The Unfamiliar – TBT 02.23.11
She slid into the passenger seat of his murdered out GTO and took a look around as he made his way to the driver side. The same candle holder in honor of his uncle that passed away still stood on the dashboard, as well as the dried rose from his funeral. All his CD’s were still stacked in the side pocket of the door; Marley, Earth, Wind, and Fire, Pac, and Marvin Gaye just to name a few. He started the car, and the engine roared right before it purred. And then they made their way down Merced, around Brother Lake, and to a house she used to visit quite frequently.
Well doesn’t this look familiar?
They went upstairs and he went to the kitchen to open the bottle of Sebastiani he bought earlier that day, as she made a beeline for the bathroom. The bathroom smelled just as she remembered. Pantene she thinks. With a little Sean John cologne. And a touch of some Bath and Body Works liquid soap. By the time she sat on the couch and snuggled up underneath the same throw blanket that used to greet her, two glasses of wine sat on the coffee table. She held the glass to her face and took a whiff. The scent of Pinot Noir invaded her nostrils. She hadn’t drank wine since their last “date.”
Well doesn’t this smell familiar?
“‘You’re so beautiful.” “Wow, you look real good.” “I’m so glad to see you.” “Aw why you always clownin?” “Damn, you smell nice.” “You’re so pretty.” “How have you been?” “I had a lot of fun tonight” “We always be doing it big huh?” “Why you ain’t never called me back?” “I miss you.” “You miss me?” “When can I see you again?” “Yah, that was real fun.” “That was our spot.” “You know I always take care of you.” “It’s your world girl.” “I always think about you.”
Well doesn’t this sound familiar?
And now he’s only two inches away from your face (God he’s so hot). And his mouth’s against yours (they were meant for you). And his hands are all over your body (they’re so strong). And there goes your pants (how the? he’s a goddamn ninja!). And there goes his pants (oh shit, here we go). And then he presses his body against yours (it’s all coming back to you now). And then he slides up inside you (FUCK). And now he’s putting it.the.fuck.down. (but you’re not surprised). And then you go (and go again. and again. and again.). And then he goes (finally). And then two hours later you’re cocooned in his arms.
Well doesn’t this feel familiar?
No. Not at all. Because despite the familiar sounds and smells and tastes. That family album that was on the table the last time you two hung out, and Garibaldi painting that’s over his fireplace collecting dust. The hum of his fridge that’s so loud it sounds like it’s coming form the tv, except it always get drowned out by banging, and squeaking, and slapping, and moans eventually. You could navigate his house in the dark like the back of your hand. Been there, done that. You look at him and think the same: Been there, done that. So while he’s putting it down at 7:17am, you decide to put it to rest. You know better, and you want better. Congratulations. You’re free.
Well doesn’t that feel refreshingly unfamiliar?