“I don’t get it,” She starts “I mean, I don’t know why I’m never even considered.”
They’re at the tiny Mexican restaurant he likes (veggie burrito for him, 2 taco dinner for her, he’ll finish her rice and beans later when she gets full), and she’s finally broached one of the reasons she suggested dinner tonight.
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Liberation Day
“Thank you very much. You’re all set up. Have a nice day.”
With those words, she was finally free. The ATM card for the new account gripped firmly in hand (a “temporary” card, the official one would arrive in the mail in 6-10 days), she walked into the street a liberated woman.
The new bank was less than a block from her apartment. Her old bank was in the same building as her office, convenient, but not quite as handy as the new one would be. She proceeded briskly down the street, past the grocery store, the movie theater, the quaint and cozy coffee shop (for curling up with a sandwich, hot tea and a magazine) and the 24 hour corporate coffee place (all night high speed internet access!). She smiled regally at the performing arts center, the 24 hour Walgreen’s, two floral shops, the bar where the hot young 20somethings go (she qualifies as a hot young 20something for a few more years) and the quiet pub where she likes to grab a pint on a slow afternoon.
With this last step she had finally accomplished it. Living in one of the largest cities in the world, surrounded by myriad cultures and flavors, drowning in exotic restaurants, fantastic theaters, verdant parks and concert halls both rock and symphonic…She had finally managed to limit her entire world to a two-block stretch of city life. Everything she could possibly need or want…Right. There.
Sure, she’ll still have to go to work, but she moved to this neighborhood because she’s only a $5 cab ride away.
Other than that, she’ll never leave home again.
Dear Sirs,
I am hereby requesting an upgrade of my relationship status from “Placeholder” to “Standard.” While recognizing that my previous experience with Standard Relationships has been sketchy at best, I feel confident that my tenure as a professional Placeholder has given me the valuable skills to move on.
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Dear Sirs,
I see that you received my previous correspondence. And I appreciate the promptness of your reply.
It was quite the delightful first date…A perfect day at the zoo, followed by buffalo wings and conversation at a quaint neighborhood pub. The specimen you sent me was satisfactory in every way. Excellent condition - physically, mentally, and (seemingly) emotionally. There were no awkward pauses during the scintillating discussions of independent film, music, career ambition and travel. And I must say you really did your research this time! It couldn’t have been easy to find another left-handed 27 year old who’s previously worked as both a zoo keeper and a party promoter, who just moved out of the same city my brother currently lives in, and who can pick up things with his feet (just like me!). We certainly had a lot in common to talk about. Start to finish, I had a wonderful time with the subject you provided.
So what’s the catch?
Huh? What’s wrong with him? Is he still carrying a torch for a lost love (who may or may not show up at any moment)? He’s a writer, was he researching some story about awful blind dates? Was this actually even a date? Maybe he just thought it was two people hanging out. Did you send me another gay one? Did you, you bastards? Is he gonna take that job he was talking about in Washington…It starts in a MONTH, you know…A fucking month!
Or…Cruelest of all…Are you letting me get all excited about a single perfect day at the zoo (with buffalo wings to follow), just to find out that this guy isn’t into me at all?
Is he?
Jesus christ, you guys suck.
This isn’t over, fuckers.
K-
YOU DICKS! I HATE YOU YOU FUCKING DICKS I KILL YOU!
(Note: The above was scrawled in a brownish substance at first believed to be blood. Upon later analysis, it was revealed to be pudding.)
I like being naked
The tiny mesa of my belly swoops swiftly down, then up
like a swallow
To a jutting hipbone, hovers a moment
Before gliding down the narrow juncture of my thigh
Heavy handful of breast, sharp-dusk-nipple
hard against my palm
If I stand just straight enough, I love my lower back
Violin curving into the swell of my hips and buttocks
A hundred dark freckles map my skin
“mole” is an ugly word…Say freckles
Scattered constellations and connect-the-dot puzzles
A trio teeters in a precarious triangle on my collarbone
Two against the underside of my arm where the skin is soft
My favorite hides an inch below my left breast
If I push hard against it I can feel the springy vibrations of my ribcage
Cartilage straining fragile
And I’m reminded of the boy I loved whose chest was a valley
birdlike birdcage delicate
I’d lay my head between the hills of his breastbone and think
even though he’s so much bigger than me
If I reach out just one hand
I could crush him
My peaks and slopes
Flesh alternating salt and silk
The dips and nooks and hidden surprises of my body
I like being naked