Just Like Heaven

She comes to me in my dreams. Those almost lucid dreams that caress you just before 5:00 a.m. A tickle of feather-wielding vividity on your very vulnerable nether regions. A pulse of concentrated and focused pleasure just begging to be true. But alas….the painful reality of waking. And no amount of artful re-creation, or fate, or hand of God, outside of the dream world, is capable of birthing these potent, palpable, perpetual pauses of paradise. Sound like a fairy tale? You’re closer than you know. Try, if you must, to coax these visions into something tangible, but your efforts are in vain. Open your eyes - it’s over.

I’d much rather be mauled and eaten by a bear. Or endlessly fall towards certain concrete death. But no - the dream over-lords were particularly spiteful in their design of my slumbering fate. One no man - regardless of the magnitude of his sins - should have to endure…Rapunzel.
It wouldn’t be so bad if Rapunzel didn’t really exist. A mere by-product of some half-forgotten story from childhood. A tender, noble creature with looks and locks and bad taste in men. I could cruise through my days with ease, peacefully knowing that night was on its way - a wildly beautiful gift box under the covers, to rip apart with the perfect satiation of R.E.M. *Not the kind fronted by Micheal Stipe - although “Nightswimming” is a particularly great song to slumber under the influence of. No, the only thing ripped apart in this scenario is my heart. Suffering under the knowing of her only in the puzzle of my subconscious.

I try not to go to Black Heart Vinyl. It’s the used record store down the street from my apartment. It’s also where she works. The Vinylist, who runs the shop there, hired her about 2 months ago and I hate him for it. When I first saw her, I thought she was just a customer. Just a ship passing in the night. An epic, ornate ship bursting with green sea foam and the fragrance of freedom, but a ship passing in the night nonetheless. She was arguing with Jared about who would endure: The Smiths or Robert Smith? Jared - the consummate Cure fan - his face burning with frustration - tears of indignation smearing his Soot eyeliner from Urban Decay - seemed to be losing his objectivity. And she - with calm precision and perfect city mouth delivered a rupturing eulogy on Mr. Smith. Laying him to rest respectfully while carefully lifting up the high priest of Manchester, England and the world - Father Morrissey. She was so…perfect in her torn fishnets and mismatched plaids. Her hair of pitch - short and choppy - nothing like I would have imagined from a Rapunzel. I wanted to clutch her peach face and kiss her generous black and burgundy lips. I had never been so captivatingly tortured in a single moment. I had never…

Jared was almost weeping from defeat when she lifted her flawless head ever so slightly and invited me to pound the final nail into the macabre casket of gothic rock. I thought I had been discreet - hiding behind a Black Flag 7”. When she spoke to me - her eyes on my unworthiness - I wanted to die. All my bones disintegrated. I slumped to the floor - a mass of useless gelatin. I bolstered enough momentary strength to pull myself up by a stack of unsorted cut-out lps - just in time to hear that angelic voice give me one more chance: “What do you think?” The simple words rolled out like spun gold.

An opportunity to redeem myself. To justify my existence as a existential media consumer and lover of all good tunes. I would choose my words carefully. Precisely. So as not to offend Jared any further, but to completely and overwhelmingly ingratiate myself to her and all her desires. To endear myself. To indebt myself. To maybe persuade her to clutch me to her bosom and scream a banshee cry of regret for the wasted time spent before my magical appearance into her life. Mind. Can’t. Stop. Wandering. Have. To. Think. Quickly…

I opened my quivering pie-hole of predestined defeat: ”’Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me‘” saved my life during my freshman year at Stanford”

Noooooooooo! What did I do?! Rapunzel’s face made this crestfallen crinkle I will never forget. It was as if this beautiful moon - shining into so much darkness - fell out of the sky - crushing everything for miles in the wake of its collapse. Jared’s face - on the other hand - rose up - strident, as I slumped back down into a puddle of unwanted vinyl.

The next thing I saw was a white frilly cuff. Jared extended his silver ringed hand and picked me up out of the pile of records. There was not a shred of hope in sight.
“Hey man…thanks for the support. Classic. That new girl…she’s kind of harsh.”

I gazed beyond him to the smirking look of the Vinylst. Grinding my teeth. Damn you, Vinylst! Damn you to hell! Rapunzel was in the back unloading some new product, but I knew it was finished with her. Finished before it started - like always. Relegated to my weary dreams of Sisyphusian proportions. “Big Mouth Strikes Again” ringing in my head for eternity.