RuKsaK

If you have not read the previous parts, you MUST do so first. Click for:
Part 1
Part 2

This is the final part.
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Plans are prototype constructions of the future – actions and people shoved around corners not yet turned. This is not a metaphor.

A plan is a concealed booth in a nightclub, with a couple seated in it and fondling, exchanging sweets, apologising, promising to revive a secret. This is a corner of a nightclub which might never be there.
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My sister came home from school. My unemployed body was positioned in front of the television:
‘You know Liz Michaels, don’t you?’
‘Ha! Oh yeah – and so?’
‘Have you heard?’
‘Heard what?’ irritated already.
‘She’s dead.’
A bash of what-the-fuck, knotted jazz-silence hammered down me. Some future exploded. I literally felt the weight of my brain in my head – around a hundred kilograms.

‘She was on the back of her boyfriend’s motorbike. They were doing ninety along…’
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A week later, Stevo, with his undiluted honesty:
‘She knew. She just knew RuKsaK.’
‘Aw, fuck Stevo. What did she know?’
‘She knew, some part of her knew she wouldn’t live long.’
‘Christ! Stevo, please.’
‘I was with Liz for two years. Six months ago we suddenly started doing it all the time. I couldn’t understand it. – she was wild RuKsaK. Now I understand.’
‘Stevo – she’s dead. She’s fucking dead and nobody knew.’
‘She knew. That’s why she wanted so much sex. That’s why she left me for you and then you for the bastard with the, with the, the motorbike…’

He broke down and I felt like my hand resting on his shoulder was an invasion.
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Three weeks into no smiles, no friends, and Liz humming inside everything, I was walking past a sweet shop. The smell of sugar came to me and I forgot about her for four seconds. A concentrated four seconds. I exited that moment letting out a quick, involuntary cackle of freedom.

Something seventeen years old in my body, but millions for the Monkey rolled back inside. A prehistoric infestation shot from my innately callous bollocks, up my spine, to my head. It said:
‘I want to fuck another cunt now.’

It told me more than it should have. It wasn’t lying and nor am I.

Friday, January 14, 2005

Liz – part 3