Heart in a cage

                        Hell without Maddy

*“Well I don't feel better
When I'm fucking around
And I don't write better
When I'm stuck in the ground
So don't teach me a lesson
Cause I've already learned”

“Oh the heart beats in its cage”

12:15AM. Restless. Cigarettes, Shoes, Wallet. Hoodie. Leave house on a school night.

12:45AM. Aunt Tikis. I play the Breeders on the Jukebox. An Old Jew tells me about his experiences with Hunter S. Thompson. Tells me he had the power to kill people because he’s a bookie and tells me that he was the lawyer in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. The real one. Lights my cigarette. Tell me about you he says.

“I want to be a relationship therapist.”

“My first wife left me for her therapist.” Grunts.

“I write with Dr. John. I write poetry with him. I’m an old Jew. I got beat when I was 12. They took me from my family. They took all of us. Didn’t you ever hear about that? On the bayou.”

“No.”

“They took us all…in waves. Took us right from our parents and sent us to New Orleans. I got beat with a whip. I ran away. This man stopped and saw the blood on my back and took me home. I stayed with him and his wife. He was a hard Jew, but he told me that if I was hard too, I would succeed. And he was right. I’m a millionaire.”

I puff on my cigarette and drink my Paps.

“I never told anyone that before, about the beatings. I never told my wife.”

“Why not?”

“I was ashamed.”

“What of? You were just a kid.”

“I know that now…it took a long time though. I thought it was my fault.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

 “Tell me about you.”

                       …….…………………………..”Oh the heart beats in its cage”………………………………………………………
 
                                                              “I don't want what you want
                                                                 I don't feel what you feel
                                                                    See I'm stuck in a city
                                                                    But I belong in a field”

“I don’t have a bike” I whisper.

The old Jew makes a face.

1:20AM. I drink a Paps. I write a text

- I’m out, I write. Meet up for a drink?

-Sure hon. Just getting off of work. Be there in a bit.

“I’m sorry. “ I apologize. “I hate it when people are on their phones all night when I’m out with them.”

“No problem,” he says, “You were just on it for a minute”

“Yeah but see, I have all these friends who are 22 and 23, and they are on their phones all fucking night, and it drives me insane. It’s so rude. Like am I that awful to hang out with that you spend the whole night talking to someone else?”

He buys me a Paps.

“I have a boyfriend. He hates it here.”

Bartender pops in: “Your boyfriend hates you?”

I shiver. “No, he hates it HERE” I annunciate. “Why would he hate me?” I look at him.

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked! It sounded weird.” He hands me another Paps.

“Well why don’t you move wherever he is?” The old Jew asks.

“I hate it there.”

“Well how you gonna make that work?”

“Separate houses?” I laugh. “I don’t know.”

“I cook for people by the river” he says.  “Lamb, goat, salad, natural stuff. Come”

1:45 AM. Red hair, invisible lashes. Tall, thin. I wave. My friend.  He sits down on the stool next to me.

“This guy knows Hunter S. Thompson.” I say to him as a greeting. It’s our first meeting “alone”.

My friend looks skeptical.

His hands are rough and his fingernails are dirty. It doesn’t bother me though because I know he builds things, and Jesus made that sexy for all of time.

2:30 am.  A round of drinks from the Old Jew.  Friend is in the bathroom.

“There you go,” he says, “already on your way to getting rid of that boyfriend problem.” He tells me.

“You’re a cougar” he tells me. “He’s younger than you.”

I look sideways at him. “You think so?” I ask. “Yep” The Old Jew nods.

My friend is back. He’s not younger than me, is he? I shake my head.

“You played this?” My friend asks,  his eyelashes invisible.

He leans in and kisses me

                                                           “All our friends, they're laughing at us
                                                              All of those you loved you mistrust
                                                              Help me I'm just not quite myself”

“Yes” I whisper.

                                                               “I don’t want what you want,

                                                                I don’t feel what you feel..”

He smiles at me.

“Just yesterday I promised myself I’d change” I say passionately, hitting the bar.  “I promised no more, I’d change, I’d be stable, I’d settle down, I’d start a family, I’d have a baby, I’d get my degree, I’d open a business, I’d be home at 6, I’d plan dinners with my family, I’d watch tv with my husband, I’d see my friends every once and awhile, I’d quit drinking, I’d quit smoking, I’d be better, I’d be good. I’d be a good, stable person!” I stare into his eyes; can’t he leave me alone? Can’t he understand me!

He smiles at me.

I’d never said a word.

                                                         “Look around there's no one else left.”

                                                               “Oh the heart beats in its cage.”

“It’s a good song” he says, kissing me again. “Want to get out of here?”

I’m silent for probably five minutes. At least I have that.

He has invisible eyelashes. I tug at them and take his hand. He doesn’t live that far.

                                                  “I went to the concert and I fought through the crowd

                                           And yes I got too excited when I thought you were around,

                                                           I get left, left, left, left, left, left, left…

                                                              OH the heart beats in its cage…”

*”Heart Beats In Its Cage” by The Strokes.