Some cool bonsai care tree images:
Image by wakingphotolife
Sunday
Alice sat at the edge of her bed. She was in her bath robe when I came out and tuning her viola. She did not pay attention to me. She played the A string and listened to its pitch. She tightened the peg and listened to it again. When she was satisfied she went through the rest of the rings, D, G and C. She played the A and D string together. Then D and C.
I watched her from the sofa with quiet interest. It had been a long I tuned a viola and I realized that even if I wanted to, I had already forgotten. When she was finished, I walked over to her bed and removed a Virginia Slim from the silver case she kept underneath the lamp.
"I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all."
"How often do you tune it?"
"Once a week, usually on Sundays when I'm bored."
She wiped the base of the viola and the leather rest with the felt cloth from the case.
I wasn't aware of it during the night, but I felt a slight sense of guilt. I did nothing to stop it though. Fulfillment of basic physical needs. That was all it was. She had put her hand on my chest. "This is my mine now," she whispered. When her breathing became shallow and I was sure she was asleep, I turned the TV off and listened to the room. Am I, I thought. What will I be to you when you see me tomorrow in the few minutes between our shifts. We proceed as if there would be no feelings attached but here were the words. When I realized I was thinking too much, I stopped myself.
"Play something for me John."
I took the viola and set it against my neck. She laid back onto bed, closed her eyes and listened.
I played for a bit. "Stranger in Paradise". When I reached the middle section of the song I stopped and looked down at her.
"Go on…" she was smiling.
"I forgot how the notes for this part of the song."
"Just skip it then."
I went through the chorus a few more times.
"John. Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why did you stop playing? Was it because of your ex?"
"No."
"Sorry I brought it up. Never mind."
"I guess I just lost interest."
I put the viola back into the case and stood it next to the bed.
"We still have the rest of the day? What are we going to do?"
I expected her to say, "you."
"Actually, I want to go to the bookstore."
She started laughing. There was no hint of mockery; it was amusement. It said, I know this much about you now.
"So you want to read?" She slowly extended her arm and motioned it over the the shelf of books above her TV — Orson Welles, Joyce Carol Oates, Freud, Stephen King. The motion was graceful.
I had waken up early and observed what the apartment carried in the grey morning: a dark dessert rose on the coffee table, a meticulously sculpted bonsai tree that held rings in its branches and necklaces that leaned against it's trunk, an ironing board beneath the window blinds, a cream sofa with a wine stain from long ago on a cushion.
By the kitchen, clean dishes were stacked on the counter top; below the nook, an antique shoe rack that held old film cameras with their bright psychedelic camera straps dangling through the dowels onto the floor; there were photography and fashion magazines arranged on a rack mounted against the wall next to the medicine cabinet and vanity mirror in the bathroom; there were a few pill containers along the top of the sink.
She must have forgot to put them away. She didn't plan to have me over and I didn't plan to come. Against my instinct, or because of it, I studied them: Ambien, Aspirin, Vicodin, Citalopram. It was the first and last one that drew my attention. I felt a mix of relief and recognition; we were more alike than I had thought.
"How about this? Let's sleep a bit longer. We can get coffee after we wake up. What time is it?" I said.
She took her watch off the headboard, there were no clocks in the apartment. "It's ten."
"Set it for 11."
I removed her towel and crouched over her. A break in the overcast turned the window blinds orange.
"Hey…what are you doing Mr. You said you wanted to sleep."
"Nothing."
"Well." She put a hand around the back of my head and watched my face for its reactions. "You look better without your glasses and with messy hair. Come to work like this tomorrow."
"Let's not talk about…," I lowered my voice, "work."
I let her guide me. She pushed me down and I followed. It led me from where her skin was smooth to where it was coarse. And finally, where it was effortless.
"I'm shy. You're making me embarrassed."
"Why?"
I lowered my body down the bed to ease the strain growing along my the back of my neck and shoulder.
"I'm not use to someone staring at it."
"Why shouldn't I?"
"I want you look at my face instead."
I turned my eyes up towards her and focused on on the wall behind her left ear.
And mumbled with this was all about into her.
I was the only one to wake up when the alarm went off. I turned it off and dressed. It was a Sunday after all with nothing to do; she shouldn’t have to wake up. I wrote a note on the back of an envelop that was on the coffee table. I didn't think she minded. It was only junk mail. "I can't sleep anymore and didn't want to wake you up so I've gone home. Feel free to give me a call or I'll just see you around maybe."
There were a lot of other letters underneath the top envelop: who is David?
I wasn't suppose to care and it was none of my business. Whatever this was all about.
AUDIO: Fennesz – "Shisheido"
Bonsai, Care, Nice, Photos, tree
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