We were stuck in an elevator. It was someone’s fault. No one came to get us out. In the car I have an over-sized map. We are discussing the route. The fastest way to get from point A to point B. We are not lost, but we do not know the way, either.
Archives for the month of: March, 2012
I asked the waiter what was better, Swordfish or the steak? I settled on the Sunfish. While waiting for the food, the cook called me on his cell phone. I’m not sure what he wanted to ask me, but the waiter was furious that he made that call. When the food came, a ruffled fish, eyeballs and all, was placed on a large platter before me. My mother had the same dish.
And, then, the parade started. Or, the practice for the parade, rather. I stood on the sidewalk and watched the band members twist and lift their knees in preparation for their march.
His shell was purple with streaks of pink. His soft body was a translucent blue. He scurried around to find a place of solace, so he could come out of his shell. I noticed him trying to come out. I tried to encourage him to emerge. With no luck.
We traveled by train. The destination was desolate. Down on the dock only a couple people watched an orchestra play. There were so few people and it was hazy. All the while, I was searching for something.
I heard his kind voice. I found him in his muted-grey sweatshirt. He turned to me. Picked me up and spun me around. I tilted my head back and laughed in his arms.
We were walking along the shore. The water was so clear I could see the stones below the surface. I went deeper, even though she told me not to. My clothes were getting wet. I didn’t care, though. At the end of our walk we looked at aprons in the store. I really liked the blue and pink one with the crocheted top. But I didn’t get it. It was too long. On the walk back a girl sat up from her towel and asked me the time. I thought it had only been about fifteen minutes passing.
She said, Time goes fast.
Back at home, I noticed my 16mm camera was hanging on the fridge. I had not left it in that position. That’s when she said she was guilty. That she had been using my camera the whole time.
There were cookies in the oven. I went to take them out, but she stopped me. They were not ready, yet.
You took me down to the edge of the water and we both looked out over the rocky shore. On the sand bar a speedboat was wedged above a bolder. You commented on the boat. I think you wanted one.
As we stood there, your chest was bare and your body was wet. There was a towel wrapped around your shoulders and I rubbed my hands over your back to dry you off. That’s when you confronted me. You asked me why everything had to be on my schedule.
I didn’t understand.
I didn’t know you were mad.
All I knew was that I loved you.
She was missing three pairs of shoes. It was too expensive to send them to her, so we went to her house.
Her father was upstairs working. I began peeling away paint from the banister with my fingernails. There were so many layers of chipped paint.
A family broke into my house through the sliding glass door. They said they were from Chicago and they brought me a new set of keys.
My father was there the whole time.
We were moving out. There were three pianos in the room. My cousin and I sat down to play, at the same time. My piano was not in tune.
My roommate decided to move to Westchester. All her plants were dying. I took one to keep for myself, but there was brown, sloshy water in the bottom of the pot.
My grandparents were driving in front of us. The hatchback was wide open. Things were falling out of the car – a box of sanitation gloves, a bagpipe, my grandmother’s dirty underwear.
I tried calling them to let them know, but I couldn’t get through.
I had homework to do, so I went down to the garden. They were speaking French there and I had to listen to fill in the gaps of the story.
I was with my husband. We were on stage in a television interview. They began to ask us personal questions and we both answered with ease. When it was over we embraced each other. I sunk my teeth, lovingly, into his shoulder. It was covered with hair.
We knew each other so well.
Everyone was preparing for the feast. Digging through boxes. Some had already begun to eat. I was searching for a menu.
A girl stood up and proclaimed, “You must take a Satori with you!”
I found mine at the clothing store. I asked the cashier for a Satori and she pointed to a tee-shirt with an eye-chart printed on it.
Satori.
I took it home.
The child stood before us and read his poem, which hung on a long sheet of paper draped over his head.
You cannot bear children. It read.
My father stood up to read his poem next. He belted it out because the previous child had been so quiet. Whispered, so we had to strain to hear. That’s when I stood and held up a picture of a boy with smooth, sweet features. There was text around the picture, of which I highlighted the word, OXFORD.
I was going to name him that.
He was not mine.
I was their babysitter.
I didn’t trust that I could do it alone, so I brought a friend. The girls danced around me, not coming too close. They were unsure of me, as well.
I tried to put them to bed, but they ran off. Red, sticky candy in hand. Up to the roof deck, a walled-in courtyard. Like a castle.
The girls belonged to my writing teacher.
They fell asleep for once and then the doorbell rang. The parents had returned home and I had failed at my babysitting duties.
Marga Pictures 