The Morning After

It is the day after another wreck. I watch her stand there like an idiot; her hands on her hips, wondering what the hell happened. Moments like these, I grab my camera and take photos of her with that frown on her face. I know then, that my eames chair girl is back. She was sober again or shall I say logical, and was in her right mind. I have about forty-three snapshots of her looking exactly like how I am describing her now. I guess that goes to show how many times she got drunk when she was pressured by her agents or how many times she was reported to the authorities by our neighbors or how many times I lie awake at night worrying and hating myself for falling helplessly in love with a woman who was as unpredictable as the weather and as unreliable as the news anchor in Channel 8. Worst, falling in love with a woman who does not know I exist. She does not even know my name. Sure, she knows she has a neighbor. In fact, she is quite aware she has neighbors since she has been reported countless times to the authorities by the same neighbors who complained of too much racket at her house. She does not know a thing about me. She does not even know I watch her. I do not know what she will do if she will learn about my stalking rituals.

She is sitting on her chair now, her small hands are clasped on her lap as she sadly stared at the stab marks on her favorite chair. She looked closer to check the damage and to hopefully find a clue to the culprit’s weapon only to discover the charcoal smudges on the sides. She shook her head and slapped her face several times before stopping. I almost heard her sigh. She traced the stab marks with the tips of her fingers and lovingly enclosed the ripped black leather together before wiping the skin clean with a daisy-scented sanitizer. She is careful not to cause further damage to her already damaged chair. In times like these, I wish I was that chair. I care not for the torture the day or night before, what mattered was the love I will be getting the next day when she was my Salome again. I am certain, that the lows of her momentary insanity will be compensated by the highs of being taken cared of her clear-headed disposition.