Adieu Mon amour in progress
When Amie comes by it can be for an hour, or a week. “It’s always so cool when I come and you’re here waiting on the steps.” Amie sits, safety pin in cheek, bustier, thigh high boots, mini skirt, Mohawk (I nearly cried when she cut her hair). No Matter what she does, she looks like a Botticelli.
“I am going to shower,” Amie says, giving me a kiss, as she takes a cigarette. I have beer, food, and of course Gin. I open the door, the AC hits, feels so good. Amie steps in front me and walks to the stereo, and put’s on “Alien Sex Fiend.” The music takes her as it always has, from back in the days when she drove down from the ’burbs.
I was the chucker at that concrete bunker which, was the cathedral for our sacred music, the musings of the prophets written in sharpie on the walls, plastic glass, and raw energy everywhere. I let her in underage, because those baby blues are now, and have always been, my kryptonite. I was taken by for her the moment we met. I protected her then, and now I get a weekly calls from her Mum, asking, “Is she OK?”
Her Mum knows she lives with Mick, but he doesn’t have a phone, or AC.
I open a beer for her, she steps out her clothes, takes it with her into the shower, singing along. I watch her graceful walk, she look’s over her shoulder, and smiles, as she walks in the bathroom. Smiling that, I still watch my punk china doll, I have a robe, and toothbrush for her.
Mick quit talking to me months ago, but I still take a bag of food once a week to make sure they eat.
“I need a shot,” she says. I go get the kit, she finds a magazine too look at, as to show me she will not look where I retrieve it from. I love Amie dearly, but I am not sharing a needle.
She starts the ritual, retrieving glassine packet and mixing it with the pack she has into a spoon, holding the spoon over the candle. I watch it cook. She fills one spike with a small hit and hands it to me and keeps the spike with a larger dose.
I am light, and she knows it. The occasional skin pop. It hits me like a bullet, I throw-up and start my nod. She hits a vein, and goes out straight to heaven.
I come out enough for any sort of activity, it’s dark, and Amie’s watching tele.
Amie looks up at me and asks, “ Can I stay?”
I answer, “Sure, no one’s coming tonight.” She’s wrapped in her robe gives a smile.
“Are going to Theorem tonight?” I ask.
Amie hit me with an incandescent smile, and says, “Could we?!”
I can make that happen, she runs to the bathroom to get ready. I put on music for her to dress too. She announces ready, and we make our way downtown.
There is something about the music we like. It is usually played in economically depressed urban areas, and there are more people in the car park, than inside. Filled with scousers and run-a-ways. In the club, we’re known and say hello to everyone. Amie goes to get a go spot in the mosh, all 90 pounds of her, raw nerve. How she manages in 4-inch heels is a mystery to me. I ride the show out at the bar. Amie comes to take a beer, and heads back to the pit.
At last call, we leave to find food. Ending up as it seems we always end up, having a burrito. The Tacqueria. It’s casual good, as we are dressed for mosh, and cheap. Our friends all end up here. We hit the door of my flat the cool air washes over us. She gives me a kiss, I need a shower again, and goes to the stereo putting on music, she fancies. Starts taking off her clothes, as she walks towards the shower, and turns, saying, “Aren’t you coming?”
“OK, “ I answer. We’re occasional lovers, so it’s a nice surprise. Amie can stay a week without ending up in bed, or not. She’s always affectionate and sweet. In the shower I wash her Mohawk, and gently wash her. Outside the shower I follow her to the bed.
Amie is different, very shy, and coy. I feel like she’s telling me something.
In the morning she wakes me, having made coffee. She is walking towards the bed nude. As I sip my coffee, she says “Claim me, take me. “ This is the lover I know, spontaneous combustion. Taking pleasure and drinking deeply of it. I put down the coffee, and pulling her into bed, take her. She is so light, it‘s easy to pick her up. She is possessed, an angelic succubus. She moans, at first, rising to a scream, and then she falls asleep after a cigarette. I awake, she’s dressed and taking up her kit. Amie looks at me and says “Thanks, it was fun… I’ll see you soon, OK?”
“I love you,” I answer, as she lets herself out, the last part sounding like a plea. It rings in my head for a long time.
The next time I hear her name is when her Mum invites me to the funeral mass.
