being here at the park, as youth play and dogs sniff around, coaches shout out and mothers carry on watching and chatting, the joggers jogging too, that I can be here, playing duckduckgo with death queries. there’s the icecream truck in the distance. i have two dollars but i thought i had four. or i have four dollars but i can only find two. either way, not enough for ice cream in the city. the kids are cursing. i dont perk up for those old time melodies the way i used to. now just a passive recognition – there goes the ice cream truck. in the city sometimes a paletier will cycle past. maybe i’ll find my other two dollars by then…

here i am, playing footsie with my death, wondering what it would cost to gaze into her eyes, entwine my hands in hers. just for a little while, before life called me onto other things – obligations, aspirations, and whtever else. what’s it all worth? a few moments lounging aside the path…

the breeze carries a chill today, even with the sun and its languishing heat, preparing to set, full in the sky. i mean, the heat feels weak, its a gentle heat for how bright the day is, how clear the sky is….

The icecream truck music got closer. I turned around and it was just across the street. I waved my hand to flag it down. He slowed. There was an African man driving. I barely caught sight of the truck in its old timey delapidated print. I asked him how much. “which one?” “Uh, bomb pop.” My gut churned a bit. A classic. My mom’s favorite. “Three dollars.” A digging in my sac I went.

Two school boys ran up to the icecream truck, wondering the same as me. “we have two dollars…” “I thought you said you had nine?!” “Can you cut us a deal?” “Man….” A digging I went. “Anything for a dollar?” Where were my two dollars? Nevertheless…

I went into the coin section of my wallet, pulled on some quarters. I hate spending quarters unless it’s for the laundry. An adultism I’ve acquired. “Can you count quarters?” “Yeah?!” I hand them 8. “She gave us two dollars! Thank you!” And silently split my two bills among them. “Thank you!!!”

I could return to the bench, but i swift away wordlessly, walking, walking… at least some of us should get ice cream.

Anyway I have ice cream at home.

Artisian vanilla bean, 2.99 at Marianos.

I realize I’m late to my zoom meeting. one i dont particularly want to go to. but I’m only just late for it. And I hear the ringing down here in the kitchen anyway. And my neighbor was nice enough to make sure I had the link, I should at least use it. I guess. One small gesture keeping me preoccupied from her lingering touches…

On days like this I start to narrate my day, a wee bit of separation between me and what I’m doing, a teeny bit of space to breathe past the bullshit. It’s therapeutic in a way. If I’m not me, if I’m not only me, if there’s more than me, maybe I have choices. Maybe I can notice me…

Besides, might as well have a good story to be remembered by. A curious character in the life of another. The vanishing benevolent figure. The stranger of little words.

Before the room clicks into its own mini fire… I suppose I’ll go. I suppose I’ll eat this icecream.

This is my dying.

@

(I passed my neighbor deboarding the bus, unnoticed, unmentioned in return… another neighbor passed by in the kitchen. unsaluted, unmentioned in return…)

“i want to die”

words from the survivors

“i feel death”

how are you? – deathly

better we didnt exchange pleasantries…

@

earlier today at the park, the sitters were playing their tunes. the first I heard was the song ‘lets straighten this out’. what a synchronicity. i wanted to go over to them, to pour out all my woes, to ask advice, for something, some safety while I had this small reprieve. But that would be weird. Disturbing the peace. I didn’t know these people. We were technically probably neighbors in all probability. Couldn’t we share this human moment, just once?

And so I sat with my quiet tears and slouched body, seeking comfort on a nearly unloungeable anti-homeless bench. 

Before I left, a kind and playful demon-esque being shared a few quips that perked me up. “Excuse me? *fist bump* Heyyy baybee… Haaaay baybeee!” A semi-sultry invitation to play, to be bright, perhaps to even smile. Austin Powers meets RuPaul. I can’t recall what they looked like really, but in my recollection I imagine lil Uzi Vert. Imagine, a lil uzi vert look alike semi-catcalling me, and me enjoying it. Even missing this character, mildly lamenting the missed connection. We truly are in alternate timelines. When a stranger is more present and knowing than family, when a well delivered catcall does more healing than anything else that day. So when I went home to my resonant hell dungeon, I played xo tour lliife on repeat, and wrote some poetic lines, and agreed to soothe myself with food. Then I ended up at the park once more. Reminding myself that I could stand to get my clothes a little dirty. I could stand to wear a bit of outside grime and funk. It wouldn’t kill me. Heh.

I think about where I’d even share this little story, this forbidden tryst with her. Probably on my lil blog. Nestled among unread posts. Well, one person did bother to read. That was nice. For some reason, the public obscurity makes me chuckle. For so long trying so hard not to be seen. Trust, it is no small feat to be recognized in this world. Staggering to my feet to check the car alarm that has been blaring a while now. A literal alarm, barely responded to. To think, people daily waking up – in annoyance, dreading the misery of waking life. Why must we be reminded of this existence we trod through. What can I do to get out of this?

I pour the last of my ice cream soup into my spoon, waiting on the logarithmic drips, and lick the last from the inner rim. 

“Ahhhh shit… here we go again.”