True Love
This
is it. It. The moment. It’s been three years since you first saw her. You still
can’t stop thinking about her and you smile at this warm, strange
feeling in your stomach and throat. Walking down the street, you pick
up a bouquet for later tonight when you see her. You haven’t seen
her for a few months; she’s been out of town, working. You barely
remember how she smelled the last time you saw her, but you do remember
that feeling she sent you away with that night.Jason Mouzon You feel so lucky that she’s yours. All yours. She’s subtle about the feelings, the connection between you, which is a welcome change from the average, everyday women you see and know. A wink here. A blown kiss there. You know everyone wants to dream and believe that it’s for them, and only for them but you know it’s purely for you. She’s so incredible. She makes everyone smile. It’s like being with a princess. Everyone knows her. She’s so beautiful. Dirty blonde hair and café latte skin. Curves so swurvy that when she wiggles that tight bottom of hers, everyone in the world seems to take notice. You catch yourself being jealous of this, but it passes when you assure yourself that she fancies no one else. The things she whispers in your ear with that scratchy, dirty voice of hers late at night. The way she sings in the morning while you’re in the shower. These little things mean so much to you. She loves me you tell yourself. She wouldn’t do those things for me if she didn’t, you think. You get back home to your apartment and carefully place the bouquet in the refrigerator. You plop down in the crusty crayon yellow recliner and survey your kingdom. There are pictures of her everywhere. You like to think, deep down, that there isn’t a room where there isn’t a picture of her. But that’s not true because there is one place where there are no pictures of her and that’s your bathroom. You tried once. Placed a glossy 8 x 10 on the counter, to the right of the rusted green sink. But you felt dirty and shameful being naked and washing and shitting and doing other things in front of her. So you moved it into the bedroom, after you made room for it. As you get up you realize that it’s eleven past seven and if you’re going to surprise her at work you’d better hurry. She always works late and you think flowers and dinner would be a nice surprise although you have no idea what she will say to that suggestion. You think it would be nice especially since you’ve been apart for what seems like forever. There’s thirty minutes for you to shower, shave, brush your teeth four times and wash your hands three times. You heard her say before that she hates men who are dirty or nasty or have bad breath and being the gentleman you are, you make sure you’re clean. After your shower you get dressed. You wear that blue sweater that you know she will like because it’s blue and she said blue was her favorite color. Before you got into the shower you turned on the radio. You heard the music, but imagined her singing the song and it was lovely. You love hearing her sing, whether it’s real or imagined. You love everything about her. You grab the bouquet and walk down the stairs because the elevator is disabled and you hail a taxi. After the destination has been negotiated, you sit back with your flowers and picture her. You picture her naked sitting in the clouds arms outspread welcoming you back. The last time you talked with her had not been that pleasant. She called you a bastard, told you to get a life. Then some angry meatyman grabbed you and bounced you off the premises. You were so distraught after that. Poured your heart out in letters and drawings and collages that came from magazine pages. So many letters you lost count. You sent them every week. No reply. For six months. Then one night the phone rings and you answer. You answer and you can’t hear anything but your own breath. You become angry and then you hear a voice, her voice. I’m sorry she said. I can’t wait to see you she said. You agreed then hung up the phone. You smile. You can’t wait to talktoheragain. After arriving at your destination and giving the cab driver more than he deserves he starts to yell and curse. You breathe deep and lean in through the passenger side window. Her flowers in your right hand are parallel to the pavement and the pretty end is pointing the driver straight in his greasy brown face. He sees into the flowers and immediately understands your plan, your purpose at this venue. He is so sorry for holding you up; he apologizes over and over again. I’m sorry so sorry I didn’t understand please forgive me this money is sufficient sir blah blah BLAH! You tell him not to worry and to wash his face then you walk towards the gates. You run into another problem. This time with a man with a yellow jacket who calls himself a guard. He couldn’t chase you down if you ran away because he’s fat and greasy with short legs. You argue with this man for a minute or nine until another guard comes up. This one is younger and skinnier almost gangly. But he is no less greasy, you think, on account of his acne. The skinny greasy one tells the fat greasy one to let you through because they are almost done and will be closing down in a few minutes. You listen to them argue with their glistening shiny skin. You push past them both, angry at the delay and you make your way to where you know she will be. The guard was right because you’re working hard to move against the sea of people leaving. You push and muscle and lower your shoulder just like they taught you in pee-wee football before you got kicked off the team for spearing the little boy in the back. You smile at this memory and think about doing the same and then you hear her voice. It’s so sweet and soothing and caring and nothing at all like the braying you heard at home. I had a great time she says. Drive safely she says. Thank you so much she says with her honey tongue. This is how she’s so successful you think. No wonder. She cares, genuinely, about everyone here. And then you smile even bigger because she is all yours and no one else’s and she’s naked in the clouds in your brain and now you see her. She’s walking back to her office and you know it’s her office because it’s her name on the pink and sparkly star on the door. You also see that same angry man who threw you into the air and away from her the last time. But he doesn’t recognize you as you walk towards him. Not this time. This time you made sure. You shaved your beard and had your hair cut like that guy in the movie that she seemed to like so much. You started jogging and did many sit-ups and push-ups and got lean and taut like that guy in the magazine she seemed to like so much. You went to the doctor and had him chisel bone from your nose so it wouldn’t preen out from your face anymore. She will barely recognize me you think. But you have always known that she knows you, truly knows you. So you keep walking towards the door of her office and take out the plastic card attached to the plastic rope and put it around your neck. You spent four hours making it in your living room while smoking and wearing your spideyman underwear. You did such a good job that no one checks it or even notices although you’re sweating too much and you keep looking over your shoulder. You reach the door and suddenly you’re one knock-knock away from the moment. You wipe the sweat away and reach to knock but a big meatythick hand grabs your wrist and squeezes and asks what you’re doing. Flowers you say. He looks and doesn’t hearunderstand. Your heart hits your chest helmet-first and you say Delivering Flowers loud enough to hearunderstand. He nods and releases his meathand and opens the door for you and announces your arrival. You smile at his greasy face and enter. You can still hear all the people outside when you shut the door. All the voices screaming her name, clamoring, and you can’t hear yourself at all only in your head. Then you see her walk out of another door to the left. She just got out of the shower and she’s wet her hair is wet and she has on a white robe that looks just like your clouds that you see her floating on in your brain. Are those for me she asks. You nod and smile and tell her how beautiful she is and how much you enjoy getting to see her again. Oh she says. You were here for the last show she asks. You nod and say how great it is to be able totalktoheragain. She has this confused look on her face and asks if we’ve met before. You start to curse yourself for the doctor and the exercise and the fasting because she can’t recognize you because she can’t remember you she says. After she says that everything goes fast. You try to tell her about the last time you saw her and the pictures and the radio and how she leans out of the picture frames to command you to paint the bedroom wall with spoiled milk and urine but she doesn’t hearunderstand and this makes you angry but you don’t drop the flowers and you try to give them to her but she slaps them away and the only thing left in your hand is the handle of the blade and she sees it tries to scream but you interrupt it with your hand and then wonder if her scream would be as soothing as you think it would be then she bites you but you tell her it’s OK that it’s been a long time. Then she does it. She looks in your eyes. She sees you, the real you. Sheknows sheremembers, you think. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. But she doesn’t understand. She says she doesn’t want you here, that she hates bastards like you. Get a life. Fuck off. Let go of me. So you punch her in the stomach to show her exactly how those words felt. She’s got nothing to say now because the wind has left those big beautiful lungs. Not beautiful. Hateful. Ugly. HatefulUglyGreasy lungs. If she didn’t have lungs she couldn’t say those terrible things, you think. And now she looks at you and she can read your mind and she knows you but she doesn’t like it and you knew it all along. |