Col De Sak

by Frances Weig

I pushed my chair back, breaking myself from the trusting circle. I stood up and looked around the room. I saw a group of nobodies, wanting to be some bodies. My eyes were no longer focused on the nobodies, but rather on the cheep wooden walls, on the red-carpeted floors, and at the glass images of Jesus, and lamb sacrifices. My hands began to shake, I couldn't do it. My legs began to sink into the ground, I had to do it. I opened my mouth, and began to spit out my truth. Nothing came out. I bit my lip, ripping off a piece of my chapped skin. Blood slowly began to drip down my lip to my chin, and I quickly wiped it off with my index finger, and placed it in my mouth, sucking on it as if it was something I was able to recycle back into my body. The others in the trusting circle's eyes, beamed towards me.

"Why me?" I muttered under my breath

I exhaled.

" I, I am Griffon."

I couldn't let these people know my truth. I didn't know them, they didn't know me. Why did they deserve to know my truth, my story?

"Continue, please." A g-d like voice said, from beyond.

It seemed as though it was a sign, a sign that these people were here to help me, save me.

I placed my hands in my pocket.

"I am Griffon, and I have..." I shut my eyes, making everyone invisible in my world.

"Aids."

It was out. My truth, what I've been hiding, exposed.

I took my hands out of my pocket, brought my chair towards the circle of trust, sat down, crossed my legs, and stared at Jesus. The girl beside me pushed her chair back, stood up and said, " I am a drug attack."

From then on, it went one after another. A Prostitute, an alcoholic, an anorexic, and a cuter.

"Thank you," the voice from beyond said.

We all looked up, we all looked down, we didn't know what was going on.

It was then we saw him, or her. It walked down the red carpet, towards us.

"Hello," It said in a semi manly voice.

It wore a black blazer, with a long black flowy skirt. Its hair was long, and black, it had very manly eyes, and feminine lips. Its hands looked gentle, and calming. However its feet were overly large. Reminding me of the clowns, I used to see when I went to the circus, with my family. The good times.

" Hello, we replied," in a robot like manner.

He lifted up his hand, and pointed to me. I focused my attention on him.

" Why do you have aids?" He said.

Who the fuck does he think he is, to ask me a question like that. I began to get so angry, I felt a pulse from the bottom of my feet, going up to finger tips, up to my shoulders, and exploding in my head. My hand clenched onto my seat. The drug attack put her hand out and said.

" You can squeeze it, if you need to."

I turned my head to face hers. Looked deep into her yellowish brown eyes. Stared, and turned my head back, to face it.

"I fell in love." I said, calmly.

Then he pointed to the drug attack.

"Why did u begin to use drugs?" It said, with no fear, no shame.

She seemed scared, and nervous. I turned towards her, put out my hand.

" You can squeeze it if you need to."

She gently placed her hand into mine, and squeezed. Her touch was so soft, and so innocent, she made me want to pick her up from off the chair, and take her far away, to a place, were she could be happy, a place with no half men and half women creatures, upsetting us, no one judging us, with no one but the boy with aids, and the girl addicted to drugs.

"I fell in love," she said clasping to my hand, with all her might.

It then asked the prostitute, the alcoholic, the anorexic, and the cutter.

It pulled a chair up to the trusting circle, and we began to talk. We sat for hours, talking. Talking about our lives, were we came from, what we wanted to do with our lives, what we want to do with our lives now, and how we can help each other. After a few hours It told us it was okay to feel sad sometimes, and only time will make it better. We just kept talking, but my eyes always focused on the drug attack. We talked, everyone left, but we just talked. After a few hours, she looked down, and ran. She never said why, she just left. I didn't understand.

I got up, and stared at the picture of Jesus.

"Thank you." I whispered.

I began to walk down the red carpet, to the big wooden doors, allowing me to go into the real world. The world with strangers who were innocent, and unaware of what the world truly was capable of doing to a person.

I stepped out of the church doors, and stood by the steps. I inhaled, the crisp cold air, and exhaled, my future. The New York air smelt like cigarettes and alcohol. The way I liked it. I looked around me, in front of me was a little store with a yellow sign "Cigars" it said. There was a little man in front watching all the teenagers trying to steal the Swiss army knives in the front. All the walls around the church were filled with graphite and gum. I loved it. I loved all of it. The poor people, the drunks, the police around the corners trying to find the drug dealers selling their lives away. I pulled a cigarette out of my pocket, lit it up, and made my way down the steps.

There was a rush of people. Dark ones, light ones, skinny ones. These people were amazing, no cares in the world. This one woman stood out the most. She was wearing a long Burberry coat, with dark blue skinny jeans, accenting every inch of her long legs hugging her petite frame, with a white dress, that was similar to a pajama dress, but she still looked radiant. Her hair was light brown, with blonde highlights. You could tell it was natural, because the top was beginning to frizz, and the bottoms had such astonishing split ends.

She pulled her Blackberry from out of her black purse, looking through her text messages. She smirked. The glimpse of her pale pink lip rising, and her perfect white teeth, made my heart melt. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. The crowds of the people kept increasing, and she sped up. All I could see was her back, and that was fading faster. I ran, pushing people away, to find this enchanting woman, but it was too late, she was gone. Her body trailed off, like a dead man walking towards the light, to be sent to a 'better place.'

"Fuck," I screamed, as a mother and child were passing by me. She gave me a horrid look, and covered her child's ears.

It got chillier, The New York sun began to set, and the streetlights went on. People walking, taxis and cars yelling at one another. I loved it. I walked passed 5th street, around the corner, passed a dark ally with stray cats and dead dogs at every step, to Villa Che Moi, also known as my home. Piece of shit apartment.

I made my way up the broken metal stairs, holding onto the white walls, which had gunshot holes every third step.

There it was, my disease. The only nice thing about my apartment was the door. It was big brown, and engraved at the bottom it said, " Fuck you, don't touch my milk." The words I lived by.

The words were honest, and who ever wrote them was a smart man, or woman. I slid my key into the copper door-lock, twisted it to the right, it got stuck.

" Mother fucker," I scorned and then kicked the door. It opened. I walked in, and slammed that stupid brown door shut.

I glared around my shitty apartment. To the left was my brown, blue and orange tweeted couch also known as my bed, then it was television set. It wasn't one of those nice fancy flat screen television, that all classy people have but rather the cheap garbage ones that you see in the Simpson's, doesn't work, but fills space. I turn to my right, it was my kitchen. The white tiled floors, and pale green pealing wallpapered walls. I had a fridge with a giant flag from England on it. I wasn't English, but it was cheap and got the work done. My sink was black, it used to be gray but then I realized I was going to die, so I decided I didn't need to clean up anymore. Let the real-estate agents clean it once I'm done, so they can make the money off of me, the money I could never make. I opened my English fridge, and pulled out my two best friends. Jack Danielles and coke. I opened one of my off white cabinets, ad pulled out a plastic cup. I poured my stress into the cup, and drank to my future. That's how my nights usually were. Come home, stare and my present, drink my stress, and pray for a better future.

Everyone thought that my life was like that stupid show rent. They thought that if you were poor with aids, everyone would sing and dance, and every other person was gay and it was all happy. They were wrong. They were mistaken, and misled. Being poor with aids was the worst thing any one could undergo. My life consisted of hundreds of different pills, doctor appointments, and welfare. It was horrible. I cried myself to sleep every night. I prayed my life was like rent. I prayed my life was song and dance.

My eyes shut, and I dreamed. Dreamed about my future. My future of rent.

I woke up, to the warm sunshine beaming on young hand. It burned. I knew it was going to be a bad day.

I got up from my bed, stretched my lanky arms, and long back. I walked to towards the door, wearing the same thing I wore the night before. I went down the staircase, touching the walls filled with holes, made my way down the street to the church, to were life stood still, and I could breath, to were I was safe. It was all of them waiting for me. In the middle of the room. With the brown wooden walls around us, the red carpeted floors benieth us, and the pictures of Jesus, and lamb sacrifices. The Prostitute, alcoholic, anorexic, and the cuter, and the drug addict. These were my friends; they made me feel things that I never felt before. Love, joy, happiness. We held hands, we cried, we laughed, everything was together everything as a family. Every time It came, it asked us questions, and every time I got mad, but we held each other's hands. Months went by, and my life was the same routine. Wake up, circle of trust, come home and drink my stress, and pray for a better future. One day everything changed. I made my way up to the circle of trust, but she wasn't there. The drug attic was gone. She disappeared, and she was the reason everything changed. I pushed my chair back.

"Were is she?" I asked everyone.

No one replied, they just shrugged their shoulders. They didn't care. They were robots.

"Some thing is wrong I know it." I got up. My legs trembling, my heart racing. Where did she go? I thought. How could she have broken our circle of trust?

" Come sit down honey, she'll come when she's ready," The prostitute said, putting her black cold hand, onto my pale skin.

I breathed in clenching my knees together. She was right; I moved her chair away, making our circle of trust smaller. It was incomplete.

After a few hours everyone got up looked up and said

"Thank you."

They all made there way to the door, to the real world. I didn't move. I knew something was wrong. Me and the attic had this bond. Her eyes, my eyes, we had a connection, I knew something was wrong. I pressed my hands together twisting my fingers in a twisler position. Looked at the picture of Jesus, and prayed. I prayed that she would be safe; I prayed she would come back to me. Then I began to cry. I missed her. Her touch, her face, the smell of her hair. I missed the scar on the top of her lip, that her dad gave her when she was twelve. I knew something was going to be different.

Instead of doing my usual, going home and drinking routine, I went to a bar. It was a shitty little bar I used to go to before, I got aids. The walls were a deep purple, with dirt in every corner, the floors a deep blackish red type of wood. The people in the bar were no better. There were five fat men; all coke heads, all doing nothing with their life but sex, drugs, and alcohol. No one complained. At the end of the bar I saw two women. They were remarkable. They were different. I walked towards them; maybe they knew were my drug attic was. I took a deep breath; I never knew how to talk to women. I stepped. I stopped. I couldn't do it. I had to; I had to find my friend, my soul mate, and my love. I put my hands in my pocket, and walked. I was there, just staring at them. They were drinking beer. What were such different ladies doing at a shit hole like this?

I sat beside one, I looked at her hair, and I just wanted to touch it. I looked at her coat, it was Burberry. Just her back infatuated me. She made my heart skip a beat. I braced myself, and tapped her shoulder. She turned around. Her yellowish brown eyes met my brown ones, we connected. I looked at her nose; it was perfect, then her lips. They were small luscious lips with a scar on the left side. It was she. She smiled.

" You found me." She said, so calmly.

" I found you." I said honestly.

We just stared. Stared into each other's eyes. The world stopped. It was us.

Just us.

She grabbed my pale hand, put it on her heart.

"Feel it," she whispered in to my ear. Her voice numbed the pain. All I heard was the voice of a goddess, a voice of love.

It was beating, beating fast, then faster and faster. Her heart was racing as if she was in a race and the adrenaline was pouring threw her body, and she had to win, she was going to win.

My life was complete. I had her.

I didn't know why she didn't come to the circle of trust. It didn't matter. I found her. I was complete.

For hours we just sat, and stared into each other's eyes.

People kept coming into the bar, and leaving the bar, but our eyes were always connected. She looked at the time, and ran.

She didn't say good-bye, she just ran. My eyes stared. Stared as she ran. I couldn't move, because u was in a state of shock. My heart stopped, my body froze. I just saw my eternity run, run away from me.

I sat at the bar, wondering where she went. Why did she go?

Where did she go?

I sat at the bar all night, asking myself the same questions over and over again.

Days went by, and my routine changed. I woke up, went to the circle of trust, she was not there anymore, and then I went to the bar to wait for her. She was not there. Months went by, and I kept on going with the same routine. She still was not there. I stopped taking my medication and my body felt like it was decaying. It did not matter. As the days went by, pieces of my body died away. First my liver, then my intestines. Everything shriveled slowly sucking the life out of me.

The circle of trust was never the same again. Everyone cried except me, everyone held hands, except me, everyone smiled except me. My life was incomplete, so was the circle.

I was at the bar, waiting. Staring at the fat men, high from their cocaine, staring at their smiles because they just had sex with the prostitute around the corner. I was waiting. My body still decaying. A year went by. She was not there. I gave up. I left the bar walking to my hell, also known as my apartment. I noticed something new. It was the moon. It was rising, while the sun was setting. The sky, it was orange and blue and purple. It was beautiful. I never appreciated the little things in life like the moon, and the colors of the sun. It was a new appreciation, a new exhilaration, a new hope.

I inhaled the crisp New York air. I looked around to see dozens of people walking. They were walking to there friends, to their families, to their lives. There were big ones, little ones, everyone so different, yet so similar. As they walked I just stared, stared at the setting sun, and the rising moon. I exhaled closing my eyes. My eyes opened, inhaled, however the air was not as crisp as before. It smelled sickening, dead bodies, and medicine. I was not outside; I was not at my apartment. I was confused. Unaware of were I was, were I was going. I was trapped. I was trapped and paralyzed to a bed. Looking around I noticed the green curtains, and white beds surrounded my metal cur tons. People were walking backwards, and forwards with metal clipboards, people on wheel chairs. Old people young people. I knew were I was, but I didn't know how I got there.

I wanted to leave. I began to have feelings in my fingertips; slowly my whole body began to have power. It was minimal but it was enough to lift up my body, to have a better view of were I was.

It was then she walked in. She was wearing a white robe, her hair was pinned back. Her eyes were beautiful. They were yellowish brown, her nose perfect, and her loucious lips with a scar on the left side. Her eyes, and mine connected. We were in sync. We just stared.

" You found me." I said with a smirk on my face.

" I found you." She said, in a sweet voice.

Our eyes were connected, we just stared.

I took her hand, and placed onto my chest.

"Feel," I said whispering into her ear. She just smiled.

We just stared. She looked down at her metal notebook. Then looked back into my eyes.

" Why are you dying?" she asked me, still hold her hand on my chest.

" I fell in love," I replied, holding her hand onto my chest.

We just stared, we smiled.

A tear rolled down, her fair skin, and fell onto my hand. I never knew why she ran away from the bar, it didn't matter. She was here now. She was mine, I had her, and she has me. My life was complete.

Minutes went by, and we stared, stared at each other knowing we had each other. Her other patience didn't matter, we were together. More minutes went by, and then I began to cry. I knew I was going to die. I was going to leave the one person who had meaning in my life. I didn't know why.

Why was I blessed with her?

Why was she cursed with me?

Whatever reasons it was, she was here.

More minutes went by. My heart began to beat slower. She looked at me, she was worried. My eyes grew heavier. She screamed. My hand left her heart. She cried.

Nurses came in, doctors came in. Everyone was running. It was as if a sea of people were colliding into me, drowning me, smothering me, trying to revive me. They cared. They knew I was going to die, but they didn't want me to die. I couldn't tell you why. I was scum, they knew I was scum, but they tried. The sea of people in white coats began to move faster, everything began to spin, they came together and formed into a white ball. They knew, they knew I was dead. My heart stopped beating, my brain stopped working. I was gone. I lived, I loved, I died, and I was complete.

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