Tuesday, November 15, 2016
A long time ago, in a home far, far above, I read this post at trinket999’s blog. It stayed on my mind as the perfect theme for a collage. It didn’t matter to me if the elements didn’t precisely spell out, “Hi, this is a meeting, and it’s happening in the afternoon, don’t you know!” What mattered is that I thought that’s when it was happening, as connected to the feelings I got when I read trinket’s terrific entry.
So I found the raw images, and I saw that they belonged together, and it was good. I posted the image, and I added a nonsensical line, randomly typed from my keyboard, and it was good. Now it’s time to say what I was going to say, nearly six years ago. Trinket999, this is for you.
As she waited, she realized her breathing had become quite audible, and she made an effort to calm down. There was no reason to be nervous. I have lain with men before, she thought, and brought her beautiful features together in a grimace. Lain? Did I just use the word ‘lain’? Oh, I am nervous. Very nervous.
She had been with men, that was true, but that was before they all died off; before the new ones arrived. Perfect in every way, but very small, nearly half in stature as the original men had been. Not all the same age, but none old, and none newborn. How curious it had been, when they had all been quarantined in vast camps around the globe, and then slowly integrated into the population. A world full of women that hadn’t seen men in years.
Is that why I want him so much? Because I’m starved? Oh, but he’s adorable, and I don’t care that he’s small. And so smart. How quickly he learned English.
There was a knock at the door. She jumped and gave an involuntary yelp she hoped he hadn’t heard at the other side of the front door. She made to rush toward it, and forced herself to slow down. Be cool, girl. Or act cool. She opened the door.
There he was, standing on her porch, wearing jeans he never wore to work. The smile she had pre-plastered on her skin dissolved in a river of saliva as she felt her gaze drop to the front of those jeans. She tried to say ‘hi’, but all that came out was a sad blend of air, and throat, and lust. Her cheeks burned, and his smile widened.
Motherfucker! Can he read my mind? No, of course not. It’s all written on my dumb face, I bet.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m not too early, am I?”
She took a breath that might have been too deep, but she regained some speech. “No… not at all. You are right on time. Please, come in.” She opened her door wide, and let the small, manly shape stride inside her home. He stopped when he reached the thick living room rug, a Turkish hand-loomed beauty she had found during her last trip overseas. He turned, and the room seemed brighter when he smiled at her.
“Beautiful,” he said. Her mouth was as dry as a desert now, and she cursed under her breath, the way his face was directly affecting her IQ, and her core temperature.
“Oh, you mean the rug! Yes, the rug. I- yes- found it years ago, when I went- Ah, please, sit down. May I offer you a rug? A drink! A beverage? Some wine.”
He giggled, and caused her to do the same in return. She brought a cooling hand to her burning cheek, and when he nodded, she walked toward the kitchen. She could feel his gaze on her, and begged all the gods and goddesses that were, and would ever be, to guard her from tripping and sprawling on the floor.
I feel like I’m twelve years old, and chasing Eddy all over the playground. Oh, how I hounded that poor boy. A boy that had become a man, and had died. The thought sobered her, and she bent low to pull a wine bottle from the rack. When she straightened herself and turned, he was standing there, only a few feet away. He had followed her to the kitchen, and she never heard him. She gasped, startled, and the bottle slipped from her grasp. Quick as a snake, his body whipped out, and his tiny hands enclosed the girth of the bottle before it crashed on the floor. The rest of his body’s momentum forced him to lean on hers. She could feel the wine bottle between her thighs.
“I’m sorry,” he said, from down there, looking up at her, his face already framed by the visible heaving of her breasts. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. I don’t know why I followed you here, uninvited.”
“No, no. Please, you are not uninvited. I’m the one that’s all fingers and thumbs today. Uh… if you give me the bottle…”
It was his turn to blush as he finally unglued himself from her body, but his motions were fluid, feline, entirely self-possessed. He stood in front of her, and effortlessly lifted towards her the bottle that must have been heavy for him. She took it by the neck with clammy hands, and said another silent prayer that she could keep her grasp on it.
After she poured them drinks, she took them to the kitchen table, where she sat in one chair, and he followed her to the one aside. He climbed it in one easy jump, and where any other man might have looked childish sitting in an oversized chair, he looked good enough to eat. She drank the contents of her cup in one gulp. He slowly lifted the rim of his to his lips, and when he reached them, he took his time tilting its circumference inward, Foolishly, she decided to help.
“Here, I’ll help you.” She failed to register the alarm in his eyes as he backtracked his drinking, and pulled his cup away. She put her empty glass on the table, and reached over for his. He still had’t swallowed the contents in his mouth, when she grabbed the stem, and lifted it, not too slowly. He coughed in his swig, and managed a strangled, “wait!” as he fought back the force of her grip with his tiny arms on the sides of his stemware. “Please, wait; I can’t drink that fast.”
Wine sloshed in the glass, but not a drop washed over the rim. “Gosh! I’m sorry! I don’t know what’s wrong with me today! I’ll just- if you just give me your shirt, I can-“ And she snatched his glass away, wine swishing dangerously in it as it finally settled on the table. As she was tugging at his shirt, trying to remove it, she was too embarrassed to look at his face. She might have seen his shock when tiny buttons popped off like projectiles as the fabric gave way to her strength. Only that ripping sound stopped her, and she let go of the fabric. Her shoulders dropped, as did her head. She covered her face with her hands, and sat there, silently.
He felt a tug at the corner of his mouth as he looked down at his ill-fated shirt, and sat up to remove it. She had’t moved yet, when he folded it as neatly as he could, and placed it on her lap, where a tear had a chance to drip on it from her face, before she looked down, and saw what he had done.
“Ah, yes. There’s wine all over my shirt.” She looked at him, not understanding. He only sat there, and smiled at her. It was the sweetest smile she had ever seen. The kindest. She smiled back.
“There’s wine all over your pants, too.”