“There was something in there about ‘The woman is the architecture for the baby,’ and it went on like that for several pages. I’m like, ‘Really, dude?’ I’m so glad I fell into planning.”
Disheveled
September 2, 2009“I’m very used to doing what I should,” he said. “And that is why you should put on that dress and go back to your room.”
I took his face in my hands and kissed him again. I knew he was right. My skin burned.
“It’s a really great dress,” he said.
We kissed again at the doorway, my dress rearranged, my shoes dangling from my fingers. I walked across the courtyard, my heart so disheveled I would not sleep normally for days.
Hands in dust
August 30, 2009Disjointed sleep; strange dreams: Hands in dust, lost direction, messages that disappeared when I looked right at them, stories whispered so softly I forgot them as soon as they were heard, crossed signals.
I’ll take your picture, she said. I want you to see just how beautiful you actually are.
Friday night
August 28, 2009Sound, bright as pennies, bounced off the red walls as the people stretched and strained for a good start to Friday night. Effervescent, this hope was.
The music, soaring above the winks and dipped shoulders, was heavy on bass, but light on soul.
Nothing artificial
August 26, 2009“Do you know how to cook?” he asked.
“Do I know how to cook?” I replied. “Oh, do I ever know how to cook.”
That was when the conversation ignited. Blistered and charred peppers, macaroni and cheese, cowboy breakfasts and sole meuniere.
He described the ultimate hamburger. “That’s almost dirty,” I said. I stopped facing forward and turned toward him.
“We don’t eat anything artificial in our house,” he said.
“Of course not,” I replied, already contemplating what I would make for him if given the opportunity.
Land of red flags
August 24, 2009There was a moment of slipping, a comfortable sliding into the familiar dysfunction of the land of red flags and disaster.
The signs all pointed the wrong way. I recognized each one of them. But with a walled-off heart? Perhaps I could, just once, navigate this route.
Change/same
August 20, 2009Nowhere was the weather so pronounced as that peninsula, where the rain blew sideways and the clouds changed as often as the light. Their umbrellas turned inside out against the gale, their shoes never really dried out.
At a certain point, it became useless to ask the question any more. The answer, every time, was, “It’s very changeable. It’s always cold and wet.”
100 Proof 