That's Terrifying

Last Thursday, October 15th, Sometimes Someone texted over our internal chat-client the suggestion that we meet for a quick drink at Red Star after work. We sat at the two-top closest to the wall that separates the Red Star Pub from its sister venue, the Lock Stock coffee shop. Sometimes ordered Strongbow and sliders and I had a Guinness and a small bowl of nocellara olives.

I had a proposition in mind.

In July of 2014 I launched what seemed to her like a "sudden burst" of attention. Beatrice Cassidy asked me to send her a text inviting her over to Mississippi Malick's townhouse for a barbeque but Sometimes had had a comittment that evening to see a movie with someone.

"Luc Besson's 'Lucy'?" I asked randomly. She texted back that they were seeing Desolation of Smaug but added that she would be interested in seeing Lucy if we were going sometime. A week or so later, I happened upon Sometimes' OKCupid profile. Knowing that she would be receiving an automatic notification that I'd visited her page, I sent her a message suggesting that we go see Lucy in an attempt to avoid giving the impression that I was stalking her. According to my ticket stub, we went to see that disappointing Luc Besson film at 7:15pm, August 20th.

Since the summer of 2014, Sometimes Someone and I have gotten to know each other better. We communicate almost daily and see each other at least once per week. Except for No Borders, she has probably spent more time at St. Mark's than anyone else. While she may not know me best, she probably has come to know me the fastest.

This means that she has been exposed to my idiosyncrasies perhaps more intensely than other people. Say, to my general interest in serial killers, for example; and in Hannibal Lecter in particular. "That's terrifying," she will sometimes deadpan in relation to something that might only be a little creepy.

Hannah and I named my apartment St. Mark's shortly after I moved here. The colour of the paint and the size of the room reminded me of the Cloisters of San Marco in Florence where Savonarola and Cosmio de Medici studied. I added a simple trompe l'oeil trick to the place by hanging a wall-sized poster of the Duomo and Palazzo Vecchio as seen from Piazza Michaelangelo. Beatrice is always amazed at how something so simple can create such an expansive sense of space.

I love my apartment. Clearly, one of its dominant themes is Italy which permits me some latitude to make subtle references to Hannibal without appearing to out-of-place. NBC's television series based on Thomas Harris' characters expanded the characterizations of several figures that are only mentioned in passing in the movies. Will Graham's first collar, Garrett Jacob Hobbs, for example, is only mentioned by name in Manhunter but in the series we get to see not only his capture, but his family, his modus operandi, and his killing room; a hunting cabin attic filled with antlers.

Sometimes Someone and I were buying booze at the 109 Street Liquor Deport one evening this summer when something she liked caught her eye. Or rather, something Sometimes liked at first, a resin deer antler, but once she understood that it was designed to hang upside down so as to function as a wine rack, she no longer liked it. The points of the antler curl upward like two claws closing slowly around prey. As soon as I understood what it was, I liked it immediately. My rule for furnishing a place as small as St. Mark's is that everything has to either collapse, fold-up, or have two uses. A decorative piece (an antler that you hang on the wall), that is a wine rack, and is a symbolic reference used in the Hannibal t.v. series definitely fits the bill.

The Liquor Depot cashier bagged my purchase but in no time the points of the antlers had punctured through the plastic as though some creature were fighting to escape.

"That's terrifying," Sometimes Someone deadpanned when she saw the bag. That I called it my Garrett Jacob Hobbs wine rack likely did not help.

Sometimes had not yet seen Ridley Scott's film, Hannibal so we watched it together at St. Mark's one Saturday evening. The view of the Duomo and Palazzo Vecchio from Piazza Michaelangelo faded in early in the movie, an identical perspective to the one on my apartment wall. "That's kind of creepy," Sometimes said.

The next weekend we watched Guardians of the Galaxy again, and the weekend after that, Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. For some reason I had to open a small storage cabinet which holds a myriad of things; the house's wireless router, spare LAN cables, candles, powerbars, and knickknacks which include a mould casting of Hannah's upper and lower teeth from when she had been fitted for a bridge. When I opened the cabinet door, the casting tumbled out of the cabinet and landed, teeth up and open on the floor as if in a silent scream, in front of Sometimes Someone, vaguely suggesting that there was a collection of dismembered body parts stored through out the apartment.

"That's terrifying," she said.

I told Hannah about her teeth casting and she thought it was a very funny story. It was the kind of story that I would like to write down.

As I walked to Red Star after work on October 15th, I formulated an inquiry that I planned to pose to Sometimes Someone who had told me last winter that if I wrote about her in my blog we could not be friends. What measures could I take that would make it acceptable for me to write about things we did together?

"What if," I suggested, "what if I make them happen with someone else?" I suggested that I would write about things that we did together, but replace her in the story with another character. That way I could both comply with the rule not to write about her, but still get to write about the funny things that I experience.

In the end, Sometimes Someone said that I could write about her again. Really Large Editorial Committee rules apply.