Stretch to the Point of Breaking
"Hey babe, I'm so sorry...I just forgot..."
His apologetic drone trailed off as I began to scrutinize some piece of dirty felt stuck on the bottom of my new Rocket Dogs. With one hand propped on his left shoulder for balance, I leaned in and popped out my right heel. The romantic nature of such a stance reminded me of this generic childhood daydream. The one where you're kissin your fella and one heel, preferably the right, just automatically pops out. I always thought that was too cliche, an ideal kiss made for lame TV audiences who consumed their lives with bothersome fantasies that would never materialize into reality. Never once considering that it was I, who would be the fool. That was the trap laid by most cliches.
Right then, instead of reaching for the garnish on my heel with my free hand, I decided to seize the moment. I looked into his eyes, and touched my lips to his. It was horrible. The deep ache I had been hoping would subside only drilled more holes into my stomach. His eyes, the ones I normally spent hours being lost in, gave me a creepy falling sensation. Like I had tripped and fell headfirst into a bottomless well. Both the kiss and the embrace were picture perfect, we were two people who knew just how to lock lips in public. We were a goddamn black and white, candid, Doisneau work of art. But that was just it, we were two strangers going through the motions, faking the emotions.
As short-lived as our pose was, I lost track of who pulled back first. All I knew was that my right shoe needed attending to. He fell back into silence, or rather, the awkward limbo between avoidance and admittance. With utmost concentration, I peeled off what appeared to be a missing piece of someone's --well I really didn't know what it was. It was a soft pastel blue, the color and texture both made me think of babies' garments. How on earth could a child's clothing have ripped? The possibilities, which were endless, dutifully preoccupied my mind.
"Babe?"
Maybe a baby was kidnapped and his shirt ripped. Slim to none odds.
"I'm really sorry I forgot, It's just that work was so stressful, and they want me to do all this crap. It's not an excuse I know, but I want you to know I feel terrible about it."
It's probably just some shithead babysitter or nanny that got the child's shirt jammed in the stroller or something. Maybe the dog snagged a piece. Maybe it's from the shirt a dog was wearing...how was I even so sure it came from a baby?
"Babe, I'm saying I'm sorry, will you at least hear me out?"
He was sorry a lot lately. But still, there was a lot to be stressed about. I saw myself give him a smile, playfully bump into him, and drop that fascinating piece of discovery in order to hold his impatiently shaking, extended hand. The fabric once again came in contact with the concrete, ready to entertain someone else who would be feeling neglected.
I thought we could pretend another day, or maybe until the end of the summer, indefinitely.
His apologetic drone trailed off as I began to scrutinize some piece of dirty felt stuck on the bottom of my new Rocket Dogs. With one hand propped on his left shoulder for balance, I leaned in and popped out my right heel. The romantic nature of such a stance reminded me of this generic childhood daydream. The one where you're kissin your fella and one heel, preferably the right, just automatically pops out. I always thought that was too cliche, an ideal kiss made for lame TV audiences who consumed their lives with bothersome fantasies that would never materialize into reality. Never once considering that it was I, who would be the fool. That was the trap laid by most cliches.
Right then, instead of reaching for the garnish on my heel with my free hand, I decided to seize the moment. I looked into his eyes, and touched my lips to his. It was horrible. The deep ache I had been hoping would subside only drilled more holes into my stomach. His eyes, the ones I normally spent hours being lost in, gave me a creepy falling sensation. Like I had tripped and fell headfirst into a bottomless well. Both the kiss and the embrace were picture perfect, we were two people who knew just how to lock lips in public. We were a goddamn black and white, candid, Doisneau work of art. But that was just it, we were two strangers going through the motions, faking the emotions.
As short-lived as our pose was, I lost track of who pulled back first. All I knew was that my right shoe needed attending to. He fell back into silence, or rather, the awkward limbo between avoidance and admittance. With utmost concentration, I peeled off what appeared to be a missing piece of someone's --well I really didn't know what it was. It was a soft pastel blue, the color and texture both made me think of babies' garments. How on earth could a child's clothing have ripped? The possibilities, which were endless, dutifully preoccupied my mind.
"Babe?"
Maybe a baby was kidnapped and his shirt ripped. Slim to none odds.
"I'm really sorry I forgot, It's just that work was so stressful, and they want me to do all this crap. It's not an excuse I know, but I want you to know I feel terrible about it."
It's probably just some shithead babysitter or nanny that got the child's shirt jammed in the stroller or something. Maybe the dog snagged a piece. Maybe it's from the shirt a dog was wearing...how was I even so sure it came from a baby?
"Babe, I'm saying I'm sorry, will you at least hear me out?"
He was sorry a lot lately. But still, there was a lot to be stressed about. I saw myself give him a smile, playfully bump into him, and drop that fascinating piece of discovery in order to hold his impatiently shaking, extended hand. The fabric once again came in contact with the concrete, ready to entertain someone else who would be feeling neglected.
I thought we could pretend another day, or maybe until the end of the summer, indefinitely.
posted by Mix at 12:22 AM
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Based on something that actually happened?
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