July 26, 2018 by RJ
I ordered whatever food and sat on the living room floor in my apartment and tried to eat something. There were ghosts in my head. Ghosts with tape recorders, with cameras, with fluid, dead faces, especially when I closed my eyes, inside my eyelids ghosts, ghosts like ice water, like Maggie. I even had the TV off. The apartment was striped down and quiet, perfectly cleaned, with all my clothes, even my ties, hung. A melancholy was definitely creeping though. I dumped enough salt on my rice I thought I’d shrivel to bone. I read some e-mails for work the next day, a wave of advertisements, a logistical question, two complaints from my boss about my monthly credit card sales. In the apartment below me, I heard the mother with the wonderful red hair talk in strange tongues to her toddler, and I wanted to put my ear to the floor and listen forever, but I didn’t. I just ate, did work, and when my eyes started to close, rolled my arms and legs into my body and fell asleep. I never remembered nights, a new shape for hours, and woke to my alarm going off in the morning. I put the leftover food in the fridge and ran my head under some cold water in the kitchen sink, the water dripping from my hair, to my nose, to my chin, to the floor. I wanted to slip on that water, slip back inside dreams, maybe even slip to death, but instead I tied my tie until it was straight and walked to the L for work.
Jesse Eagle edits the online journal DOGZPLOT.