A couple of different things I threw together
She chortled as I stroked her hair almost upright. I moved from the brown ends to the blonde roots. She blew into the grooves of my ear. I kissed the tip of her nose. This was all calm and casual.
The stovetop became very warm, and the pot wasn’t covered but the orange glowing coil didn’t care; we turned its dial, my fingers dancing with hers. I felt sick at remembering. She looked me in the eyes; I said I’d been a fool and that if she loved me she’d know that, but that wasn’t why she came to my apartment apart from being cooped for what she claimed were decades.
Dropping flies enflamed her; she corrected herself to be more specific, “I can’t take the real estate, whackos and womanizers sharing slices of chauvinist’s pie and piling up in our lawns, some even loonier lunatic luring them during the night and dying them close enough to my dinner table,” she said.
I said I still didn’t follow.
Flinging her fists, she was bound to fight it from me. Me, I waited for my eggs to float. I concluded that the coils weren’t orange enough. “Felix, I’m afraid of my neighbors,” she released.
She was flat, so I used a knife to cut the egg, and I salted one half and peppered the other.
I left the jar ajar in the cupholder of my car, but with water inside whirling from the flopping tadpoles' tiny swimming, while I parked to purchase prophylactics from Wal-Mart. Prophylactic is doctor talk for condoms-it’s all horny talk to a testosteroned twenty year old.
The car was unlocked, the jar was still ajar, and my brain bubbled.
I drove home hopeless, hearing the wind move from the window past my perked ears, and it spun wild horns that I liked, so kept. Pressing my foot hard, cruising, put my bondless body in a trance and through my mind I traced the lines to and from what I’d become. I was naked in my thoughts, never second-guessing my sexual agenda.
From above my eyelids I could make out the color and make of my car but couldn’t place my body in the driver’s seat.
But something like a splash startled me and I was snapped from the trance to find a paved portion of myself staring the line and me in the driver’s seat crawling on it like a caterpillar.
I shake my silky wings of their fresh dampness in the foyer of my apartment, remove my lead feet, and find the hook for my coat. I must have left my heart in that coat pocket because she looked worried when I walked into the dimly lit room and my eyes adjusted. She had the whole couch to herself and a blanket that she grasped to dramatize her emotional response to the crazed look in my eyes.
“Felix”-I jumped her. She panted and moaned. I let my toes go numb. We fell asleep naked on the couch, unashamed and tangled, covering each other’s parts with our own parts.
I wake up alone and stretch, a good, long stretch, as the sun slides through the shades and splatters against the wall; I yawn and scratch my left shoulder with the index and middle fingers of my right hand.
My olfactories swell and the heat of breakfast enters my nostrils. This is when my brain wakes up.
In the kitchen, the stove coil is a red naked. I see no breakfast. No materials for breakfast. No strewn breakfast utensils or cookware. A red, naked coil provides this warm swelling. A newspaper is open atop the kitchen table. I flip it closed and check the date on the front. Just as I thought, it’s already yesterday.
The stovetop became very warm, and the pot wasn’t covered but the orange glowing coil didn’t care; we turned its dial, my fingers dancing with hers. I felt sick at remembering. She looked me in the eyes; I said I’d been a fool and that if she loved me she’d know that, but that wasn’t why she came to my apartment apart from being cooped for what she claimed were decades.
Dropping flies enflamed her; she corrected herself to be more specific, “I can’t take the real estate, whackos and womanizers sharing slices of chauvinist’s pie and piling up in our lawns, some even loonier lunatic luring them during the night and dying them close enough to my dinner table,” she said.
I said I still didn’t follow.
Flinging her fists, she was bound to fight it from me. Me, I waited for my eggs to float. I concluded that the coils weren’t orange enough. “Felix, I’m afraid of my neighbors,” she released.
She was flat, so I used a knife to cut the egg, and I salted one half and peppered the other.
I left the jar ajar in the cupholder of my car, but with water inside whirling from the flopping tadpoles' tiny swimming, while I parked to purchase prophylactics from Wal-Mart. Prophylactic is doctor talk for condoms-it’s all horny talk to a testosteroned twenty year old.
The car was unlocked, the jar was still ajar, and my brain bubbled.
I drove home hopeless, hearing the wind move from the window past my perked ears, and it spun wild horns that I liked, so kept. Pressing my foot hard, cruising, put my bondless body in a trance and through my mind I traced the lines to and from what I’d become. I was naked in my thoughts, never second-guessing my sexual agenda.
From above my eyelids I could make out the color and make of my car but couldn’t place my body in the driver’s seat.
But something like a splash startled me and I was snapped from the trance to find a paved portion of myself staring the line and me in the driver’s seat crawling on it like a caterpillar.
I shake my silky wings of their fresh dampness in the foyer of my apartment, remove my lead feet, and find the hook for my coat. I must have left my heart in that coat pocket because she looked worried when I walked into the dimly lit room and my eyes adjusted. She had the whole couch to herself and a blanket that she grasped to dramatize her emotional response to the crazed look in my eyes.
“Felix”-I jumped her. She panted and moaned. I let my toes go numb. We fell asleep naked on the couch, unashamed and tangled, covering each other’s parts with our own parts.
I wake up alone and stretch, a good, long stretch, as the sun slides through the shades and splatters against the wall; I yawn and scratch my left shoulder with the index and middle fingers of my right hand.
My olfactories swell and the heat of breakfast enters my nostrils. This is when my brain wakes up.
In the kitchen, the stove coil is a red naked. I see no breakfast. No materials for breakfast. No strewn breakfast utensils or cookware. A red, naked coil provides this warm swelling. A newspaper is open atop the kitchen table. I flip it closed and check the date on the front. Just as I thought, it’s already yesterday.