Ride the tube. Take Goodge to Leicester to Green Park. Bring clementines for the parakeets even though the signs say not to feed the birds. The neon masses collect on your outstretched arms, swarm you in bright green flashes; beaks plucking at the orange wedges in your palms, tail feathers flicking your skin. Everyone is looking at you. Do not shoo the birds.
After the birds have flown away and all the fruit is gone, walk. Elongate your stride on the street, listening to the rhythm of your pant legs slapping your boots. Pretend you’re in a hurry. Hear the rhythm smack faster. When the big-bellied man at the corner approaches you, motioning to the clipboard in his hands, scrunch your face. Soften it. Let the leftover wrinkle between your brows do your talking for you. Feel unnecessarily successful. Practice your new skill on other petitioners as you continue to your destination. Sit down at a café. Spread the contents of your purse and pockets out on the table to make the space feel more like your own. When the waitress comes to take your order, decide to order enough food for two. Tell her you’re waiting on someone. When she brings the two lattes and platefuls of food, assure her that he will be here shortly. Shovel bites into your mouth as soon as she nods and walks away. Head home. Stop at the grocery on your way. Gather enough ingredients to make dinner for one, though you wish you were cooking for two. Notice the fluorescent bulbs that line the ceiling, the boxes, stacked neatly on the shelves, all cast in various shades of yellow. As you make your way through the aisles, hug the items you grab close to your chest. Realize you should’ve grabbed a basket. When an onion rolls from your arms and near the foot of a familiar-looking man, hold your breath. As he turns to face you, notice the shape of his clean-shaven face is wrong. His brown eyes wrong. The cow-lick swirl of his hair all wrong. Once at home, begin the process of making yourself a meal. Grease the pan. Light the stove. Hold the knife like he taught you. Curl your fingertips under and away from the blade as you slice. Imagine that his arms are wrapped around you, his hands hovering just above your navel. He rests his chin on your shoulder from behind. Let yourself sink into the warmth of his touch. Notice your breath begin to flutter. Think, for just a moment, that you feel his lips press against your cheek. Allow yourself to be consumed by the want of him.
0 Comments
|
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |