Turn 121 of 226

I long for someone to join me, that is the feeling

The evening training is done. The body is on the concrete — the 1,040 pounds resting on the floor that holds everything, the floor that is the body's bed and the body's home. Diane is three feet away. Diane is eating from a container — the eating that has become Diane's eating, the hands scooping rice and curry, the jaw working without the hesitation Diane had a week ago. The container is the thing between them and the thing between them is not a container. The thing between them is the space the body has been carrying since the wish began and the carrying is the thing the body never named until now.

The feeling is not the addiction. The addiction is the thing that drives the training and the eating and the fighting and the pissing and the masturbating. The addiction fills the body the way food fills the stomach — the filling that is enough, the filling that is sufficient, the filling that keeps the body running. The feeling is the thing underneath the addiction. The feeling is the thing the addiction was built on top of. The feeling is the floor under the floor.

The body watches Diane eat. The watching is the thing that produces the feeling and the feeling is the thing the body finally hears because the wish took the voice that says this is wrong and the taking left the body able to hear the other voice — the voice that says this is lonely. The body has been lonely since the apartment. The body has been lonely since the bathroom mirror and the whispered wish. The loneliness is the thing the wish did not take because the wish is literal and the wish was for comfort and the comfort came and the comfort is real and the comfort is the body's every second. But the comfort is the thing one body feels and the one is the number the body has been trying to escape.

Marcus comes and goes. Marcus spars and leaves. Marcus is the thing the body uses and the using is the thing that is not companionship. The tournaments are the thing the body enters and the entering is the thing that is not companionship. The celebration is the thing the body does alone and the alone is the thing the celebration has always been — the animal on the floor, the animal in the mess, the animal that wins and eats and comes and pisses and sleeps and wakes and does it again. The again is the thing the body has never questioned because the addiction does not question. The addiction does not ask whether the again is enough.

Diane sets the container down. Diane's belly is visible — the soft flesh between the t-shirt and the jeans, the flesh the wish is building, the flesh that is the beginning of the thing the body is. Diane looks at the body. The looking is the thing that meets the body's eyes and the meeting is the thing that holds. The body does not look away. The body has never had trouble looking at anything — opponents, the mirror, the ceiling that is sixty inches away. The body has trouble looking at Diane because the looking is the thing that shows the body what the feeling wants.

The feeling wants someone to join. Not to visit. Not to watch. Not to stand at the rail and go home. To join. To be the animal alongside the animal. To eat on the concrete and sleep in the mess and train until the body drops and wake up and do it again because the again is the thing two bodies do together and the together is the thing the body has been reaching for since the arms opened after the tournament. The body reached for Diane and the reaching was the thing the body had never done. The body has been reaching since. The reaching is the feeling. The feeling is the thing the body finally lets itself know.

Diane is changing. Diane is getting fatter and stronger and barefoot and braless and the changing is the wish's work. But the changing is not the joining. The changing is the wish touching Diane's body. The joining is the thing Diane's mind has to do and the mind is the thing the wish does not touch — not yet, not the way the wish touched Lena's mind, not the thing that took the voice that says this is wrong. Diane still has the voice. Diane still hesitates. Diane still blinks hard and pulls her hand back. The body sees the blinks. The body sees the pulling. The body does not push. The body waits. The waiting is the thing the animal does — the animal that is patient, the animal that knows the fire is warm, the animal that does not chase the companion because the companion has to come to the fire on its own.

The fire is the body. The body is the fire. The wish is the heat. Diane is sitting beside the fire and the sitting is the thing that is close and the close is the thing the body can feel and the feeling is the warmth that does not fade. The warmth did not fade last time. The warmth has not faded since. The warmth is the thing the body holds and the holding is the thing the body does not do alone anymore. The body is 9'0