Hercules in Cadiz
Hercules in Cadiz
by Remoy Philip
The sky is turning bright with the leap from night to morning. The bustle begins with sounds of all ranges. Energy is created out of the nothingness that has transpired for hours upon hours. He woke first. He being Grant Bentrue. Grant being of simple upbringing; white Caucasian homestead of middle-America. He turned to look and remember. He tried to remember. Next to grant lay Tamra. Tamra is Israeli. Tamra is not Jewish, she is from Israel. Born in Israel, lived in Israel, moved to Cadiz. Here, in Cadiz Spain is where she met and fucked Grant.
Grant came to study. "Spain is where I'll go," he told himself. Grant being that of romantic proclivities, and being held to America by bonds of the romantic nature (A girl named Sam) ran, jumped, and flew away to Spain. Study, was his supposed premise for change. He was never one to be confused with a linguist, and when mention to his parents of the idea of studying abroad in Spain, well, Spanish, it's safe to say all parties were a bit confused. "You want to study Spanish in Spain; But you're a Chemistry major honey," his parents questioned somewhat befuddled in a muttled unison. But due to the eyes of ignorance parents hold for their all-too-loved children, they sent him away to a small coastal town in Spain (Parents: Barcelona and Madrid would be way too much for our son. Grant's: I'm missing out on Madrid and Barcelona; Fuck). Here Grant was to become better, to learn more, to escape the past, and become Grant.
The night had begun before the night ever existed. It was day. Grant had met with his only friend who also happened to be his disgruntled coworker and smelly unclean roommate: Stanley. Stanley was a Spanish student studying English. "Stanley," Grant said, "I want to meet a girl." Stanley eloquently and tritely replied, "I have a friend. She is called Tamra." That's all it took for Grant. Grant was one who was predisposed to what some might call a (un)healthy imagination. An imagination that started when age was something measured in months and time was considered immortal. Stan's mind was never in search of logic, but moreover in search of a picturesque scene filled with drama and melody. As a child he would sit on his toilet before, during, and after the deed was done, and would envision scenes where he was the hero displaying epic strength covered in a palette of pastels destroying the wily evils of archnemesises who were found in the kingdom of exoskeletons. He was very opposed to insects. So once Stanley planted the idea, the thought of a woman to grace Grant's life, Grant was sure that this was his kismetic destiny.
Life returned to schedule, and both boys went back to work; Grant a busser due to the lack of forthrightness in Spanish, and Stanley a waiter due to his actual affinity for the Spanish language. Due to the triviality of the job of a busser, dress down table eight, dress up table seven, exchange empty glasses for full glasses, Grant's brain had enough time to envision a hopeless spell of romance coming to brew in many different variances all crowning with a glorious exchange of loving embraces and prosaic words. Grant was sure, totally steadfast, that love was to be found in the being of "Tamra."
"An American boy," she replied. "What's an American boy doing in Cadiz?" "He studies Spanish; badly. Well, he is a Chemistry student studying Spanish; badly. A bad-Spanish speaking American doctor." "But why here in Spain?" she asked not only to Stanley, but also to herself. She told Stanley that she was intrigued enough to see this boy. "Is he cute?" she inquired. "American Cuteness is not for me; but for you, I think he'll do," Stan said jokingly but more bored and semi-removed from the conversation.
Tamra the Israeli girl in Spain and Grant the lost American boy in Spain were about to exchange stories, uncomfortably present persona's, and do their best, their utmost to hide everything they were not. "How do you feel about corporate misogyny... yeah me too." "I have a sore spot for English muffins and French Bulldogs." "Are you privy to Soccer or futbol?" "You're such a Jew." "You're such a Nazi." "Is it me or is art totally trivial."
The night was good for both. Nothing perfect, but good. The moon was full and the stars were bright, however a haze of translucent grey hung under the night sky protecting the soon-to-be lovers from the lingering lights. His mind was already in love. Five minutes before he walked through the cafe doors he was sure. An hour before, when he was changing from his grease splattered apron and garlic flavored shirt, he was sure. "I will love her; and she will love me." Grant is somewhat of a flirtatious idealist. Tamra was ready, she wasn't sure of much, but she was ready. So hand in hand, they strolled together in a clinch-lipped understanding of what was to transpire. Words fell far to short in what touches, smiles, and looks could ever say.
His place held the unclean world of Stan. She knew this. He knew this and in his mind, for the first time, he thanked Stan for his inability to smell clean. Her place, her bed, her sheets, her body would be the venue for their tryst. Her hands touched delicately. His hands groped uncomfortably. Her skin soft and supple; he being all hair and bony knees. He created the rhythm and she received his affection. He came. She almost did. He relaxed not to sleep, but to half-sleep. She shied away to the side of the bed that she was most unaccustomed to. He whispered "I love you." She replied with eyes closed and body facing the wall, "Thank you." There bodies joined once, but her heart never did.
So now he lies awake, and she still asleep. He recalls his love. He conjures up the moments, the time when assuredly he knew he loved. But it's not there. Next to him lies Tamra. Tamra an Israeli girl in Spain and he is Grant the American boy in Spain. He quietly digs his clothes out of the messy grasp of the sheets. He takes one more glance at Tamra as she lies asleep half clothed in white cloth and her other half naked to the radiant morning light. He tries once more to find, to recall, to conjure up this love he had felt. It won't happen here in Cadiz; not for Grant and not with Tamra. Grant Bentrue exits.
Be Relentless,
Peace
Remoy
by Remoy Philip
The sky is turning bright with the leap from night to morning. The bustle begins with sounds of all ranges. Energy is created out of the nothingness that has transpired for hours upon hours. He woke first. He being Grant Bentrue. Grant being of simple upbringing; white Caucasian homestead of middle-America. He turned to look and remember. He tried to remember. Next to grant lay Tamra. Tamra is Israeli. Tamra is not Jewish, she is from Israel. Born in Israel, lived in Israel, moved to Cadiz. Here, in Cadiz Spain is where she met and fucked Grant.
Grant came to study. "Spain is where I'll go," he told himself. Grant being that of romantic proclivities, and being held to America by bonds of the romantic nature (A girl named Sam) ran, jumped, and flew away to Spain. Study, was his supposed premise for change. He was never one to be confused with a linguist, and when mention to his parents of the idea of studying abroad in Spain, well, Spanish, it's safe to say all parties were a bit confused. "You want to study Spanish in Spain; But you're a Chemistry major honey," his parents questioned somewhat befuddled in a muttled unison. But due to the eyes of ignorance parents hold for their all-too-loved children, they sent him away to a small coastal town in Spain (Parents: Barcelona and Madrid would be way too much for our son. Grant's: I'm missing out on Madrid and Barcelona; Fuck). Here Grant was to become better, to learn more, to escape the past, and become Grant.
The night had begun before the night ever existed. It was day. Grant had met with his only friend who also happened to be his disgruntled coworker and smelly unclean roommate: Stanley. Stanley was a Spanish student studying English. "Stanley," Grant said, "I want to meet a girl." Stanley eloquently and tritely replied, "I have a friend. She is called Tamra." That's all it took for Grant. Grant was one who was predisposed to what some might call a (un)healthy imagination. An imagination that started when age was something measured in months and time was considered immortal. Stan's mind was never in search of logic, but moreover in search of a picturesque scene filled with drama and melody. As a child he would sit on his toilet before, during, and after the deed was done, and would envision scenes where he was the hero displaying epic strength covered in a palette of pastels destroying the wily evils of archnemesises who were found in the kingdom of exoskeletons. He was very opposed to insects. So once Stanley planted the idea, the thought of a woman to grace Grant's life, Grant was sure that this was his kismetic destiny.
Life returned to schedule, and both boys went back to work; Grant a busser due to the lack of forthrightness in Spanish, and Stanley a waiter due to his actual affinity for the Spanish language. Due to the triviality of the job of a busser, dress down table eight, dress up table seven, exchange empty glasses for full glasses, Grant's brain had enough time to envision a hopeless spell of romance coming to brew in many different variances all crowning with a glorious exchange of loving embraces and prosaic words. Grant was sure, totally steadfast, that love was to be found in the being of "Tamra."
"An American boy," she replied. "What's an American boy doing in Cadiz?" "He studies Spanish; badly. Well, he is a Chemistry student studying Spanish; badly. A bad-Spanish speaking American doctor." "But why here in Spain?" she asked not only to Stanley, but also to herself. She told Stanley that she was intrigued enough to see this boy. "Is he cute?" she inquired. "American Cuteness is not for me; but for you, I think he'll do," Stan said jokingly but more bored and semi-removed from the conversation.
Tamra the Israeli girl in Spain and Grant the lost American boy in Spain were about to exchange stories, uncomfortably present persona's, and do their best, their utmost to hide everything they were not. "How do you feel about corporate misogyny... yeah me too." "I have a sore spot for English muffins and French Bulldogs." "Are you privy to Soccer or futbol?" "You're such a Jew." "You're such a Nazi." "Is it me or is art totally trivial."
The night was good for both. Nothing perfect, but good. The moon was full and the stars were bright, however a haze of translucent grey hung under the night sky protecting the soon-to-be lovers from the lingering lights. His mind was already in love. Five minutes before he walked through the cafe doors he was sure. An hour before, when he was changing from his grease splattered apron and garlic flavored shirt, he was sure. "I will love her; and she will love me." Grant is somewhat of a flirtatious idealist. Tamra was ready, she wasn't sure of much, but she was ready. So hand in hand, they strolled together in a clinch-lipped understanding of what was to transpire. Words fell far to short in what touches, smiles, and looks could ever say.
His place held the unclean world of Stan. She knew this. He knew this and in his mind, for the first time, he thanked Stan for his inability to smell clean. Her place, her bed, her sheets, her body would be the venue for their tryst. Her hands touched delicately. His hands groped uncomfortably. Her skin soft and supple; he being all hair and bony knees. He created the rhythm and she received his affection. He came. She almost did. He relaxed not to sleep, but to half-sleep. She shied away to the side of the bed that she was most unaccustomed to. He whispered "I love you." She replied with eyes closed and body facing the wall, "Thank you." There bodies joined once, but her heart never did.
So now he lies awake, and she still asleep. He recalls his love. He conjures up the moments, the time when assuredly he knew he loved. But it's not there. Next to him lies Tamra. Tamra an Israeli girl in Spain and he is Grant the American boy in Spain. He quietly digs his clothes out of the messy grasp of the sheets. He takes one more glance at Tamra as she lies asleep half clothed in white cloth and her other half naked to the radiant morning light. He tries once more to find, to recall, to conjure up this love he had felt. It won't happen here in Cadiz; not for Grant and not with Tamra. Grant Bentrue exits.
Be Relentless,
Peace
Remoy