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Miscellaneous Contingencies

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I had my share of strange experiences but this time I felt overwhelmed. Who would have thought that a man’s dick could disappear like his bike? What were the odds?

It all started when I finally decided to accept this guy’s invitation and have a few beers with him. He got there first and leaned his bike on a fence near the table, it was a hot summer night and the pub’s terrace was the only reasonable choice. I got there after a few minutes, I don’t like to be late. When I realize I am going late I panic, I wonder if I already missed the appointment, if everybody already left or if I’m pregnant or if I’m dead. I saw him reading the menu and I sat next to him. I’ll just have a beer, hi! I grinned at him and stuck a fingernail between my front teeth. It’s a nasty habit, I know, but I like to scratch my nail polish into abstract tiny drawings. I do that instead of screaming like mad and peel the skin on my lips until I speak blood. You are so beautiful, he told me and I laughed because he could only see me from outside. Of course I looked beautiful into his eyes, he chose me and he had to confirm his choice, he had to convince himself of my beauty. That’s the thing with people, they never speak for others, almost all the time they speak for themselves, trying to prove their thoughts. But maybe something was actually wrong with his eyes, I thought, blinking to adjust my contact lenses. I wear gray contacts for no reason, I just like the idea of me being the Girl with Gray Eyes.  Nobody calls me that, anyway. It sounds more like the name of a character.

We started to talk about literature and how I write shit and how he writes shit and how we love to read and how we like to wander through second-hand bookshops and then we got into a little fight because I said I underline and write notes on books pages, sometimes I even fold the corners instead of using book signs and he said You have no respect for books, they are precious and you doodle over them. This guy was so fascinated with the appearance of things, I thought, then I tried to explain.  I don’t doodle, I just write my thoughts concerning the text. If I paid for it and I only highlight or add words on the material support of the ideas expressed there, then I don’t see why is this disrespectful. I don’t know if he understood me, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to stop highlighting what John Fante, for example, said when Svevo Bandini made love with his wife, about that big bubble they chased toward the sun and exploded between them.

We finished the first round of beers  and ordered a new one, and then I noticed that he was wall-eyed, always looking at his bike with his left eye. But it was dark and I kind of liked him, he had broad shoulders and nice lips. I didn’t care much for his ocular muscles disorder.

Then a little gipsy kid came. He had a bunch of red roses and he was selling them at the tables. A rose for the lady, sir? but my guy said no. I didn’t care much for roses either, I don’t like them dead, if anyone gave me a dead flower I would be furious, I would cry my eyes out, screaming Why?! and ripping its petals. Sometimes, if I suddenly rise from chair to throw the petals, I faint and collapse. The shredded flower falls upon me like a blanket. But this time I was safe, because the kid left without selling his dead roses. He passed near the bike, touching it by mistake and my guy suddenly rose from the table and went jiu-jitsu in air, hit the kid’s head with his foot so hard that the poor kid lost his chewing gum. I saw that pink pellet flying near me, I suppose it fell on someone’s head. Fortunately, the kid wasn’t hurt, my guy had small feet, he came back to me and grabbed me by my shoulders. We kissed for a while, his throat had a weird medicine taste but I didn’t care much for the throat. I preferred to fondle his crotch under the table.  We really had something going on there.

Then it happened, but it was something else. The gipsy kid sneaked back and stole the bike. I didn’t care much for the bike, it wasn’t mine. But the guy’s dick was about to be mine and I just felt it disappearing. That was really strange. I said, Please, let me look, maybe I can help! I pulled his pants so I can look inside and thank God, his dick was still there, just that it was completely shrunken. This was something incredible, I mean, I have heard before about stolen bikes but for a dick to just shrunken like that, because a bike disappeared, that was unbelievable. I stopped touching him, finished my beer and left quickly, to tell you the truth, I was scared that he was contagious. I didn’t want to get all tiny and wrinkled so I took the first cab.

Very soon  I noticed that I had to pee. I told the cabdriver Can you go faster, please, I have to pee, I’ll pay the speed ticket, there’s no problem, I mean, after I saw what happened with that dick, I couldn’t care less for a speed ticket. The driver was cool, he said Hell no, miss, no way you’re gonna hold your pee, don’t you know?! Your bladder might swell and what if it breaks?! How are you gonna have kids after that?! Such a nice man, I said Don’t worry, sir, I won’t have kids in my bladder anyway. But the driver insisted and said Miss, look, I know a hidden place, nobody knows about it, we go there and you do what you have to do. I have everything, toilet paper, wet napkins, no worries. When we got there I felt like I was about to burst so I went after a bush and peed. I used one of those wet napkins. The driver came to me and said Miss, now that we are here, let me show you something beautiful.

And we looked at the stars.


The Purple Cat

My first encounter with the purple cat bedazzled me just a bit, enough to throw any dream spies off the track. I’ve raised my eyebrows for a reasonable number of times, I’ve lifted my stupor soaked hands and I’ve plumped out my lips in the shape of the most ingenuous female astonishment. The truth is I knew a purple cat had to appear in my life somehow but I preferred to be surprised. ‘ No, I have no idea what’s happening, this must be a miracle of some sort’. Such a thrill. The purple cat was merely a cub then and to be more precise, the colour wasn’t a clean, solid purple. More like a wide lilac. The kitten was quite a presence in my dreams, all fluffy and with clean paws. Not to mention she was a true comedian, making me laugh so hard that my back hunched. Then she would jump on my hump and I would start tramping away to avoid accidents.

Dream after dream, my purple cub cat grew into a purple adult cat. For unknown reasons, she had an even number of whiskers on her left side, and an odd number of whiskers on her right side. ‘Big deal’, the cat used to say, ‘their length is all that matters. Did you know there is a perfect ratio between a cat’s whiskers and her tail? And I am one of the few cats which meet that special proportion. What do you have to say now?’ she squinted her eyes at me, stabbing the air with the aforesaid whiskers. What could I have said? ‘You are the coolest cat I’ve ever met!’  I felt sad when she was making plans to  leave my dream and cross the border to a vegan, earringed redhead’s REM phase of sleep  But until then the purple cat combed my hair or, on her good days, she let me braid her into my lap so I could read for hours. Occasionally, when she purred too loud she became lavishly phosphorescent and I had to cover her with a blanket, careful not to bend her whiskers.

What is there left to say? Sometimes she drove me really mad, like when she sharpened her claws on my skull, when she pooped in my memories, or when she rummaged through my suppressions. Despite all that, my purple cat was my purple cat and I loved her complementary yellowish, smoldering a rough jealousy while waiting the end of the dream. And when that came, I woke up crying and sneezing as if, on her way to a redhead vegan’s subconscious, my purple cat had tickled my nose with a perfect tail instead of goodbye.

The Lovely Girl and the Dude

Once upon a time there was a lovable girl with lovely golden locks and a loving attitude towards people. She was neither a princess, nor a swineherd’s daughter, and she was definitely not a Cinderella. The lovable girl actually owned a construction company focused on the fabrication of empty beer can robots. She managed her business with such dedication that she was almost always a little tipsy, which might have been the main reason for the love she felt towards humankind.

One day a dude entered her CEO office and asked for a job. Being so committed to her company, the lovely girl was already drunk and she immediately felt in love with the dude. She hired him as a beer drinker, forecasting a vertiginous growth of the gross profit. Next day the girl showed the dude what were his duties and she professionally drank a six-pack. The dude was a fast learner and so they emptied sixteen cans of beer, enough for an entire robot foot. As the workdays went by, the lovely girl drank can of beer after can of beer and after each one she expressed her love to the dude and after each love statement she would integrate the can into a robot’s arm or somewhere in it. Then the dude felt inspired from all that love and had an idea. He started to smash the beer cans on his forehead. That was not good for the company, and the lovely girl got mad, she made dozens of charts and prognosis graphics to explain the dude how smashing the cans on his head had a negative effect on the company’s productivity. Her efforts remained fruitless because all that can smashing damaged the dude’s brain so bad that he wasn’t able to understand much from the charts.

The lovely girl was now facing a dilemma. As she had told the dude she loved him so many times, she couldn’t just fire him. But her empty beer can robots company was clearly becoming bankrupt. There was only one thing left to do. She asked the Human Resources Wizard for help, and the Wizard called the dude for a meeting. He soon realized there was no natural way to make the dude understand he was ruining everything for the lovely girl. Pie-charts and balance-sheets were useless, so the Wizard remembered he had supernatural powers because he lived in a story. He grabbed his magic wand, switched it in the air saying Dude Departus and the dude simply disappeared. The lovely girl threw away the pile of files and jumped with gratitude for the Wizard. She offered him a beer can and since then, the two of them are drinking and building robots and they may be drinking and building right now if they survived cirrhosis.

Frozen hearts

He’s going to the bathroom for the fifth time that day, according to her count. Muffled in his old Bart Simpson T-shirt and woolen coat, with fluffy socks in his feet, he’s pulling the hood over his forehead and snuffles his nose. His tripped walk doesn’t surprise her anymore, nor his syncopated breath. Everything is as it was yesterday, and the day before that, and as a matter of fact, as it has always been. She felt dizzy as she found herself talking in a loud and squeaky voice.

Do you have any idea how incredibly bored I am? What is this? This thing we’re doing?

Pointing both her eyes at him, she announced.

 I don’t want this, I can’t have it any longer.

He leaned over the wall vaguely interested.

This is too much! I just want to linger naked in my house, I just want to be able to sleep all over my bed, not only on the left corner with the quilt over my head, I just want to enjoy an hour long bath, without you barging in to ask me what’s for dinner. I swear I can feel my soul shivering and rumpling when you open that bathroom door. What’s wrong with you, can’t you just feel this coldness?

He blinks and vibrates almost indistinguishable.

I want things! I want to be able to relax in my couch reading a book, I want to shave my legs in the middle of my living room without having to keep my pants around my ankles in case you decide to check me up. I want to be myself!

He’s looking at her without any sign of understanding her complaints, so she comes closer to him and yells.

Can’t you see? I can’t stand this anymore. I don’t have any strength left, can’t you see I’m dying, crumbling, hunching, I am simply contracting myself when you ask me to take my clothes off. I don’t want to be your ice queen anymore!

Raising his eyebrows, he just turns around and says quite nonchalant,

Very well then, we’ll turn on the heat. But you’re gonna pay the bill!

Time to Kill The Mosquitoes

I was being humped by on orgy of mosquitoes. Next to me, the man snored with his elbow comfortably stuck in my forehead. Above me, the summer air hung from the ceiling like invisible stalactites. Everything seemed impossible and smelled as such. So I grabbed myself out of bed and I scrapped down the sand between my toes. Something still felt annoying so I licked the man’ s ear whispering with my warm breath  ‘ Come on, kitten, wake up, the sun wants to meet you, the beach needs to hug you, I need to kiss you, let’ s be romantic and one with nature’.  I whisper and hiss and the man, my kitten, growls like a bear. I tend to lose patience with animals so I shake him a few times, slam the beach carpet on him and light a cigarette on my way out in the hotel’ s garden.

As I am smoking under the grape leaves I get the sudden feeling that a rolling pin flattens my mind. I grab his hand, put an end to the head petting he was performing scrupulously, and prepare myself by visualizing the two of us kissing like there is no tomorrow on the sand, facing the sea. Holding hands and clip-clopping our flip-flops, we shove out for the mexican straw umbrellas spread all over the beach. With every step we count another minute gone by until the sunrise and another bacchanalian lady throwing up with a half empty bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other. We decide to kiss once we reach ten, so we can incorporate ourselves in the scenery. It is debauchery at its peak, screams and white wet tank top girls thrown in the sea, adorable drunkards wrapped in sleeping bags like babies, giggles, dances, breast caressing. The sun gets up from the horizon and yawns some stinking U.V ‘s . The beach raves, all the clams hurray, it was a good night, many copulations, there are naked tits everywhere, nipples, hairy fingers, mini skirts and at our left, a vomit.

‘Kitten’, I say chewing that solid nasty morning taste in my mouth, ‘some juice please’. My lips purse because it is a lemon juice but when I see the love and bleariness in his eyes they stretch into a large smile. ‘ So, kitten, can you see the love that surrounds us? ’ I say and he says ’ Kittten, the love is between us, too.’  Yes, I am his kitten,  and I have to meow when he kisses me and I also have to check around and see if someone admires us and our bursting love, I must make sure we are part of this alcohol and coitus-interruptus reeking scenery.

‘ Come on, let’s go back, kitten, we have seen too much love, and the sunrise, and we kissed, let’s go now and kill those mosquitoes so I can sleep until the time will come.’ We start swaying our hands again, and clip-clopping our flip-flops, we were true lovers that kissed on the beach, we played our parts and all that was left were those mosquitoes. I kiss my kitten once again and ask him to kill them. I watch him trying to catch the insects and when I hear  the first mosquito squealing in death pain I light up a cigarette and leave. The time has come and it is enough of it to let me reach the driveway until my kitten finishes killing the last mosquitoes.

Time to go

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I wonder how much time it will take. Half an hour tops, I’ll tell him we need to talk and he’ll understand. My job will be to take care of logistics, luggage and furniture. This is the first time I’m doing such a thing, such a complex break up. I ask Jim for a cigarette and how to break-up easy. I hate crying. Jim wants to know if he cheated on me. No. Did I cheat on him? Never. So he laughs and counsels me to be stern. Not to hesitate, because if I hesitate even for a second he will feel that and attack me. I wouldn’t stand an attack, I would just soften, I’d lose the battle.

When I approach the front door I try to be brave. We need to talk, that’s my first line. Now or never. And so I enter.

My eyes stare at him and my words won’t come out. A crippled smile attempts to immobilize the day and our relationship but I don’t let it, I bring it between my lips and sit down. We need to talk, I hear myself, and what a hoarse voice I have. Maybe it’ll give me a more persuasive attitude. I begin by explaining to him as well as I can why I’m not as well as I want to be. I just start crying when I get to the part where I say I need my freedom. He gently wipes my tears but I scream, don’t touch me, we are not allowed to touch now, it’s forbidden. He doesn’t listen to me, he even fondles my cheek and tries to understand, cries when he says he can’t. Now we’re both crying and it’s been more than half an hour, I wonder how much longer it will take. If only I didn’t say anything. Fuck my freedom, I just want some peace and quiet, a soft evening between two arms.

But I stand up and start over. I am calm now and he watches me careful, I see him struggling to follow me. I explain to him, I explain for me, underline and summarize. It’s damn hard to break up reasonably. And to accept that is happening tonight, this night.  He wants to hold me in his arms again but I run, I put on my snickers and my jacket, start to cry and run for the bus. People around me have bags in their arms and seem so peaceful, and I’m hurting my cheeks trying to stop the tears. It’s been already two hours and I don’t want to go back, it hurts too much, I don’t want to fight with someone who is not my enemy. I am his enemy, though. And this thought stops my crying immediately. I am the aggressor, the attacker. I come unstuck, I nullify, I undo. I break up. I am so going to get a beer.

I come back half drunk later and he sleeps. I set my bed in the other room and force myself to breathe calmly. When I wake up in the middle of the night with his hand caressing my forehead I scare like shit, yell at him as if he were a monster. We both startle because of my scream and for a moment he stops touching me. I ask him what time is it and he says it’s two in the morning. I feel the worst weariness covering me and I fall asleep with his hand touching my head again. I dream it all lasted only half an hour.

Through closed door

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This time my door remains closed. I’ll be waiting for my mother to get tired of knocking and praying to let her in. I have almost stopped my breathing, mothers have a specialized organ for offspring detection behind any closed door.

With my knees up to my grinding mouth and squeezing the phone in my moist hand, I’m trying to discern through the hell mother has risen on the building hallway what is she up to. She wants to call the firemen. My mother is under the impression that I am, right now, either drowned in my soup pot or collapsed with my head in the burning oven. The only thing that I might regret looking back earlier today is that I have told her I was just too tired to visit her, despite the fact that today’s a holiday. I also told her that I might do my laundry. That made her pretty nervous, due to the special status of the present day. It’s a religious thing, not to wash clothes or do needle work on any religious holiday, and mother likes to respect that. Or else something horrible will happen to the one who defies the tradition.  But it just slipped my mind and my mouth, I’ve told her what sin I was about to commit and here she is, desperately trying to save me.

So I’m sitting on the floor, facing the door. My glasses are dirty and my clothes are in the washing machine. On the other side of the door mother is crying. I really shouldn’t have yelled at her this morning, she only meant good for me. She’s a mother, just doing her motherly things, protecting the baby. The ridiculous thing is that I became mute, I simply cannot answer any question she bawls in the hallway. Are you there? Are you all right? Can you breathe? Do you have a pulse? I feel the answers somewhere in my chest but my mouth is clenched and I’m staring at the door, worried about my breathing. Maybe I am sick, maybe I need an ambulance, maybe my mother is right, why shouldn’t she be, she was right for so many years…She always knew when I was about to faint or get sick. Like when she made me bath in hot water with no window open, so I wouldn’t catch a cold.  Fainting from all that heat was just a secondary effect, any good medicine has some of that.

911, mother…that is the number you’re looking for. She is already too excited, I am starting to worry about her health. Should I open the door to calm her down? I could do that, especially now that she just dropped her cell phone between floors and screams at my neighbors to bring her another one. The nasty lady  from seventh floor says her phone’s not charged. Come on, she’s just waiting for some ‘unfortunate event’ so she’ll be interviewed on TV wearing some expensive snob dress. My courteous plumber offers mother his own touch screen cell phone and shows her how to move her finger on the screen.

Well, I’ve thought about it and suddenly opening the door is not an option. She might get a heart attack. I better wait for the firemen, I wonder if  they’ll break the door or a window. They’d better break the door, it’s old and ugly, and I was actually thinking of getting a new clear one, so my mother will understand me better.

She’s a very smart woman. She called the firemen on that touch screen cell phone. I am actually happy for her, technology and gadgets are important for her self esteem. She’s also a fast learner, not like other mothers, barely moving the computer mouse. Mother made herself a Facebook profile, put a picture of a huge muscled man and said she’s in a seriously relationship with me. Only for my protection, she knows I am vulnerable. So she ‘like’s everything I post and snubs at anybody who comments on my page.

My poor mother, what she has been through because of me. The firemen get wild in front of my door, she cries and plunges into my plumber’s arms and I bet that cow from the seventh floor is trying on some dresses for the reporters. I run like mad in the bedroom and I drag the wardrobe on myself, trying to immobilize my feet, then I ruffle my hair and hit my head on the floor hoping for a hematoma. I lose my consciousness for a few moments, exactly when the firemen break the door. Mother leaves the plumber’s arms and throws herself crying on me. I barely manage to move one hand and caress her hair. You were right, mother, I shouldn’t have washed my clothes on holiday.