Writing Exercise # 6 Jonathan D. W.

She lived on the second floor of the Lafitte housing project which was just a few blocks away on Claiborne Avenue, which intersects Canal Street and lines the north perimeter of the French Quarter. When Tyrus awoke in her apartment a few hours later, he found himself underneath a heavy atmosphere of jasmine and patchouli incense that was illuminated by three wire-necked floor lamps covered by crimson and dark yellow scarves that served as lighting gels; the glow and hue of the smoke made him think that he was still in the gentleman’s club on rue Bourbon. The sound of running water gave him the fright of thinking that he was urinating on himself. It was a large Oriental water fountain that once he looked behind him, toward her bedroom, he could see because of three gallon sized, pillar candles positioned beneath it. Their illumination distorted everything else in her living room, making the table look like it was four times its size and giving the fountain the shape of a great altar on the wall behind it. Her bedroom door was open and he imagined her sleeping, immured by her temple of incense and the subtle blue noise of the water fountain, unsullied by the debased nature of her occupation. He was laying on a sumptuous, thick Oriental rug and was blanketed with an oversized chenille throw. Sleep recaptured him and he dreamed of Erika in the shower and savored the scent of body wash on her skin, something like the smell of ginseng and fresh pastry. Sometime later that morning he noticed that Erika was sleeping beside him. They were not touching but her head was within inches of his. Sometimes she would sigh in her sleep and he would think of the woman who had once so enamored him and who now sought to separate him from everything that he had ever known. It was one in the afternoon when he woke. Erika had already risen and was busy in the bathroom doing her hair. At night her place was filled with some sort of sensual, Eastern aura, but in the day it was just a sedate, uniquely appointed apartment. There was a plant green leather sofa immediately to the right of the entrance. A 50'' plasma television was positioned across from the sofa, to the right of the water fountain. To its left was the hallway and the kitchen, where there was a wooden island draped with a plethora of tools like a pastry blender, a nutmeg grater, and a garlic pistel. At the right of the television was a cattycorner breakfast nook made of the same almond colored wood as the island. There were two end tables of the same kind, with bamboo lamps on them. The rug covered most of the living room and there was a wooden tray with several unusual looking metal incense burners, made of metal the color of bronze and emblazoned with obscure and finely detailed reliefs, sitting at the edge of the rug, above their pillows. He recognized the Ouroboros, the snake eating itself, so he assumed they were all mythical in nature. The east wall, to the right of the sofa, had a charming 36”/48” painting of four women, who appeared to be courtesans, preening some pudgy aristocratic looking gentleman with a long beard and a wry grin. It was an original. When he sat up she seemed to know and came in to say good morning. He thanked her for letting him spend the night. He complimented her comfortable rug and she just smiled and gave him a playful punch in the shoulder for falling asleep on her. Her hair was in a pony tail and her face, free from makeup, was particularly fresh and saccharine because of her sanguine, dark chestnut skin tone and her disarming, babyish cheeks. It was only when she asked him if he wanted breakfast that he realized how famished he was. She made banana pancakes with Steen’s syrup and he ate all eight of them. “I like that, you eat like a man should,” she said with a satisfied expression, more concerned with watching him chew than eating her own food. He was granted a respite. At least for that day she had adopted him. “The last thing I ate was a fish sandwich in the airport and I think I was hungrier after I ate it.” She shook her head as if she was glad to have the opportunity of giving him a real meal. She looked up from her plate and gave him a good looking over. He was wearing a pair of Pepe jeans and a close fitting blue A-shirt, his blue oxford button up abandoned on the sofa. “You don’t look like you’re used to missing many meals,” she said suggestively, admiring the musculature that he had developed eating hearty Watchtower meals and working long, physically demanding hours in the printing bindery. He was late in catching her innuendo and when he did, he blushed a bit more than he would have liked to. ”Hey, you didn’t bring me here to take advantage of me did you?” he said, regaining his usual composure. Her wide, unaffected smile seemed to prove that her intentions were pure. “What if I did? Who would believe a little thing like me could take advantage of a man like you?” she teased, enjoying the vulnerability that was not as feigned as she presumed. He looked into her as they talked and ate, and saw something that he could not wrap his mind around. Erika was so good-natured and innately intelligent, yet she was a natural flirt whose sexuality was always on the surface. The way she owned it somehow removed any sense of shame. He marveled at her. “So what were you doing in that club? You don’t seem like that type of guy?” she said while looking him straight in the eyes. “What type of guy is that,” he asked, intrigued by her perspective of him. “You…I don’t know” not sure of what it was about him that gave her that impression. “Recently, this year, I have been through a lot.” He confessed before he realized he was doing so. “I can tell.” She said, wisely refraining from prying. His eyes grew tense and the queasiness of last night’s indulgences was suddenly more difficult to ignore. She saw him trying to find the words, trying to express what was going on with him, and just as the resolve and clarity to open up began to reach his lips, the weight of it all fractured and he could say nothing. She knew that whatever it was, it was probably more profound than she was capable of helping him with, and she was afraid of learning what it might be.