Monday, July 13, 2009

Of Harpsichords and Eliza

Sadly, it appears to be another lovely day. Drenched in sunshine, nothing between the blue sky with the universe beyond and my fleshy body. Cloudless days make me feel fragile and naked, for when I look up above the horizon I see a beckoning path I cannot take. Damn gravity. Held here, and for what?

Sex, cheesecake, coffee and sex. Ok, fair enough.

Last night, as Linda and I snogged and listened to Donny play the harpsichord, a neighbor's birthday party got a bit loud and the din interrupted our happy scene. From the second floor window of my flat, we could look into the courtyard below, although it was very dark. And from the darkness screams and laughter as children chased each other with water pistols and balloons. My neighbor, T, is a friend, so we said nothing. Weekends during the summer sometimes get loud around here.

As Donny went back to his playing, and I strained to hear the music he produced, I got angry. It was getting close to midnight, and it was time they wrapped up their little shindig. "I'm sorry, T, but it's getting late," I said to myself.

With that in mind, I went to the closet to get the perfect tool for this particular dilemma; my 7.62 M24 Sniper rifle. As I gently swabbed the glass on my Leopold Mark 4 scope, Linda shook her head. "You're not going to shoot another neighbor, are you?" She was referring to a fellow, several flats down, who yelled at me for parking in "his" space. I had to shoot him, though. Had to.

"You know, my love, that raining down death from above is the best way to clear the courtyard and get some quiet for our little concert, " I replied. Linda agreed, of course, but just didn't like it. Neither did I, but that's just the way it is. Some things will never change.

The first one to go down was Mortimer Tosch, another Town Meeting Member and registered sex offender. He wasn't invited to the party T was throwing, and stood at the perimeter, in the dim ring around a streetlight. The cross-hairs settled on Mortimers head, concealed beneath a Oakland Raiders cap, and my M24 (whom I call "Eliza") registered a loud "crack!" and Morty spun around, clutching his neck. And then he fell just as his scream reached me, like a protest from a dead man.

People were scattering now, and it was impossible to see in the darkness. A couple more shots and a few minutes later and the courtyard between the two buildings was as a dark, silent void. Linda shook her head and chuckled as I slid Eliza into her Kolpin Black Rhino gun case and motioned to Donny to continue playing Scarlatti's Sonata in "D" Major.

The police, with their sirens, were harder to dispel.

1 comment:

Linda said...