Nicotine is a powerful drug that affects subconscious thought, brain waves, the depth of sleep, and can even affect dreams. The days after quitting, or taking a break, can result in the wildest minds.
--
He is magic, I guess. His computer didn't work and it turned into an SUV. Sue, the mother of the kid I babysat, barked from behind the couch still stuck in her lazyboy, "do you like the XLRs with the--" honestly, I have no idea what car lingo she said. But she said it. And the boy in my bed is sweaty. We are both sweaty. The room is out of order. It looks like we just moved in. An hour ago. Dressers neatly pressed against each other. Only the bed frame assembled. And he is magic, I guess. He wills a painting of my best friend I did while a freshman off the wall and melts it. I am not astounded, though. I sigh. Deeply. And say, "goddammit." Not another one. Another one? I explain to him every boy I've ever kissed has been magic. And he seems diminished.
We walk outside. It's India with barns and three-walled homes and vendors. But it is night time and the vendors don't feel like talking to us. And we are in a beauty contest but it is more like a gymnastics competition. In which I have no bearing. So I stand behind Patrick. I tell him he looks handsome. He does. But he also looks very aged. I omit this observation. And every one that has ever held my hand is competing. We are single file behind a large red curtain and I can hear the crowd roar louder than my nerves every time the next person is up. I am the only female. But we are all brown haired. And no one seems to please this crowd.
It is my turn, now. This is when I awoke.
No comments:
Post a Comment