Body by Christopher Fink
”I’ve seen you before.”
”Yes, hello Mrs. Halsey.”
The door will open. Open dammit.
”I haven’t been married for a long time.”
“Goodbye, Mrs. Halsey.”
BOOP – “Hey, Sanjay. I’m gonna stop by this afternoon and hang out for awhile. If you want to see a movie, wait for me.” BOOP – “Hello Sanjay. This is a message for Davendra.”
She is the matriarch of a vast crumbling submarine, aimless tongue pushing teeth, stretching lips into a murky yawn as she struggles with sleep in a motel room’s bed. I am standing by the window, close the curtain, and exit unnoticed.
Is the electric bill I just paid for one month, two, or three? Why is it always a different amount? Does he notice my headphones are still in? “I like it. Is it the beginning of a story?”
”I can’t write.”
”You wrote that just now.”
”I have too much faith in the moment I’m writing. If you can’t edit, you shouldn’t write.”
”It’s just natural for you”
”That would be nice, but when I return to something it’s just embarrassing. Or was that a question?”
”Maybe I don’t get it. Maybe …”
“Look at that.”
They stare out the bus window, even I’m unsure if he was really referring to anything. There was a nice house out there though. The trim matched the flowers in the yard, all symmetrically blue. He’s learned how to avoid tangling with her. I’m surprised he showed that to her. It’s obviously about me. She didn’t notice I guess? I guess it’s my turn to learn something.
What will I do today? This is boring. I hate this part of the trip. I fell like falling asleep. It’s probably him. Oh, I’m so mean. Why did he show that to me? I used to be inspired by his passion, but if anything now, I’ve just learned that it’s useless getting worked up over anything. I wonder what Heather’s thinking. “Hey. Have you seen those solar cookers?”
”I can’t understand you. Turn all the way around.”
”They’re like just boxes with aluminum coating them. Do you think they work?”
”I don’t know.” This is not a day for talking. He’s right to stare out the window, connect with images speeding by and inhabit an impossible visual community.
”I think there must be a trick. A chemical or something? It can’t be as easy as the sun and a box.” I wonder if anyone else takes him seriously. He thinks too much. What will I do tonight? I’ve spent too much this month. Some window shopping. That can’t hurt.
One more stop and this asshole has to sit right next to me. There are plenty of other empty seats. Do I look like I want company?
”What’s the longest you’ve ever slept?”
Thank you, Beth. “Thirteen, fourteen hours.”
”I’ve slept over twenty once.”
”You?”
”Lighting enables people to sleep or wake whenever they want yet we’ve designed everything to be afraid of the night.”
”Yeah.” But who cares. I’d like to live back in that house but the blue would look better if it were the fire color of Heather’s hair.
This is not a day for talking. This is a day for letting things go. That puffy man on the car phone speeding by has to let things go or he’ll kill us all.
I must get back to work. A sabbatical to plan. Ridiculous review committee. Abuse the time to study? Ha. Where are my glasses? It’s a hot fall. The sun will stop the blindness. Ah. My glasses. She’ll be home soon. Umph. Finally a peace of my chair. Mmnnn. Mneumatic device. Too tired. Just relax. Read.
!BRINGGG !
Damn phone. I’ll let it go.
”Good afternoon. No I’m sorry. He isn’t here. I don’t. He doesn’t spend a lot of time here. Is everything alright? Oh… Can he call you? Does he have the number? Of course. I’m so sorry. Yes. You’ve tried Heathers? Of course. I will. Good-bye.”
He said he once believed we should sit on couches, be some thing like a seed in fruit, thinking, dreaming, until it was worth procreating. Get up and hammer a nail or whatever was needed, then settle back, congregate with crumpled brows and wonder if the front window was a cornea or a greenhouse wall. I sit comfortably under the café window, arms wrapped under my armpits, my head resting against a propped shoulder. I look cold, there’s a bathroom in back. There are so many people with piercings today. They’re all so young.
He arrives tugging at an oversized brown sweater, it looks like he’s hiding my child in his belly. He sits down next to me and smiles, catching dried lips on his teeth. “Do you want some lip gloss?” It is basically all we say to one another. He hands me a hundred and fifty dollars and apologizes. I move my purse nervously around what’s left of my lap. I don’t feel guilty anymore. He did respond to my personal: SWF 37 athletic, nurse, pleasing figure enjoys movies seeks SM for long-term companionship, possibly marriage. As undemanding as it read, he had stopped reading at nurse. What did he say, he was so hot, neurologists should be sleeping with artists, teachers with parents. It was all there, perfectly clear. My intentions. Dirty words. The bus takes him away from me again, doleful, sympathetic. I’ve got to use that bathroom.
”The buzzer is working intermittently. I’ll come down.” I will open the door and I will not smell her urine. I am not smelling it as I walk down the steps.
”Hi Dave.”
”Hungry?”
”Not really. I’ve got a paper. C’mon up.”
”Oh God that smell is worse. Is that poor woman still alone in 5A?”
Just come inside the door.
”The buzzer isn’t working? It sounds like it is.”
”Intermittently. You got a message on my machine about your mom.”
Tags: Body, Christopher Fink