By: Avi Cantor
Love
Throughout my many years of existence, I have seen the thousands of ways that humans interact with the concept of my being. I’d compare my job to that of a parent pushing his son or daughter on a swing. I give you the push of attraction, but it’s your job to continue and strengthen that initial attraction or, in the swing’s case, you swinging momentum. But, similar to your parent who is pushing you, Nostalgia, Sex and I continue to be a large part of your relationship, giving you pushes here and there (some people enjoy an overwhelming amount of my sister) to help your relationship gain strength. I enjoy my job because I get to see all of the different fruits of my labor. I’ve created every flavor of Love that you’ve ever tasted. Oops, sorry. I have to go to attend my next job. I’ll bring you with me.
I arrived at a bar in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. O’Leary’s. I glided through the front door. The bar was a dive, to say the least, but a good kind of dive. The kind that everyone loves. Sure, the patrons know the beer is terrible, the toilets have so much vomit that you’d think they’d quit their job, and the pub is stained with the smell of stale cigarettes, pool chalk and alcoholic burps. But there’s no better place to hang out at on a Friday night than O’Leary’s pub. Playing pool against a fifty-some-year-old slightly hunchbacked regular to O’Leary’s, is a young man with wavy brown hair. He has friendly brown eyes, a slightly downturned nose, and a razor sharp jaw. I sat down behind the man with the wavy hair as he shoots an all black ball with the number 8 on it into one of the small sack looking things on the table.
“And Jeremiah wins another game,” the hunchbacked man announces flatly, as if it happens all too regularly. I quite like his name. Jeremiah. After his victory, he starts to take notice of a woman that sits on an old swivel chair at the bar. I softly tickle his spine with my three longest fingers. As soon as I touch his warm back, sweat starts to trickle slightly from his armpits and the tiny hairs raise on his arms.
My favorite line is "...and the tiny hairs raise on his arms." Is this part of a larger story? I hope you are writing the rest!
ReplyDeleteAvi;
ReplyDeleteThis is the beginning of an awesome story. I cannot wait to see whether to person narrating the story will be successful in establishing another match. Please keep writing.
Your imagery in describing the bar is SO vivid!
ReplyDeleteMore story please. You have my attention. Why the title, "LOVE"?
ReplyDeleteIt's so interesting that Love starts out by comparing itself to a parent, as if it were sweet and protective. But toward the end, when it tickles the man's spine and makes him sweat, you see that Love can actually be a little dangerous. Such a great contrast.
ReplyDeleteIt's also super clever to personify an abstract concept like love and give it a voice! Reminds me of The Book Thief by Mark Zusak, not sure if you've ever read it.
I like where you are going. I assume there is more
ReplyDeleteShow me O'learys- you tell me it is a dive and the best place on a Friday night in some evocative language. Describe the place viscerally to me. what are the sounds, how is the light, greasy alcoholic burps or nicotine drenched alcoholic burps? Is it where people go to spend their life- or to live it?
I am curious about the direction and the future...
I also think this s a great beginning of more reflective, meaningful writing. You definitely have my attention...
ReplyDelete