lisa

Summary

The author reflects on their procrastination habits, drawing parallels to Hamlet, and recounts a significant past relationship with a woman named Lisa.

Abstract

The author of this piece draws a comparison between their own procrastination habits and those of Hamlet, the protagonist of Shakespeare's play. They discuss their tendency to delay taking action, even when it comes to simple tasks like taking a Tylenol for a headache. The author then shifts the focus to a past relationship with a woman named Lisa, whom they met at a hotel and shared a significant kiss with. This kiss is described as a profound experience that the author has been chasing ever since. The author also mentions the death of a mutual friend, Andre, and how his passing brought Lisa and the author back into each other's lives. Despite both being married to other people, the author and Lisa share a moment of nostalgia and connection at Andre's gathering. The author concludes by quoting Hamlet, reflecting on their own inaction, and expressing a sense of longing for Lisa.

Bullet points

The author compares their procrastination habits to those of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.
The author recalls a past relationship with a woman named Lisa, which began with a significant kiss.
The author describes the kiss as a profound experience that they have been chasing ever since.
The author mentions the death of a mutual friend, Andre, and how his passing brought Lisa and the author back into each other's lives.
Despite both being married to other people, the author and Lisa share a moment of nostalgia and connection at Andre's gathering.
The author concludes by quoting Hamlet and expressing a sense of longing for Lisa.

(for d. chrisman)

Photo Credit — LanaStock (Use obtained via I-Stock)

Like hamlet, prince of denmark, i always wait a long fucking time to do anything. when i was a kid, it was chores. now, it is to take a tylenol for a headache. i will wait & wait until it feels like there is rock behind my sinuses before i reach for the tylenol bottle, & swallow some pills with some coca cola over ice. procrastination and avoidance is my friend. delay. delay. delay. put off what must be done until some other time. like hamlet, of denmark, his father coming to see him, & saying, kill your uncle, son. he killed me, and stole my girl, your mom. well, not quite like that, actually, he said —

A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark Is by a forged process of my death Rankly abused: but know, thou noble youth, The serpent that did sting thy father’s life Now wears his crown.

and then hamlet says — ok, pops, got it. done. but the prince spends four acts turning the shit over in his head like he got forever. i have tried everything to stop this hamlet tic. nothing works. there are women who are wondering where i went at the hotel we booked for a long hot weekend. there are employers who say — where is he? he was here. he was at his desk.

then there is lisa. sweet lisa.

maybe she explains the meaning of life. act one she is right there, & she is ready. & she kisses me & i blink. she is saying, kill your uncle & we can have this life together. like hamlet i have no idea what to do. where is my uncle so i can smack that fool? i can’t do it. i got some things to say first. to be or not to. &

‘O, what a rogue & peasant slave am I!’

this is how things work. lisa kissed me & i should have said yes, lets’ leave this place forever. fleetwood mac was playing ‘dreams’ on my transistor radio that summer. i don’t really like that kind of music & stevie nicks always seemed like she was high but when lisa kissed me, my first kiss, that was it. nothing else mattered. i was high. forever high. that kiss was some kind of drug. i have been chasing that kiss like gamblers chase casinos & roulette wheels & tips on horses at the tracks. like people fishing for channel catfish chase the right body of water. & you will never ever find that kiss i know now. you will get close, but you won’t find it. or feel it or touch it. hamlet is about chasing everything. everything except your uncle. listening to everyone except your father, the ghost. where is lisa, i wonder right now, & nearly every day of my life.

then this guy i grew up with named andre died. he was lisa’s neighbor. they were best friends. i knew andre too & once while i was out eating apple fritters & fried chicken wings & drinking perrier from the bottle i saw andre’s face in the newspaper. he had died. it was an obituary. it was like he, actually him, had been put into the newspaper as a person. i stared at his face for hours & wanted to pull him out of the newspaper. but i couldn’t do anything but stare. then i read that a gathering for him was the next day. that was andre. he was stylish like that. unique. no funeral. no scattering of ashes. none of that. andre arranged his exit to the cosmos his way. he wanted people to come to his childhood home with his family & break bread & talk. about him mostly & how he was cool. & look how he got us all here drinking & eating and feeling good for a few.

when i got there it felt like he had thrown a party, told everyone to sit down and have a snack and a drink and he would be right back with more ice. i liked it. everyone liked it. he was there with us. asking us if we wanted a refill on our drinks or another piece of shrimp. i was there for about 10 minutes when a car pulled up and lisa stepped out. and as soon as she got out her eyes hit my eyes and it was way way back when she had kissed me & she said, go kill your uncle. go do him in and then we can be together forever. hold hands like we did that day and listen to Stevie Nicks sing “dreams” on my little transistor radio.

she walked up and we hugged. it felt like before. back to the future. back to the ghost in denmark giving me my order. her eyes watered. my eyes watered. she cried. i didn’t. that was andre passing through. our hands did touch lightly for a moment.

how have you been?

good.

still live in the area?

yep.

we were both married to other people. we were both reasonably happy and content. we were both sad about andre. we didn’t talk about how he died. i knew it was a sad thing. she did too i suspected. she kissed me on the cheek. i wasn’t sure why. i stared into her eyes. she into mine. all the way back we went for those few seconds. as if she was still waiting for me to slay my uncle at the request of the ghost.

‘O, what a rogue & peasant slave am I!’ — i whispered to myself. & i smile at lisa and she smiled back. then she held out her hand to lead me inside andre’s so we could properly bid him ‘adieu.’ i didn’t hesitate. i took her hand & we walked inside as if we were the only ones who had come.