(Originally written in 2012, edited today.)
It’s in every home, apartment and even in garages—the fridge. For some, the fridge and in particular the fridge door, is transformed into the family bulletin board with: doctor’s reminders; kids’ arts and crafts; report cards of a “job well done!” and photos. However for me, the fridge door has had a different purpose: A cemetery of an imperfect past and an altar to perfect illusions.
The broken pieces of glass with its residue were left unswept for days –now they’re glued to the floor. I do my best to pick them up for her.
Rachel is blind. Today she leaves for a trip and by mere chance I stopped by, however, I realized the unfolding instead.
Jan sat on a bench and under the sun’s peak light. This was his lone moment before what he felt was the “leap of faith.”
Meanwhile, joyful school children ran along the manicured lawns. Elderly Danish tourists killed time before their departing bus. The regulars read the news in Prague and enjoyed ice cream cones. Portly women with round ’70s shades used colorful rose-printed scarves to cover their over dyed hair. Another day in the Franciscan Gardens.
For them, it was normal but for Jan, the next half hour would be the longest in the millennium. He sat on the bench with legs stretched out but with crossed arms. It was almost as if he hugged himself. Then he let his face catch the rays and took a deep breath.
Next to him sat a tourist. This was her last day in his city before her own leap of faith.
Her legs showed new varicose veins earned from the long walks. With nothing else planned, she wandered into the Franciscan Gardens. She needed the rest. So she took off her sandals and lifted her skirt.
Jan noticed her.
“The sun is good today,” said Jan.
“Oh, you speak English. Yes, the sun is good. I’ve been walking for two weeks now. I need the sun to cover my veins.”
“Oh, is that why you do it?”
“Yeah, I need the camouflage.”
Both laughed.
“Where did you come from?” asked Jan.
“I was in Berlin and this is my first time in Prague. It’s really my first solo trip.”
“You?”
“I’m from Czechoslovakia but moved to the city.”
“Good for you. It’s really lovely here.”
“Yeah, things are good.”
“What do you do?” she asked.
“I started my own company. I do business development for the internet.”
“Good for you. It must be a lot of work. Glad you came to the Gardens to clear the mind.”
He laughs. “Well, I’m actually going to meet a woman in a couple of minutes. I here waiting before going over to her. My mind is not clear.”
Jan rubs his eyes and forehead.
She now laughs. “Like a lover?”
“Well, I want to be a lover for her. I don’t know why I’m saying this to you.” He laughs.
“Oh don’t worry. She must be special. It’s ok to be nervous. I’m also hoping to meet someone as well. I know how you feel.”
They both laugh again.
So Jan retells how he had met her once but he wasn’t ready. Now he hadn’t seen her for half a year and felt that it was the right time. To prove his interest he sent her 200 roses.
Now he worried. He was so busy working and hadn’t taken care of his body. Thoughts of his unattractiveness had caused him to feel ugly.
“You sent her 200 roses!?
“Yes, I feel it in my heart. I feel it in my chest. I think she’s the one.”
“You’ve won her already. Guys don’t send roses anymore. Don’t worry. If she’s meeting you, she’s interested.”
She now turns her whole body toward him to look him up and down.
“I’ve been walking the streets of your city for four days. You by far are the best looking man I’ve seen so far in Prague. Don’t worry, you are good!”
He laughs and gives her many thanks.
“Believe me, you don’t think she’s nervous? You are good looking, starting a business and send her 200 roses!”
He laughs again.
“Listen, I’m just like you. I met someone once, we’ve been writing for years and now I’ve asked him to meet me tomorrow. I don’t know what will happen, but I’m going anyway.”
“He’s written all this time?
“Yes.”
“He doesn’t know he’s in love.”
“It’s ok.”
“My name is Jan, thank you.”
“Good luck but you don’t need it.”
Jan shook her hand and had his appointment. She left and saw another city.
Right before the start of the evening shift she stands across the storefront. Its her daily ritual to pause and look up at the sign that adorns the store.
” ‘Free People,’ I love this store, but I’ve never been in it,” says Shelley. “The name just makes me happy. Ya know what I mean?”
Shelley always has a new hairdo: sometimes a pixie with a purple streak or other times a tight bob.
“Girl, they’re wigs…. it’s easy!” she says with a laugh as she pushes the trash bin.
Her smile is her make up. She always has it on. About her laugh, one can think of what it would be like to taste honey mixed with sugar.
“Hey, ya gotta job for me? Know of any thang?” asks smiling Shelley of those she’s come to trust while riding the elevator.
Those that get off wish they knew of something.
So Shelley comes and picks up the trash, straightens the office chairs so those same workers return to find their space unexpectedly brand new and ready for a brand new day.
If you are there after working hours and she trusts you, then she’ll speak about her love life.
“I got this young boy, he’s like ‘I want to be with you, I think I can straighten myself up with you,’ ” says Shelley with wide eyes. ” I’m like, ‘whoa, whoa, hold on partnah. I’m workin’ on me, I don’t got time for fixin’ anyone else up. Ya know what I mean? ‘ ”
Like many, money is tight for Shelley. She used to go to “da club.”
“I had people make room for me. They’d just stand back and watch me move!” says Shelley with the pride of a Soul Train diva.
But Shelley no longer goes to the club. Instead, she stands in front of her house mirror and plays ’70s radio. She turns, moves her arms and feels sexy in front of the mirror.
“I got to keep circulatin’, keep it movin,’ ” she tells herself on a Saturday night.
Shelley has to wait. Last year her hip was removed and replaced. The funny thing is that one ever notices her limp.
Rather, we think of the fast-moving sun that we can’t fully see but still feel its rays.
Letters on a screen
A heart renews once again Spirit to be dream
“It’s truncated like a haiku – mundane observations that reveal everything. ” – Paul Butler
winter air chills
birds sing faithful tomorrow
the sun warms anew
(Dedicated to J&J.)
Love by their account is measured in seasons–12 to be precise. A blissful cycle of falls, winters, springs and summers.
So I’m invited to their current season and through the double doors. The red solitary couch greets me, but I await in the opposite corner.
She stands to embrace her incoming lover like it’s the first time. And a flash forward enters my eye: Intertwined arms and wrinkles morph into four decades from now. It’s 2055. The cycles remain unchanged. The red solitary couch makes space for two. She sits and her lover reclines against her bosom. Legs pile on top of legs. Teenage hums are whispered in each other’s ears. Grips become glue with lips fused.
The grays become sweeter.
A willing observer sees the clock mark another season. A born-again futurist makes the exit through the double doors.
On one night, $500 million was up for grabs. Throngs had dreams and I was one of all. So I stood in line with the clock ticking. All kinds of colors and class. The pot just getting bigger with the wishes.
The lovers I met wished to leave should they have luck to win the draw. The odds didn’t work in their favor; millions of couples stayed together that night. I suppose the price to leave is just set too high. It doesn’t have to be….
The following interview was held on the night of one of the biggest lottery drawings in the country. Half a billion was up for grab.
By Destiny J.
it is here
that I once laid
face down
in the sweetest fruit
until the tree that bore it
lept, and left roots
like clipped wings in the balance of two Springs
and I found that on the nights I wept
the moon must have
sunken from the depths of the universe
to brush the nectar
from my thirst
and first, I dreamt of
drowning tides beneath my tears
for dark dreams, are still dreams
and centuries are like fond memories
to the birds of paradise
who flock beneath my feet
and brave crimson clouds until
I am no longer weak, and
it is here
that I awake
with the sun in my face
and the moon dimly shining
onto my nape
and the chirping beneath me
whispers hello to love, and goodbye to love, and hello
About the poem: I have a girlfriend whose actual name is Destiny. One night I told her about heartache, dreams with red clouds and a documentary I saw on the Birds of Paradise. I marvelled at the birds’ ability to hold court despite rejection. The courage it takes to fight for love and receive love. She wrote a poem the next day and gave it to me. It’s been on my wall ever since.
By Jumah Chaguan
According to Match.com “Singles in America” annual survey, 47 percent of online daters research their potential dates on Facebook. (I’ve never done it.)
But can you fall in love without ever meeting?
The film “Her” has touched an electronic nerve. We now question our relationship to the virtual world.
The story is simple: a lonely guy falls in love with Samantha, an artificial intelligence.
But Samantha is not that artificial. She learns. The bond forms.
Mark Keresman for ICON rejected the film. He doesn’t believe in blind love.
Some think that online relationships are an addiction. Yes! If it interferes with the rest of your life. If you are a junkie then here is a step-by-step guide on how to say “01101110 01101111.” (That’s “no” in binary code!)
But sometimes we connect and the intermediary doesn’t matter.
If love is defined as loving for “their mind, not their body,” then one can fall in electrodubbyluvy.
Samantha and Theodore did connect. No it wasn’t physical. Their union happened outside the body and perhaps the best place, the mind.
However, if you think that it’s wrong to love without ever touching, OK. But I believe revolutions are made with words.
jumahchaguan 