"No Longer Doing Your Bidding"

NO LONGER DOING YOUR BIDDING

By

Sean Maxwell Garland

                My heart is bitter. Perchance winter is to blame; perhaps the snow and ice are to be accounted for. Maybe my heart is wintry because the last heated woman I gave it to cut a hole out and took what she wanted, leaving me out in the cold to pick up the pieces. Or maybe it’s because of you.

                I once thought that I had found the needle in the hay stack, but after trying to pull through a piece of thread, I began losing sight of her amongst the feed. I cannot recall whether it was then that I met you, but it was then that I was sure of a sudden yearning for you.

                I for one had always found you very attractive in nature, and perhaps the reason for her displeasure towards your aroma is because she scented a threat. She never liked you, but had given you a chance. You were always beautiful and fresh to me. You eased my pain, taught me to laugh and at times you took my breath away. You were well maintained with wavy red hairs and supple skin to which stemmed from the rest of your body and made you a constant sight for sore eyes.

Whenever you weren’t around, I felt alone and too much like myself and low. I’d ask around for you, rummaging for you out of boredom, and you came to me at a cost and a past full of strangers. You promised to make me feel richer, but afterwards when you would disappear out of thin air, I realized by how much you really made me unfortunate.

At times, I drew upon you for inspiration but it was only after a while that I saw how you had erased my motivation. She was committed to me already, fully in love, while you had many suitors. Your popularity was more influential and I found myself on some nights torn in between; she had my love, you had my lust.

Still, I paid the price for your company and for the time you let me sit and waste. Some see to you for comfort while dealing with discomposure, for a sanctuary amidst life’s chaos. But I mostly wanted you to fill the void in my broken heart, but you were only filling my lungs with hot air.

I’ve wanted to stop using you for a while now, yet I haven’t been able to muster up the strength or find a stable willingness to do so. Whereas one’s temptation is difficult to ignore, you became an addiction that could not be silenced; a lingering, hyper active idea that bounced inside the contours of my emptied mind. You gave me the habits of the highly ineffective.

I can no longer deal with you. I can no longer take you places or share you amongst a group of people. I can no longer do your bidding because you are a reason she and I are broken up.

You crumble under pressure by wrapping yourself in layers or become as thin as vapour. You are forever changing, masking your poisonous odour. You stink, and she was right in telling me. She can smell you on me, and I can hear her heart break. Living through those moments, I sadly realize who I am loving more.

It is for this reason, as I break you down and watch your shiny green and red hairs crumble underneath my fingertips, that I can no longer withstand you and flush you for good down a withering drain. You force me to do your bidding, but no more. Why?

Because I don’t love you Mary Jane, or I’d be blowing smoke otherwise.

The first time I ever heard the song....I was....

ZOЁ

By Sean Garland

The first time I ever heard the song “All I Need” by Radiohead, I was in love. She sat in front of me, smiling blissfully while we allowed the romantic music to subdue us to a cuddle. We lay on our backs; our arms outstretched searching for one another amongst the scattered blankets and way too many pillows. She wrapped her legs around mine, entangling our limbs like forming the shape of a heart. I held her close, lifting her leg up to my hip and then clutching her thigh I pressed my body towards her, my nose touching her nose, our lips inches away from locking in an embrace forever. The summer heat pours into her bedroom, glistening through her drawn pink curtains. The usual roar of the downtown traffic is blurred out by the beat of the song, a light tap of chimes amidst the stroking keys of a heavy piano. I stare into her eyes, the glee of happiness shining from inside her pretty little pupil chokes me up. She looks at me with such joy, such emotional passion; I am awestruck. What did I do to deserve such affection? The song plays on, “I’m an animal,” Thom Yorke hymns, “trapped in your hot car.”

                “Sean,” she tells me, tears starting to fill her eyes. I’m worried at first so I sit up to show my concern. She immediately puts a hand to my face, she’s cool to the touch and chills me to the bone. “I really love you.” Now she’s made me all warm and tingly inside.

                “I love you too,” I say while leaning in for a kiss. She perks her lips together and meets me half way.

                Thom breaks into the chorus. She sings along while propping herself on top of me. “You’re all I need....” she whispers in my ear while kissing my neck slowly, “You’re all I need....”

                I close my eyes, trying to picture anything more beautiful than the moment I am in. I can’t think of anything. Suddenly now, the song is in its climax and I’m making love to her. When the song ends, we hold each other tightly, our sweat mingling with each other, our bodies meshing into one being. This is love, I remind myself, the feeling you get when you know you’re meant to be with someone.

                The song becomes intoxicating. I listen to it while falling asleep with her in my arms; I hear it when I’m spending every waking second with her. Still, I cannot fulfill my appetite.

                Eventually, the summer winds die down and the cold autumn breeze begins to howl in the distance. I’m standing with her at the train station, the song playing louder and louder in my head as we’re holding one another tight, not wanting to let go. “You’ll come and visit me?” she asks, tears pouring down her face, “I ought to stick with you....” Thom says, “because there are no others....”

                I hesitate for a moment, and then reassuringly tell her that I will come to Toronto as soon as possible.  I tell her I will visit every weekend. I’m full of shit.

                Months go by, the song still playing in my head. I’m thinking of her, but she’s miles away. I begin to question our love, thinking god knows what she’s up to in a city like Toronto.

                She visits me more often than not. We make love to the song each visit. She stays for the weekend, and then heads back. When she leaves, I’m still hungry. I’m cold. I’m lonely. I’m a disgusting pig.

                She hates me, but I had to tell her. It was the right thing to do, other than being a terrible decision that I’ll regret for all the wrong reasons.  She looks at me now with such distain, such hatred for the man I’ve become. She stares at me, perhaps looking right through me. I search her big brown eyes for any last signs of hope. I don’t want to let her go. She insists I do. Her pupils no longer hold a luster, but carry a darkness in which I have instilled within her heart. She hates me for my mistake, she says she always will. Her face is haunting in the moonlight, she yells at me with such angst. She fades into the shadows of the night, the last time I’ll ever see her. “You were all I need,” I call out to her. My voice trails off in the night. I’m listening to myself sing, a scratchy voice from on an old broken record.

I fucking hate that song.