Toothpaste Kisses
The first time I heard Toothpaste Kisses by The Macabees I was slow dancing in a crowded room with you . You told me , I like this song . It feels like home , in a weird way .
When I first saw you , you were leaving Weller ’ s Used Books , wearing those sun glasses bigger than your face , and that long , black trench coat . Your lips were painted russet , and you walked with your chin up , like you always do . I played the directions card — do you know where the nearest coffee shop is ? Next thing , I was sitting on your velvet couch and you were across , in that big , Victorian chair by the window . You sipped your red wine and told me , I ’ m a Scorpio . I also hate the color orange .
Every day was different . We ’ d go to new shitty Chinese restaurants , read books at downtown bars . Take a stained glass class . Take organ lessons . Anything to keep your blood flowing . I didn ’ t mind , but I slept early . You were a nightingale . It wasn ’ t unusual for you to be absent in the mornings . I got used to making the bed .
The one thing that stayed constant was the songs . You played Kool Thing on the way to therapy every Wednesday . You said it got you ready to release the beast . Get your Black Mamba on . Get the hair on your forearms on its tippy toes . I ’ d pick you up , and you ’ d insist on Fade Into You by Mazzy Star , and every morning , you ’ d put on Melody Calling by The Vaccines . I ’ d watch you slither around the kitchen . Your hair was long , and it was always pin-straight down to your hips .
It was a Sunday night . You were spread about the floor , crumpled blank pieces of paper scattered around . You were all clenched fists and bulging eyes . I offered
Angel Resurreccion
you a cigarette . Bad for the lungs , you said , scratching your head . What ’ s wrong ? I asked . You told me you felt small . That you needed to go somewhere , anywhere . That you needed to taste new air , to feel different vibrations , that you wanted to breathe what it was like to exist . To immerse yourself in something , to drown . Take the city bus somewhere , I suggested . Do something new . I ’ ll have your glass of wine next to your big chair in the morning . You scrambled some things together in a briefcase , buttoned up your coat and left . The door shut very quietly .
It ’ s been four years now . I replace the wine glass every night , and dust off the window sill . I fold the floral bed sheets , and I ’ ve arranged each one of your CDs , your vinyls , your big heavy books . I ’ ve ironed your blouses . I ’ ve folded all your laundry , separated it in drawers . I write you letters and place them in envelopes , missing the address . Sometimes I find long , black hair on the carpet or in the shower . I can ’ t tell if it ’ s yours anymore , or if it belongs to one of the women who warm your side . You always slept on the left .
The door was slightly open when I came back from work , and I could hear something coming from inside . As I got closer to the living room , the music grew louder .
You were sitting on the big , Victorian chair by the window . Your hair was cut into a bob , and you were wearing orange . Cigarette in your left hand , glass of wine sitting delicately in your right , as you hummed along to Toothpaste Kisses .
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