Naked Writing

Painting ballerinas

The bus is driving 15, maybe 20 miles per hour (maybe 60?). The dashes on the road move in slow motion. Daaaaash. Daaaaash. Daaaaash. The ballerinas in the painting are hungry. Poised in forever plies.

The left one has eyes that say, “Will you bring me a Snickers bar? Please?”

The original paint by numbers code called for purple in the background, but the artist, in an uncharacteristic show of defiance, chose to use blue instead. With that one liberating choice, he proceeded to make even more decisions regarding the  ballerinas, defying those oppressive paint by numbers dictators.

Brown hair instead of blond. Red lipstick instead of pink. It was incredibly satisfying.

It lead, eventually, to making decisions in real life: Wheat or rye? Wheat. Over easy or scrambled? Poached. Girls or boys? Both. (As many as possible.)

He found that previously crippling decisions were just as easy to manipulate as the previously predictable code.

AKR

Frustration

Donna had been trying to untie this knot for 10, no, 20 minutes now. She pulled at the knotted yarn with her teeth. (Incisors to strings, some saliva catching and drying on the individual strands). Maybe if she ripped right though it, the stubborn twists would come undone.

She held the yellow, green and red ball in her lap, the freed strings laying flat across her right thigh. Donna’s untied hair kept falling down into the knot, into her lap, making the process that much more irritating. The arms on the clock moved derisively forward: 7:01. 7:02…

It was Sean’s fault. He had given the strings to the cat, a gesture of friendliness between two enemies. Snickers pawed and leapt at the yarn until it became entwined with itself three, four times over. Donna had come home, ready to start her scarf project. Perhaps it would have included some decorative fringe, if there was enough yarn left.

The knot was a messy gnarl of loops, twists and curlicues. Every spiral she managed to straighten only lead to another tangle to unkink. It took patience and precision to pry the pieces of string away from itself. Her fingernails were starting to hurt.

Donna cursed and accidentally dropped the knot on the kitchen floor. Snickers leapt quickly. Donna wanted to kick the cat. Instead she walked into the living room and yelled at her boyfriend, “Sean! You owe me some new yarn. Get your ass to Michael’s.”

AKR

Things that happen in the night

The streetlight casts yellow on the empty sidewalk as stray cats walk up and down searching for food. The black one says, “Rrreow.” The tiny white one observes. Waits to pounce.

A couple walks home with leftover food from that night’s dinner. Spaghetti sauce leaks into the lining of the woman’s purse. Her shoes hurt the balls of her feet. One toe is pinched. He’s tired and thinking about the time he’ll have between when she’s showering and when she’ll come to bed. 10 min. Maybe 15.

Windows go black as each person along their block decides to be done with the day. Lay. Sing rhyming songs to their children (or themselves) and wish that tomorrow will be better. There’s a sound that comes from around them. It goes like this: ting ting ting. It’s low and loud.

There are I love yous and Good Nights being whispered. There is an engagement ring being admired and a sneeze being sneezed.

Spaghetti sauce couple find each other in bed. She’s soft, hair wet from the shower. There’s a faint smell of vanilla, maybe from her body wash, not her lotion. He’s tired. She presses her breasts against his back. He can feel the heat of the shower on her skin. She asks for one. For two.

He says, “I’ll give you half.”

She says, “I guess that’s good,” and closes her eyes.

There was something remarkable about—

It must have been three in the morning. Maybe 3:05.  She felt him move over to his left shoulder—side sleeper. An end of the feather poked his cheek.

Then he stood, heard her sigh. His legs were a little wobbly, weren’t they?  The streetlight shone on his bare legs, bare ass.  He walked around the bed to where she slept, knelt down.

—But definitely not as late as 3:30.

Later, they’re both asleep. Satisfied until something better comes along.

(akr)