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« Waiting for Fabrica | Main | 'Venice is Not Sinking' is out! »

Featuring Merche Blasco

Featuring Merche Blasco

Her next piece uses video and text. You have to read the text (best you print it) at the same time as you watch this video. (I know that sounds strange, but it works. Somehow.)

- - - - - - - - - - -

Nothing changes
By Guillermo Rivero

Nothing ever changes until it does. It is so simple and complex that we do not even care to think about things like this: Nothing ever changes until it does. Every morning I would walk down the same road to the bus stop. It was not a long walk, it took me 11minutes and 40 seconds to get from the front door of my recently acquired house to the bus stop. This would mean that: if I left home at 8:19, and the bus driver had a good night of sleep, a good morning including: coffee, no sugar, no cream, the sport daily, no argument with the wife and not having to walk the dog, then I would be able to catch the bus at 8:33 according to the bus schedule approved by the Secretary of Transportation, posted on the pole on the corner of 7th street and Carmichael: stop number 6 of the bus line number 16. This meant, I would be on time at work. I would be at the office almost before everyone, very respectable and causing a good impression. This almost never happened. The coffee sometimes was cold, the dog would beg for an early walk, the wife would argue about something, the local team would lose, the bus was never there at 8:33. I was at the bus stop, I would always be on time. I had my 11 minute and 40 second walk from home to the bus stop number 6. Like every morning I was there waiting. Nothing changed, this was my morning routine. I had my corn flakes, no coffee, orange juice, I took a shower and shaved, everything was done by 8:03. Like every morning I could pay attention to the weather forecast, prepare my bag accordingly and by 8:19 I would be ready to leave.

On Mondays, I would walk by the tractor-sized street sweeping machines that clean residential streets which receive a high volume of pedestrian traffic and litter. Tuesdays and Thursdays the cute dog-walker would pass me at some point of my strategic planned route to the bus stop—the most effective route: less steps, less time. Fridays and Wednesdays nothing special ever happened. Walk out of the house, then a left at the light and then straight ahead to the bus stop. Walk past the residences: cream with light blue accents, blue window frames; light grey or old white, burgundy accents, burgundy window frames; red brick roof, white exterior, interior white curtains. The residences I past on my way to the bus stop. Left turn: walk past the Super-Speedy car wash and the illegal immigrants working there that arrived with the 7:33 bus, walk along the drug store and wait for the pedestrian light. 8:25. I walk straight ahead once the little green man allows me to. More boring houses, cream combinations, light blue plus royal blue plus sky blue, 4 shades of grey and white accents. Christmas lights adorning every home; Easter bunnies and colorful eggs; Halloween spooky motives made hideously colorful. The bus stop was almost there. I get to the stop, this time the coffee was bad and the arguments started because of that, I wait until 8:41:34 and the bus shows up, finally. Nothing changed until it did.

The routine works. One Friday morning the 4 shades of grey with white accents house had something different. Maybe it had been different for a while, but I noticed for the first time. The white curtains were open and for the first time in the past year, I could have a glimpse of the living room of the 4 grey shades, white accents house. Not only a glimpse into the living room, but as I was walking to the bus stop, I saw her. Then everything changed. She was in there, serving breakfast. Perfect housewife. Hair already done, dressed up for the daily routine, moving in slow motion. I could almost smell the scrambled eggs. When did she arrive? Why had I not seen the window opening? Walk faster, my neck can not turn any further, walk. 8:35, I was late, fortunately so was the bus. Saturday and Sunday I rescheduled everything. I would leave at 8:14 this time, walk slow in front of her house, have a glimpse of her, walk to the bus stop thinking of her, go to work thinking about her life and rest of the day, work unproductively thinking about her and wondering her name, get back home and reschedule, so I could admire her a longer time.

I left on Tuesday earlier, 8:09. I would analyze her front yard, she was preparing the scrambled eggs, not serving them, pouring milk and juice into two glasses. I walked into her garden to have a closer view, nobody noticed. The cute dog-walker was still a bit away, she was paying attention to Rambo the Chihuahua and Rocky the German Shepard, who always try to make her trip with their leash. Sylvester Stallone fans naming dogs Rambo or Rocky, so ridiculous. The woman of the 4 grey shades with white accents house was wearing a brown with cream accents dress, her hair was already perfect. Next morning I would have to reschedule just to be able to find a way around the house. I needed to see her closely, I needed to smell her. I was walking while thinking about the possibilities of my new plan, composing in my mind every strategy as notes in my head. It did not matter that the worst combination of the bus driver’s morning happened: bad coffee, big argument, no newspaper, dog walk, cold water. I got to the stop at 8:48 and missed the bus. I saw the bus go away, I was late. I might call in sick and look at her. Call in sick and look at her, call me sick but needed to get closer. The day I noticed the open curtains everything changed. Nothing ever changes until it does.

I was retracing my route, walk back to her 4 shades of grey with accents house, stare into her window, into her life. Maybe she was gone and I could go into her space and wait there for her. Maybe she was going to take the kids to school and I could walk in the back door. Maybe there was a back door. Maybe I would find her in the shower or find her preparing the dinner, find her reading a book, find her separating whites from color. I would find her and maybe get to meet her. It was almost 9:00 I was taking my time. I was walking on the other side of the road, studying every angle of her house. Walked up and down the road. The car was not there, I guessed she was out. It was my time to go in. I went in, so easy: I love my neighborhood, I love this area. Trust comes with the price of the house. I walked in, saw her pictures in the living room. She was better looking in real life. I walked around the house, first I was scared and nervous; however, I didn’t hear anyone drive into the garage. I was safe to explore until I would have to storm out , hide or talk to her, still did not know how I would proceed if she arrived. I went into her closet, her clothes smelled as good as I had imagined. Subtle jasmine with a touch of mountain freshness, elegant and feminine. Her wardrobe was perfectly ordered. She was sexy but not outrageous, she was classy but not presumptuous, she had taste and knew what clothes to wear to accentuate her body type figure. Her bed was soft and smelled like her. Under a pillow I found her pajamas. I could smell her all over the place. A car drove by and reminded me of the possibility of the her arriving soon. It was not her. I went to her bathroom, it was still semi-moisturized from this morning shower. Her wet towel was there I touched it and imagined her drying her wet body. I brushed my hair with her hair brush. I touched everything I could, as if I was caressing her.

A car drove into the garage, I heard her coming into the house. I panicked, I escaped, I think she never saw me. I could not talk to her, she was too much for me. I ran back home and rescheduled. Next day I would go the follow a new way to the bus stop. I would go to the bus stop and go to work. Called in sick today but could not miss tomorrow. I would go back to my routine with a different route and schedule. I would still be at the bus stop at 8:31, I would not walk past the 4 gray shades with white accents house. Not think about her, not think about her smell, not think about her seeing me or finding out that I was there touching her, her clothes, her brush, her privacy. I would never walk by that street again. I would not observe into those white curtains again, I would not call in sick. I was a good employee and would be at work before everyone. I would be at the bus stop and never miss the bus again.

Originally from
ReBlogged by christian etter on Nov 15, 2006 at 06:17 PM Posted by christian etter on Nov 15, 2006 at 06:17 PM


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