Where to begin? I love you.
Monthly Archives: March 2013
Traumatic and Possibly Monstrous
You said you were going out to make a snow angel.
You asked if I wanted to join you. I wanted to, of course, because you look so cute in winter wear and because I love you. I refused, however, because I was mad at you.
I lost track of time.
When I looked out the window, I saw your snow angel under the willow tree where you had refused to marry me. I didn’t see you, however, in your snow angel.
I went downstairs and out the back door. My love? There were no footprints in the snow. Only your snow angel under our tree.
I walked out to your snow angel and prostrated myself inside it. It was warm and smelled of your perfume. I closed my eyes and let the cold eat at my body.
I walked out to your snow angel the following day and took up residence inside it. It was still warm and still smelled of your perfume.
Again the next day.
…
Your angel has begun to decay. It is dirty, unshapely. But still it is warm and possesses your scent.
When it is gone, will I have lost you?
Spring is coming.
Dalliances
God sat K down at His kitchen table, offering pad and pen. Go on, God goaded, make your list. K petulantly took pen to pad and began listing the attributes he demanded in the woman of his dreams.
When he finished, K placed pen next to pad and said to God, I’m finished. He was still petulant. God replied, Very well. I will make her for you per our arrangement.
Years later, K met the woman of his dreams. She was indeed to his exact specifications and they fell in love. In the thralls of passion one evening, K said to the woman of his dreams: You’re perfect. If God came to me and asked me to describe the woman of my dreams, I would describe you. Per his arrangement with Him, he could not tell the woman of his dreams that God did in fact do this. She was dubious. But K persisted. I’m serious. If He asked me to list everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman, I–
The woman of his dreams was angry: I bet you say that to all the girls. She thereafter walked out on K.
(Perhaps K left something important off his list.)
Cosmopolitanism
The aging homeless man whose home is under the bridge with the purple graffiti does this thing every morning. He opens a plastic, translucent umbrella and crouches underneath it as though he is waiting for rain. But rain does not come. Instead, pigeons come. They are all dirty like he is and so there is a natural affinity between the two. They come and sit on his umbrella as he crouches under it, and they make their various pigeon noises and stuff and he smiles. Eventually the day presses on, and as passersby increase in number compared to the relative calm of the morning hours the pigeons disperse and go back to wherever they had been before. Then the homeless man closes his umbrella and stacks it on a big pile of useless crap he has amassed over many homeless years because homeless men like him amass big piles of crap like that over many homeless years. Then he frowns. The passersby don’t want to be his friends, which, I would like to believe though I am wrong, the pigeons are. If he dies of legionnaire’s disease, however, it will be a betrayal of friendship—the worst kind of betrayal there is.
Everybody Was Content
He knocked on the door to the girl’s “private studio” but really her shitty mezzanine level apartment. As he waited for her–he didn’t know what she looked like; she was thin and probably attractive based on the blurry photos he saw on the website and that’s all that really mattered because men are like that–he had a passing thought: this is probably a bad idea. He always had passing thoughts like that, though, so whatever.
Then the girl opened the door.
She held her composure better than he did (he was poor at doing that in general). Professor, she said, what an unexpected surprise. They both just sorta stood there. He, sartorially perfect as always, and she in a silk robe and nothing on underneath, probably.
He didn’t really know what to do. He tried to think back to the teacher-student etiquette seminar he took several years ago, but they didn’t cover situations like this one.
I should leave he said, proud of himself. But she dropped her robe to the floor, there, in the doorway.
What’s the worst that can happen, he thought to himself as he followed her inside, because men are like that.