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Today symbolized a day that everything shifted. No one can forget the image. She used to make twin towers out of staple refills. She had been at work and went home when she heard about the towers and their friends came over and everyone knew. It was different now.
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It was sunny and still didn't rain. they said it was something like El Niño and the world was dying fast and shitty men reflected US.
She had already loved his cool and non-Jergins-type products. He wasn't someone who bought cliche things. He liked it artisan but cheap. It was a concept she enjoyed.
They had had a heated flirty conversation when they were first connected about the motto she employed "vote with your dollar" (he didn't think it said it correctly). It had caused her to look up Platonic Shapes for some reason. She held firm on it though - the only wiggle she'd give was "Vote with your Buck" (a patriarchal double finger salute).
"oh Christ. I've lost it."
Dobby the cat jumped up voraciously and pawed the keyboard playing another tune. This time is was that one by the cranberries, "... you're always putting me down..."
She was going to pause it. In her old age, she was unable to write/read and hear lyrics at the same time (unless gripped by some strong emotion she was birthing).
back to our story.
(is it really worth telling)
She had been walking out in the sun for her mini-lap and thought of him and how much he was wounded by his mother.
"wow, you're really tenacious about your sun protection."
He got an old look on his face, "yeah, my dermatologist told I had to, and I got so many sunburns as a child."
She smiled inside a little bit thinking there he goes again with the anger at the mother. it comes out in everything, and I'm just like him except for me it's more father.
and she thinks, "wasn't the father there too."
but she knows nothing. it wasn't supremely important to know beyond the particulars: dad died too young, liked dad much better but still some resentment, mom is hated except for that one tender moment when his soft voice said in reply to her stating her mother never says anything positive about her except for maybe her looks every so often. He replied, "my mom always told me I was brilliant and special."
It was something.
so much was.
and the robots were wandering in Kroger, and her first sighting she said out loud "what the fuck is this." No one heard.
She should probably use more sunscreen. She used to care.
Now she just had become so willfully isolated that it only mattered at long stretches and beaches. She had liked using his though, and liked that he was generous with his things.
he was generous.
she wondered if this was it. what more could there be to write about? she had just completed a missive that may have tried to say, "aha! you hated your mother. I had no chance until you put that poison in da ground."
like she had been told.
so many years ago.
anyway, what was love. she practically forgot it. she thinks now she was just so fucking thirsty for a fellow smart talker. he wasn't all that because, well he left her. If he was "all that", he'd be like "ok, so let's hash this shit out. what do you want?"
but maybe she was the one to have
fuck fuck fuck
it was so over. get over it. stop talking about it.
but she still enjoyed little glimmers of tidbits of fleeting him...
for now.
Today was Friday, he'd either be having tacos with some gal pal or fish sandwich at the hi-lo.
she knew somethings.
old things.
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