to stand.
Stop! The voice cries. We can talk this through.
I feel dizzy, nauseous. I raise my arms above my head like limp wings, poorly designed and not fit for purpose.
I turn and look back at you, lying there on the fire escape floor in the water. A pool of blood flows from underneath you mixing in with the off-red floor colouring.
You are there in body but not in spirit. And that is where I need to be. Back with you.
I turn back to look down on the people, the little shapes, their face turned to the sky looking up at me.
I am no longer sick. I am not nauseous.
And I jump.
No more electrical impulses. No more memories.
We are the legacy we leave behind us.
Our stain on the earth.
