“Mr. Cooper,” I say to the blue veins on the hand. “What on earth?”
The time is noon and the time is for sympathies but I look wonderful in black and I’ll take any sympathy I can get my hands on.
I will say to myself, “I do not regret the catastrophe,” and to the people who say that I should regret the catastrophe, I will say, “But none of it is true!”
It was high time for the woman to leave but she ordered another sherry. When the waiter returned with the bill, she lifted up her skirt so that he could see inside.
“Do you accept checks?” she asked him.
The owner saw this and he said to his wife, “The times sure are changing.” And his wife felt aroused.
In a year’s time I’ll have learned how to hold myself. I’ll know when I’ve had too much to drink and I’ll spend less time next to the toilet and more time with my friends. I’ll discover and perfect the art of pulling the trigger and it will change everything for me. I’ll experience the vertiginous horrors of smoking too much pot after drinking too much beer. I’ll eat a handful of pot cookies and formally introduce myself to what must surely be imminent death. I will come out of the closet and it will be less exhilarating than expected.
In a couple of years I’ll feel guilty when I black out. Hearing the tales of the night, I’ll cringe at my misdeeds and I’ll feel ashamed. My mother will find me violently ill one night. She will rub my back as I vomit and in the moment, it will feel tender and nice. I will tell her that I love her, and when I wake up the next day, I will be mortified and unable to look her in the eye. I’ll get into a good college and she will cry. Read the rest of this entry »
I have fabulous friends who are constantly ringing me. I have earned each one of them with skills I developed myself and I have even inherited nothing.
“Do you go out anymore?” Claire asked me last week. It made me laugh because of course I have no need to go out anymore and, in fact, I’m glad. This morning I did leave to visit my son’s house and he was not home and in his place was an elderly man who I believe was Oriental. I tried to “sweet talk” him so that he would tell me where my son was but he must not have been used to the affections of a woman. He said that he would ring for my son. In my life, I have only had three lovers but I have been to England and France and one of my lovers was a Parisian. Read the rest of this entry »
I’ve been thinking about the end of the world very much, recently. Namely, what I should tell my children. I have two, you see. And they are very different. The one is just a toddler. I think he may even be an infant. But the other is six and she is getting smarter and starting to look at me differently. When I was an infant I didn’t have to worry about the end of the world and I didn’t have to worry about that when I was six, either. My husband has been gone for years. I don’t think I’ve spoken to him in days and at what age does the child begin judging the mother? And at what age does the child run away?
My clothes are back on but my fingers are still trembling. “Do you want some tea?” she asks me. I want her to leave. To go home so that I can shower and scrub myself and put on a pair of boxers she hasn’t touched. But I force a nod and tell her that yes, I would. She eyes me up and down and then, “Darling,” she leans into my ear. “Cheer up.”
She returns from the kitchen with two glasses. “I couldn’t find any mugs,” she blushes, batting her eyelashes for good measure. “You should tell your mom to organize this place.” I say nothing as she hands me the steaming glass, focusing on the prickliness on the back of my neck. Her blouse is still unbuttoned and I can see her breasts. Read the rest of this entry »
A bouquet of shot glasses
Petals of whiskey.
She loves me. She doesn’t.
She does.
~
~
~
~
