In Three and a Half Parts...three
she has witty fingers. unpredictable, talking about moth and flame things. i watched them come and go in the forest of my chest. trees and im laughing. i didnt ever know where they were going. i almost like them better than her face.
i am thinking of calling her now. before i wasnt, but now... i am sitting here and staring into the mirror and i am naked. i have taken eight tylenol. i have not spread them out over an eight hour period. this gets me high. i cant get hard when im high, even when i think of her. i cant get hard and there is no possibility. last night i left the toilet a mess and the bedsheets worse. bad duck and she wasnt here. gone now, and my hallway clean. i am watching my limbs leak out of me, my dick a drippy faucet. the phone is so far away.
i am the information age. i remember the dial tone like a post orgasmic lull. im waiting for the tylenol to kick in. i am trying to peel myself off the label floor. i am bored of metaphors. i am bored of everything. how many more minutes?
it goes like this;
it begins with "but" i.e. "but i love you.."
and then condescension "...I know you do, honey. but..." time number two "I'm leaving anyway. I cant let you do things like that."
"oh my god. a walk-off grand slam. thats incredible. the first pitch. ive never seen that. did you see that?"
"Are you watching TV?"
"sorry. no. not anymore. ill turn it off. sorry."
"It doesn't matter. This is serious, but it doesn't matter."
"you bookend your sentences"
"You do too... you."
"...so youre leaving?"
tv quality smile "I already have, dear."
im not comfortable with this post-millenial nonsense. i have to name my enemy. i cant be trusted on an open field. things happen, i cant control them. you come home to find me naked in front of the bathroom mirror. please come home and find me naked in front of the bathroom mirror. the thought of you makes me.....
it really goes more like this. things started out complicated and they got simple. theres someone somewhere who says that perfection can only be found in simplicity. conversely, three self help books she had me read denied the existence of perfection. things started out hard. then they got soft, loose, leaky. when she moved in. when the her-me line started to blur. the possibility of loneliness. what happened to the possibility? her shoes in my hallway and all possibility is gone. bye bye, i saw it leaving. i'm feeling the tylenol now, i think. ive always been too tired to drink. things of commitment. how many beers does it take to get to the tootsie roll center of the tootsie pop?
so here's the thing about fear. without it i notice things. the world is bounded. my choices are only this and that. i can do anything i want, looking at a list of english language things. i am not afraid. i was afraid, but i am not. now. i am like a soap opera, and these small things make me happy. who takes eight tylenol like some washed up movie star? where are the washed up movie stars? who takes eight tylenol like he did two weeks before? who takes eight tylenol and cheats on his wife? who does this six to eight times in a single week (whats your definition of infidelity? you show me yours, ill show you mine?)? who watches television as their wife is leaving them? who calls his girlfriend of three months his wife because its irreverent, like her hands? tell me, without fear, are you broken?
when you domesticate yourself with things like bathroom tile cleaner and dr. scholls comfort inserts. i was done with quantities. i like to throw things away. she had long hair, though. how many girls nowadays.....? is it really hip to be square? how can i have only moved 3/4 of an inch in the past ten minutes?
sex is the enemy. or is it gender? i cant remember. theres someone somewhere who lectured me. its different to sex something than to gender it. you cannot fuck and make love at the same time. you are either born with or without a Y chromosome. or is it X. things i should know.
and im scared. i'm scared, maybe i should call her. i think. i think i should call her.
About the author:
Griffin Jaye Epstein writes plays, short stories, poems and songs, mostly on the subject of food and Kurt Cobain. She has been an actor/writer/costume designer/stage manager/production assistant countless times and has attended NYU; playwrights horizons, circle in the square and the stella adler conservatory. She is currently spending a year in Ireland studying language and liquor. she likes super furry animals, not to be confused with small, furry animals (i.e. rabbits, gerbils..she likes them, too), electric blankets and speaking in the third person.