A Matter of Love in da Bronx by Paul Argentini Read Free Book Online

like dot. For God's sake. Lock the door.
    He left, as a ghost with the morning fog.
    Desperation. Sam felt it in the quiet of the moment left long after the leathery scuff of Sol's steps. His mind raced as it did at these times. Sol? Did you or did you not understand that I was asking if there was something I could do for you personally? If you didn't, that would be too bad for both of us; for me because you deprive me of doing something for you; and for you to know something about me. But, if you did, and you denied me, was it because your pride would not allow yourself the luxury of a friendly gesture; but I think more, you felt there was absolutely nothing I can do. I can only surmise, and doing that, I chose to vote against myself: That I didn't make myself clear, that you felt me incapable of helping rather than your own stubborn display of independence.
    Desperation. It squirted out of his sweat pores under building inner pressure. It wasn't just Sol. This moment was a culmination of his life. A sickening realization that to himself if no one else he was a sacred and holy living human being who had discarded...Lo! Chucked away! All his life so far! The rage of his worthlessness fueled the hopelessness of the moment. He was of value to no one! If he were to disappear would his mother and father survive without his paycheck? They were emotional hunchbacks for years already; would his departure saltier make their tears? How could he think of such a thing? The thought brought with it hard pain. Who else was left? Sol? He himself just told you, and perhaps that caused the impact. Perhaps I was counting on him. You counted on no one all your life so far, and now you find in reaching out there is no acceptance. You are born alone; you die alone. You must live alone. Oh! How crummy. How sad you didn't feel these ages ago, and like a Diogenes went on a search to learn if this is the lousy world I think it is. I handed my life and my destiny over to my parents, because they gave me life and I exchanged it for serfdom. I should've taken what was rightfully mine, my own living being breathing self! That I loved them? Not as much that as that in needing me, I needed them. Falsely. I conceded no one else would want me. Physically for sure not. But, intellectually! I could comingle ecstatic orgasms that would envy the Olympics held on Mt. Olympus. If you're so fucking smart, why are you here? Look around! See wherein you do, see whereof you work, see wherefrom you derive! I don't want to talk about that. Go lock the door like he says. Lock the door! Lock out the rest of your life! What about Sol? He didn't even offer you a personal day off for your birthday. So? What about Sol? Shhh! Shhhh! Shhhh! Shhhh! Stop thinking! Stop thinking! Make yourself stop thinking these caustic, disastrous thoughts. Tell me what you see?
    Standing stock still, he saw first, that his chin was hardpressed to the upper part of his breastbone, the primal posture of unportentousness. Dejection. Next, his rounded belly, moving slowly in and out with each breath, like a beached whale going fast. Then the rolled up cuffs, deflated inner tubes, suspended above the untied shoe laces. His arms limp at his sides. Thus he was when he spoke to Sol; when Sol spoke to him; when Sol left. And now he remained for some twelve minutes thinking only of himself. He saw himself as the pretty girl saw him; as the mother saw him; as Sol saw him. Now, as he saw himself. His shoulders jerked as in a hiccough spasm. Again. His belly pulled in. Then, he could contain himself no more, and let out the laughter. It was soooooooooo funnneeeeeeeeee! Indeed, t'was a sight to behold! He laughed loud and long; but much longer than was called for, and he knew why. Ridi, Pagliacci! He stopped instantly. He gathered himself roughly, sternfaced taking to the door, locking it, returning to his work. Work! Work! Sweet Jesus! Your divine brilliance to provide me workings! With the skirt on the sofa