Where Do They All Come From?

Gloria’s bra wrapped around, caressing the lamp on the nightstand, illuminating the entire motel room* with a hot, fuchsia pink. The intricate design on the bra caused the otherwise solid color on these walls to be disoriented, which, to Christian at least, was wholesomely erotic. He stared in transfixion at these fades, and then to Gloria, who lay snugly atop the bed sheets. Christian, who sat upright where the bedstead met the mattress, felt as if he could smell the sweat evaporating off her warm, saline skin. Next to the lamp on the nightstand sat a pack of cigarettes and a black alarm clock that displayed a resilient, dark red 3:04 AM. Christian glanced over the time stamp, and grabbed his fix. Then, in the reflection of his own stare, off a window perched opposite the bed, he lit up and took a long, meditated inhale. He could see himself, his naked body, and the stream of puffy white trailing out his Marlboro. He could hear the sound of leaves lightly rustling against the ground outside, a scene illuminated by the ill-boding moon from above. Through his mind’s eye, he saw all that that moon shined upon: the squirrels; the birds; the insects; and, he imagined, even them, Christian and Gloria, cuddled together in a tent surrounded by the wilderness. He turned his eyes away from the mirror to glance upon her figure. He took a last puff from his cigarette, and then extinguished it on one of those cheap ashtrays that for some reason are exactly the same in every motel room in America.

Two years ago, Christian had never thought he’d ever seek the services of a harlot, but then again, he had never thought he’d ever feel so isolated. Another leaf scraped against the window, and he shivered out of reflex. Regaining his senses, he glanced upon Gloria once again, who had since fallen asleep. Gloria didn’t typically drift off after a transaction, and Christian felt that the situation had subsequently become a bit awkward, but neither did he feel he wanted to disturb her peace. And so instead, he quietly sneaked out of the bed, put on some jeans and a sweater, pocketed the room key, and fled the scene.

It was dark outside. Dark and cold. Cold enough to make Christian glad he had brought a sweater. The stars from above shined brightly, and he found himself staring upward as he meandered through the city streets, eventually finding himself at a city park with the greenest of grass and sturdiest of trees. A teenage couple lay on a blanket, talking to each other and consuming their youth; a few joggers paced around the perimeter; and an old man picked through some trash cans, and discerned carefully what to put in a shopping cart he had dragged along with him. The old man found a half-eaten burger. Christian wanted to look away, but he kept on staring. Staring at the joggers, the old man in his pity, and the teenage couple who were now under the rush of lust. He stood at his watch post as a vagrant, and took it all in. He felt a sudden, ecstatic rush. He was happy here, because here he was safe. This was a place where no one knew him and nobody cared, and where he stood only as a voyeur of the crowd. Christian turned around suddenly, and there he saw the moon shining bright, the one he had seen in his mind’s eye, exactly as he had seen it, exactly, and in its glorious beauty.

Christian had first met Gloria across the street from a bar. He didn’t know which bar, of course, or even the events that occurred at and around their encounter. He was too hammered that night to remember most of anything that had occurred that day. What remained in his memory was only a vague impression, like that of a dream: two hours later, you may remember having had a profoundly surreal, hallucinatory image, but you don’t remember any specifics. If you do remember some specifics, they are most likely fractured and out of place, like a reflection off broken glass. Similarly, Christian remembered greeting Gloria, he remembered being taken — or perhaps taking her — to a room, and he remembered lying naked with her in a cheap, motel bed. But he’d be hard-pressed to come up with any significant details.

The second encounter was not so accidental. After their first exchange — waking up and feeling the impaling throb of his hangover — and realizing all the money in his wallet had been taken, Christian went to the office, sat at his desk, and found his thoughts being consumed by her essence. When he should have been drawing website outlines, he drew instead the sketchy impressions of her face, of her body, and of her beauty that still remained in his mind. Through the morning, through work, through break, though more work, through lunch, through even more work, and throughout the rest of the day, he became infatuated with her. He told himself his cravings, his heartthrob would soon evaporate away like water left in an open container. But by the following night, as he scoured the city looking for the bar he had been to two days prior, it only made sense to him that he had to, that he absolutely must find her. And so he did.

Christian felt a prodding behind him, which woke him up from his daze. It was the old man, who had apparently finished the burger.

“Staring at the moon, eh?” said the man, and Christian did not respond. “When I was younger, I too used to the stare at the moon in her beauty, wondering about my life and about my future. But you don’t know anything, kid. Trust me. You’ll learn that loneliness is nothing to think about.”

Christian wanted to respond, but couldn’t come up with anything.

The man continued, “See those two teenagers over there?” Christian nodded his head yes. “Do you think they know about love? Real love?” And Christian nodded his head no. “It’s the same with you, kid. To you it feels real, and for all practical purposes, it is real for you.”

Christian gave the man a funny look. The man sighed and brought his eyes to the floor, decidedly ending his sermon. The man spoke once more. “Can you spare some money?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Christian, who began searching his pockets to no avail. That bitch! Christian thought.

“It’s alright,” said the old man, waving Christian off. “See you around, kid. See you around.”

- – - -

Footnote:
^* by means of projection