The Colors of Evening, The Smell of Death

I move too fast sometimes, and mostly over the surface of things.  I am a creature of habit, too.  Tonight after work I drove to the gym, and on the way listened to the university radio station which does not serve the university students at all unless they love great jazz which only ten of them do.  Just before I got to the Y, "Jazz at the Lincoln Center" began--"Parker with Strings" (listen to the entire program here).   I was in the parking lot only three minutes into the show, and I was uncertain that I wanted to quit listening to this unsuspected gift.  But as I say, I am a creature of habit, so. . . .

After the gym, I went my rounds to the grocery store and (oh--dare I say it) to the liquor store, and came home to shower and cook.  It was after eight.  And as I stood in the kitchen, the most amazing light took over the yards and the streets.  The world went an evanescent red and blue.  I've seen the reddish light before, but this blue. . . was transformative.  I knew it was something either apocalyptical or, I hoped, merely special.

I stripped and started to get into the shower when I remembered that I had no soap.  Shit, fuck, goddamn.  I'd been living on hotel soap for days, and each time I went to the store, I would forget all about it.  This morning, I had to water down the dried out liquid soap that was in a pump bottle in the guest bedroom in order to get ready for work.  And I'd just been to two stores after the gym.  But. . . shit, fuck, goddamn. . . I'd not thought a thing about it.

So I began to look through all the drawers I'd looked through for two days trying to find anything to wash with at all.  And as I say, I'd been living off the little hotel soaps that I always take when I check out.  But now. . . I'd used them all up.  So naked on hands and knees, I began to go through all the drawers again.  This time I really looked.  And Jesus Christ, what things I found.  Again, as I've said, I live on the surface of things.  I didn't really think so, but there were items in those drawers that should have been thrown away years before.  Many.  I found artifacts from my marriage.  I found an entire DOP bag with travel toiletries (everything, that is, but soap).  There neatly lined up were the miniature "everythings" one would need to travel plus some small scale luxuries.  My wife was a pocket model and was like that--perfect and neat and always organized.  For just a moment, I wanted to hold it close to my face, but then I remembered. . . .

I needed soap.  Deeper into the drawers.  Many pill bottles, of course, some with her name on them.  In some cases the tops had popped off and the pills had spilled out.  There they were in the corners of the drawer, dirty blue and white and red pills I would someday desperately look up on the internet to see which I could take together.  Here was a used up travel toothpaste tube, and there was some squeeze packet of hair normalizer that had never been used.  Jesus, I thought, have I never been through here in the past fifteen years?

But I had to quit reminiscing.  I was on a mission.  Soap!  Of which there was none to be found.  Not in these drawers, anyway.

Off to the other bathroom.  I began to look, but it was useless.  Then. . . I remembered to open the mirror door to look into the cupboard behind.  And lo and behold. . . there was a bunch of shit I hadn't seen forever.  I was becoming nostalgic.  It seemed I had once lived here long ago, a much different and interesting life than the one I now had.  And there emanating light was a bright green unopened box of Dial soap that I vaguely remembered buying years ago and putting there in case of something just like this.  Saved.

Something has died in the house.  Literally, I mean.  Perhaps not in the house but somewhere under the house or in the walls or. . . somewhere.  The faint smell of death permeates everything tonight.  Rat?  It smells bigger.  How?  you will ask.  I don't know.  It is just strong.

But now I have eaten and watched STARZ "Magic City" and have drunk too much. . . everything.  So with reds and blues in my eyes and death in my nostrils, I will go to bed. Enjoy Jazz at the Lincoln Center.  Just for you.