Ray sat. It was night. He was in a café. It was raining outside. He sat quietly, enjoying more than the average amount of private thought, and he sat comfortably, in the corner of a large room where he was able to, if he so pleased, pretend he was king of all he could see. It was almost Christmas.

Now, the exact course his mind was following will remain unknown, but it’s safe to say his attention was almost entirely occupied by the girl across the room who was at present spending her time washing some dishes, the specific details of which were so inconsequential to Ray that he couldn’t even tell you what color they were if you asked him right then at that moment. No, he was much more interested in her shape, not that hers was irregular, and the extraordinary way in which she moved, not that anyone else there besides Ray would find it even the least bit interesting. Her name was Lily and she was everything. He literally closed his eyes and imagined himself burying his nose in her hair, slowly moving his careful fingers up and down her pale, freckled arms; the cold touch of his skin upon hers filling him with such a feeling he-

Whenever he was on his way to somewhere he knew Lily would also be, it was unusual for Ray not to turn the radio all the way down and spend at least five minutes talking out the speech he was finally going to give to her about how he wanted her so bad that he wouldn’t take no for an answer this time; and in every single instance, just as he was about to stride proudly up to her and declare his unending love, he might notice a spot on his shoe, or a worn away bit on the cuff of his pants that was somehow too offensive for such a serious situation as the one he was about to face, thereby causing him to scrap the whole thing, though never without a promise to himself that next time, when he looked a little bit more presentable, he would definitely not be afraid to tell her how he felt. He obviously just didn’t want his particular feelings on the matter to be an inconvenience to her in any way, or something, he guessed.

However, none of this was particularly remarkable. In fact, it happened pretty much every time Ray came in to get some coffee, which was at this point in his “relationship” with Lily, almost every day. Of particular note though, on this otherwise humdrum evening, was the man with the brown sweater. Firstly, his sweater was usually dark green. Secondly, he usually didn’t stare intently at Ray from the seat on his left that happened to be just barely within his field of vision. The fact that Ray noticed both of these small discrepancies almost immediately despite his current preoccupation with the absolutely lovely girl behind the counter really said something about just how unexpected these two things really were. In fact, Ray just wasn’t able to cope. He didn’t know what to do at all.

At first, he just pretended like everything was business as usual. He sipped his coffee with a patient, reserved form of nonchalance that can only ever be achieved by people in almost his exact situation. Then he cleared his throat. Then he looked at a newspaper. He didn’t read it; he just looked. Then he shifted in his chair. He quickly stole a glance to the left. Brown Sweater hadn’t even moved. Ray sat. Then he looked at Lily. Then he sipped his coffee again. He wasn’t very happy or comfortable. It wasn’t looking good. He tried the whole routine a few more times through until he was so nervous that he could no longer remember what came after the quick look to the left, and the whole thing went to shit. Suddenly a thought struck him. Go now. Regroup. He put down his coffee too quickly and a single drop splashed out through the top and onto his hand. He was surprised at the lack of any pain. It probably felt cold because there was so little. He couldn’t get this thought out of his mind as he made his way to the counter.

As a regular in this particular café, Ray often found himself abandoning the area of the counter in front of the cash registers in a favor of the more personal area near the part of the counter finished drinks were placed on. He headed there now. Lily was there, rinsing a plate at the sink with her back to him. Even disoriented as he was and completely focused on the mystery at hand, he couldn’t help taking just a few seconds to admire the way she looked, her hair falling over her bare shoulders, rust-colored in the dim, yellow, forty-watt light.

“Hey, Scoob. Come here for a second.” Lily shook some water off of her hands and smiled.

“Res? Rut’s up, raggy? Rime for a rooby-rack?” Her eyes were like a swinging hypnotist’s watch, but for Ray, it was an anomaly. Regardless of his paralyzingly strong feelings for her, he was completely at ease, and perhaps even somewhat adventurous in his social boundary crossing around Lily; provided, of course, that he wasn’t trying to open up to her about something serious. And though she was almost certainly aware of Ray’s rather obvious dedication to her, Lily would usually affect a disarmingly smart and sassy disposition in her frequent dealings with him. It was one of the things that he greatly appreciated about this particular situation, and could always depend on it, but it was also one of those things that he might sit in his underwear and scream about till four in the morning with three or four inebriated friends. Actually, the underwear bit only happened once, but the screaming was pretty much the order of the day come alcohol time. Plus, he liked how cute her lame Scooby-Doo impression was.

“Okay, well, here’s the thing. Kinda weird, but see that guy over there with the brown? Don’t be obvious about it, just sorta look real quick.” Ray ran one nervous hand through his greasy hair. It felt slightly cold, and he decided he found his currently level of uncleanliness happily bearable, if not desirable. Lily looked.

“What? Okay, yeah. He looks like he’s writing something down. Also he’s like, really smiling. A lot.” She reached over, picked up a wooden coffee stirrer and flicked Ray in the forehead. Ray didn’t move an inch. He really wanted her to do it again. “You think he’s in love with you?”

“Maybe…” Ray laughed sparingly, afraid he was going to end up sounding like an oaf or something if he completely let loose.

“Got yourself a little secret admirer over there, Ray?”

“Yeah. I doubt it. So what are you up to tonight? Wanna go do something weird and exciting and interesting after this?” Ray shifted nervously from one foot to the other. He tried not to look at Lily’s chest, which had for some reason become the focus of his attention now. He was doing a pretty good job of stealing glances when she wasn’t looking, and he never failed to look right at her face when he was talking to her; the popularly accepted cardinal rule of boob-watching.

“Nothing! Let’s go to the bookstore and eat!” Lily was smiling and jumping. It was charming. Ray literally smiled in spite of himself, which probably only actually happened once a month or so. He was about to say something winsome and alarmingly overt about how delightful she was, and he probably would have regretted it, but before he could, she froze; her eyes widened, and she shot a glance over his left shoulder. She spoke softly and quietly, but with strength, like a faraway dog bark. “Holy shit! He’s coming over!”

Ray hadn’t even turned around completely before he felt a large hand close lightly on his arm. He turned around, startled, and beheld Brown Sweater in all his glory. He was tall, but unimposing, and with a cleverness about him that suggested he might at any moment reveal himself to be a spy. His brow was overly pronounced in the most prehistoric way, and he had at least a thin layer of dark brown hair growing from every visible patch of skin on his face, neck, and hands. Ray coughed. Brown Sweater spoke. He had an accent of some kind, probably from Europe. “I need to speak to you outside. Bring your coffee. Is cold, but cold coffee outside is good for rain.” He smiled rather darkly, but with genuine friendliness.

Confusion. Complete confusion. Ray couldn’t move his arms or legs, but his mouth was kind of moving involuntarily, like a small fish on it’s side when it jumps out of the bowl and lands on the floor. It was in no way becoming, and he tried his best to stop. He closed and open his eyes twice in succession, cleared his throat, and whimpered like a baby turtle or something. “Yeah, okay. Lily?”

“Go ahead, Ray. I’ll just finish these dishes.” Lily looked straight into Ray’s eyes. No one but Ray would be able to tell how close she was to laughing.

“Alright. See you in a few minutes.” said Ray.

“Yes. No more than few minutes.” said Brown Sweater.

“Okay, then.” said Ray. All three of them stood where they were for another six seconds, nervously looking back and forth at each other. Brown Sweater made the move as he turned towards the door.

“We will go. Get your coffee.”

Outside, Ray and Brown Sweater found a seat around the edge of an empty brick fountain. There was a small japanese boy playing around in the puddle that formed inside it. He was wearing a pink raincoat and boots. He hopped into the water with both feet at once. Ray thought he looked like someone who expected to find an underwater cavern below. Maybe there would be a lost treasure down there. His boots made contact. There was a shallow splash, and nothing more.

“So. You are named Ray, yes?” Brown Sweater pulled a cigarillo from his pocket and took a long drag from it. It made a quiet crackling noise, and Ray found it oddly comforting. Still, something bothered him about the image before him, and he stared at the gray burning tip for a long time before he realized that he couldn’t remember ever seeing him light it. It was miraculous to Ray. It was scary. It was wondrous. He tried to put it out of his head, but he was not at all successful. He felt he was in the presence of someone perhaps fantastic; a ghost, or an alien.

“Yeah. I’m Ray. What did you need to speak with me about?”  He decided not to ask him his name. For some reason he didn’t need to know. He was Brown Sweater. That was enough.

Brown Sweater uncrossed his legs, and exhaled loudly as he put down one hairy hand to steady himself. His fingers were rough knobs; laborer’s fingers, covered in dirt, sweat, and ink. “Well, Ray, I am man who will help people. I  would help them in ways that they cannot help for themselves.”

“What do you mean?” Ray was surprised at how familiar he was being with this total stranger. It probably had something to do with his broken English.

Brown Sweater interrupted his train of thought by knocking on the shop window and smiling knowingly and expectantly. Ray sat, unsure of what to do. The japanese boy fell down with a plastic thud and started crying. A blender went off in the distance. Slowly he decided Ray had no idea what he was talking about, and he frowned. “Her.”

But Ray knew. Ray knew exactly what he was talking about. Subconsciously, he knew almost from when they sat down out here who this was about, but at the same time he really didn’t; the idea of this gargantuan weirdo being able to sense it without even speaking to him once was like coming home to find a burglar in his closet, and by this point he wanted him to put back whatever he stole, and kindly just leave. “Her? Who, Lily? No! No way! It’s not really like that between us at all! We’re just good friends!” Ray didn’t even feel like a liar. He was so embarrassed, and so determined to escape this startlingly true accusation, that his mind made what he was saying true. Brown Sweater would have none of it.

“Oh, Ray. Ray, Ray, Ray. You are not telling me truth. But it is okay. I understand why you do this.” Ray’s lips were tightly locked into a frown, and his eyes were wide with speechlessness, as if someone had just stabbed him in the thigh with a letter opener. He shrugged his shoulders, and vigorously shook his head, enjoying the way his protruding lower lip felt as it flopped around, probably letting the motion last a little longer than it would have otherwise. Brown Sweater blew smoke up out of his mouth and over his head carefully, like he was trying to casually let out a burp, and he grinned. Then he spoke again. “But let me ask you question, Ray. If she was out here in the rain, and not me, and she wanted to kiss with you, you would say no?” Ray nodded reluctantly.

“Yeah, I would. I mean, well, I dunno. Like, who would refuse a kiss from a beautiful girl? Anyone would kiss her.” He actually felt half-satisfied with his response, like he might get away with this if he kept at it, and he affected an understated victory smirk. Brown Sweater would have none of it.

“So you find her beautiful, yes? You said this now.”

            “Well, yes, but I just meant-”

                                    “What if she wants to fuck you then?”

Ray sat.

            “Ray, What if she wants to fuck you then?”

                                                            “I don’t really-”

“Ray!”

                                                                                                            What?

What if she wants to fuck you then?

Brown Sweater was adamant. Ray was hard up. The ugliness of the question was disarming. The answer was obvious, and in the back of his mind, Ray was always aware of it, but it wasn’t something he frequently considered, and it was an unpleasant concept to confront. It made everything so much more adult, and when relationships matured, even imaginary ones, Ray found, problems became easier to foresee. Because of the man in the brown sweater, he had to, for the first time, entertain the idea that a relationship with Lily might not work out at all. Ever. He was so afraid now, suddenly, that he wasn’t even sure he wanted to find out either way. All because he wanted to have sex with her.

And just like that Ray came to hate Brown Sweater. He hated him for taking away something so intrinsically happy and carefree.  He hated him for smiling while he did it. He hated him for putting the idea of naked sex and deteriorating love into his head. And he hated those magic cigarillos. But it was so hard for Ray to even begin to respond.

Rrrrraaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyy.

Sat. Sat. Sat. Sex. Sat.

His fist clenched. He stared at the worn away cuff of his pants. The japanese boy left with his mother. Ray, a victim of overly dramatic feelings his entire life, finally decided to take a powerful and disciplined stance against his own conscious feelings. He thought about it. Lily was still the most wonderful person he’d ever met. His relationship with her was the closest thing in his life so far to love. And he knew he was physically drawn to her; hopelessly so. Jesus. He just wanted to go back to watching her wash dishes. But he decided to be honest.

“I would say yes. I would say yes, please, and I would try to be cute about it. And I wasn’t being completely honest with you earlier about the kissing. I would kiss her without thinking if she told me too. But why I am I telling you this? I can’t even believe you’re real.”

Brown Sweater shrugged. He paused for a moment and took a long drag from the burning hunk of leaves hanging out of his mouth. “You know what, Ray? I do not have answer.  I think you tell me because you are in need of a telling yourself. I do not know really why you pick me for this. But enough of this.  This is not the reason I am here.” He moved to continue, but Ray stopped him, confused.

“You aren’t here for what? Lily? But I thought you-”

“Oh no.” Brown Sweater laughed strangely. It seemed he was made a little uncomfortable by the implication. He shoved one large hand into his pocket as he spoke and began rifling around for something. “What person am I to speak in a serious way to a stranger about this? I only had to tell you about your laptop computer. An acquaintance I met here for coffee earlier took it from next to your chair while you were distracted by girl. I did not want to cause a problem in shop, so I write his address here for you so you may inquire to the police on it.”  He grunted in quiet satisfaction as he produced a white slip of paper from his pocket and offered it to Ray proudly. Ray looked at it.

“Man,” Ray said. “I…I don’t have a laptop.”

“Oh? I was sure it was yours. Well, now you have address if someone is missing it. Tell the girl.”

“What?”

“Tell the girl there about the address so she might tell someone.”

“Oh, yeah. You just…I don’t know. I…For some reason I thought you were going to offer me like, a love wish or something, you know? I just immediately went to this weird place in my head, and that’s what I came up with.” Ray blushed, but he didn’t smile. He was still very off-put by the whole situation, and now that it was clear every last bit of was literally pointless, he moved from outwardly irritated to completely devoid of emotion. He felt like a painting of himself, and looked into Brown Sweater’s eyes. Brown Sweater looked away quickly, out towards the parking lot, probably right at his car, yearning to simply leave and go home at this point. Ray’s gaze shifted back into the shop. He didn’t look at Brown Sweater again.

“Well, Ray. I am sorry I made you feel this way. I did not intend this.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So I go now, Ray. Also, I really am sorry again.”

“It’s okay man. See you later.” Brown Sweater stood to leave, brushed himself off, and began to walk away. A quick metallic ping drew Ray’s focus to the floor near his feet. As he bent down to pick up what fell, he reached and touched Brown Sweater’s arm. “Wait.”

“Yes, Ray?”

“You dropped your lighter.”

http://www.ahickshope.net/dreams.htm

          He was sitting there on his couch eating some chips that were supposed to taste like pizza. They didn’t. He just liked salty things, and these were the closest things he could find that fit into that category. It didn’t really matter. He was so tired that he couldn’t even remember what sport he was watching. He’d been working all day, and he finally came home to his pizza chips, and he was almost asleep when the phone rang like it knew how much it bothered him. Against all odds, he picked it up.

            “Hello?”

            “Yes, is this Usiel? With the brown Cadillac?”

            “Yeah.” He hated his stupid name. Like, it was tight, but everyone who said it always said it like they were saying a curse word, so he hated it. He almost hated it as much as he hated the fact that, after years of scrimping and saving and wishing to own a Cadillac, it was broken more than it worked. He hated that it was brown, too. It gave people the impression that he was about fifty years older than he actually was. It was the kind of paint job that said it was the least of the owner’s worries.

            “Hi, this is Tommy from the garage. You said that you wanted to replace the engine on this vehicle?”

            “Yes, that’s right. Is something wrong?” He already knew the answer. He also felt very sorry for himself and decided it was time for another pizza chip. His dog came into the room and tried to jump onto his lap. The great brute was roughly the size of an oil tanker, and Usiel could feel his soul being crushed, so he pushed him away. He sauntered out of the room and back down the hall like he should be one upset, the nerve.

            “Well, not really. I mean, we could still replace it if that’s what you want, but you could just buy a whole new car for how much we’d have to charge you. Well, I mean, not brand new, but, uh, of equal value to the car you, uh, previously owned. Or something.” There was a long silence where you could almost feel the self-pity and frustration floating through the air. “Sir? Are you still there?”

            “Yeah, sorry. Don’t do anything to it tomorrow until I come by.”

            “Alright, that’s fine. We open at eleven.”

            “Okay, thanks.”

            “Have a nice night, sir. See you tomorrow.”

            “Bye bye.” And he hung up. He hated it when he earnestly said “bye bye”. He felt like an idiot. What people thought of him was of the utmost importance. Now this guy probably thought he was some kind of weak little loser with a really stupid name and a dumb brown car.

            It is a time like this one in a man’s life that usually ends up causing some sort of reflection on how life has been so far. And so Usiel reflected. He was twenty-seven years old. He gave up drawing for a career in the Air Force when he was seventeen because he thought flying was cool. Several years later, he found himself in Florida with his dumb brown car and an even dumber brown dog. So the question entered his mind? What did he really have going for him? Well, for one thing, he had a wonderful wife. She was probably the only reason he wasn’t aggressive and was instead merely passive-aggressive. He could also fly a large aircraft with the capability of sinking the entire country of Japan. This was more cool than useful, but you know, whatever. He was still a man with manly, explosion and violence-related needs.

            This made him feel a little better. Plus, he had a few more pizza chips so he was in relatively high spirits. Yes, life was okay. And he really wanted to go fly some planes.

I’ll take my secret flowers and push them up, past the lost memories, past the night writing, past my every broken vase and thrown-up dust ball and into the back of my closet, where the sunlight can’t get and it still smells like the difference between the effects of certain detergents on mold.

I hope they smell good. I hope they die fast.

I was never cut out to be florist.

Do this to me more.

I will always let you, you snake.

Let me sometime.

I am so tired of listening to these clocks.

Okay, I drive a van, first of all. It’s like, pretty modern, probably from like, 2000 or 2001, but the goal here is to do everything in your power to imagine that it’s not only very old, but preferably not a van at all. Let’s try something more along the lines of a like, topless jeep. Is that what it’s called? The kind of jeep that one dude drives through the shitty, tribal part of Africa in that movie about the Coke bottle. Actually, any shitty-ass car you might find in that part of Africa will work, so just visualize one. You will probably need to roll down the windows for this one. Nextly, imagine that it’s overcast. Like, extremely overcast. Like, you can smell the rain about to come down and make it Jurassic Park in the daytime. And now, make sure you’re going fast. Fast so you’re cold and your nose is dry and it smells like blood; blissfully fast. Do you feel the lust for life yet? Maybe try imagining a damp, grassy hillside to your right, and a huge drop-off to your left where you can see the harbor in the distance, and houses in the foreground. Listen to your engine. Blast some Tropicalia and sing along. Imagine the quality of your ride to be as dirty, cold, wet, and good as possible. Remain receptive to the beauty of nature. This’ll be awesome.

Enjoy. I hope that worked.

“Yeah, I loved someone once. She was the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met, and so beautiful too. I sure do miss her.”

My thoughts cause my mind to wander. I might be crying, but my face is always wet now, and there’s no more feeling, so I can’t tell for sure. I stop talking and try to sleep.

I’m so glad to have what I have with you. I hope you read this in like, a year. Then it’ll be okay that’s so weird, and we can just enjoy the feeling I felt when I wrote it.

I think I’m gonna go kiss you now.