We go back to her place, which has two bedrooms and hardwood floors. On the ride over I fastened the seat belt but I don’t think she noticed. She opened her purse but didn’t go through it like she did before, probably just making sure the gun was loaded and accessible.
This Deborah’s hair is thick, more or less straight and dry to the touch. There’s a spot on the back of her calf that’s irritated from shaving. I think her left leg might be longer than the right leg but that could be my imagination making her more interesting. The feet are bony so I leave them alone. Stomach needs work. I’m guessing the nipples aren’t sensitive because she seems bored when I work them.
I try to decide if she reminds me of someone.
I don’t know what she sees in me, if anything. My body is smooth and unbroken. No runs, no hits, no errors. I don’t have anything to say and though I listen to people when they talk, I don’t know if that makes me good at it.
She searches me up and down, says, I’m exploring you. Who knows what she is looking for but her exploration doesn’t bother me, so I let her explore. I tell her to let me know if she finds anything worthwhile. For whatever reason the line, Close your eyes and think of England, comes to me. I am Queen Victoria or whoever it was with my eyes closed and she is Magellan in search of god knows what.
She pushes her tongue against mine like she’s angry at it. The sound she makes is between a moan and a sigh. Every so often she pulls back and has a playful grin on her face. Eventually I start mimicking her, so that each time our lips are about to touch I pull back.
She smiles, tells me out of the left side of her mouth that I’m the first one to pass her test.
I say, I guess you’ve met your match.
I start behind the ear. She makes her sound and grabs hold of the back of my head, digging her nails into my scalp. Eventually I get to where we both want this to go. I run my tongue back and forth over the spot. The skin feels dead.
ONE OF MY DAUGHTERS IS CALLED RESNICK
THE BRUISED PARTS OF A BANANA ARE POISON. I’ve gone up to people on street corners—I’ve said, the bruised parts of a banana are poison. I’ve said you mustn’t eat them. I never use the word mustn’t unless I’m talking about the bruised parts of bananas. Only young actresses say the word mustn’t out loud. They are allowed to because they have long curly hair and pretty polished toes. They say I mustn’t eat this whole box of cookies right now. Or they say I mustn’t allow complacency and ennui within a city block of my long curly hair and pretty polished toes. I’ve seen them on street corners and I’ve said to them the bruised parts of a banana are poison. I’ve said you mustn’t eat them. Some of the young actresses thank me for saving their lives and others don’t thank me at all. These thankless ones walk away quickly in some other direction. I like the way the thankless ones walk so it’s always fine with me when this happens. The ones who do thank me are my favorites, though. They have the longest curliest hair and the prettiest polished toes. I tell them all about what is poisonous in the world. Envelopes you have to lick with your tongue, green bell peppers, vitamin C with rose hips, and so on. To make myself clear I ask them what the hell is a rose hip. Not one of them ever knows the answer. What they say is I mustn’t allow Mr. Resnick to push me around anymore. I tell them they are absolutely right about this. Then I ask them who is Mr. Resnick and they answer he is the director, silly. This is another word young actresses say out loud and there’s nothing wrong with it. I like it when the young girls call me silly. I always ask them how they know my name is silly and they giggle. Eventually I tell them I understand what they are saying and then I say one of my daughters is called Resnick as a way of relating to them. This is when that gut love connection explodes all over everyone. It fills the universe. At this moment they know they have to trust that gut love connection because this is what it means to be alive and on the planet. This is what they have waited their entire lives for. Now I invite them home so we can eat unbruised bananas and make long polished gut love all night. On the way I tell them the world is full of all kinds of poison and we have to be careful. I tell them we have to live inside our gut love and not let anyone else in. I tell them I will save their lives every day forever if only they let me.
TO DEATH I’M STARVING
MAYBE THIS ONE MAN LIES TO ME REPEATEDLY over the course of several years and having had more than enough deceit for one lifetime from this one man I shoot him repeatedly in the chest and head until I tire of the noise and mess and stop shooting. So then I stand over this man who lies to me repeatedly and whom I’ve shot repeatedly and maybe because I once loved and perhaps will continue to love this man I apologize for ruining the new suit he was excited about wearing for the first time. I tell him the suit looks grand. I tell him he looks like an important man in this suit. Not the kind of man who becomes important only after someone shoots him repeatedly but a man whose importance transcends any single event. I even say he exudes prestige with such a suit. This is just the sort of comment he would bask in the glow of had he not been shot repeatedly. He would puff his chest out and strut around like a peacock is what he’d do. But his being shot repeatedly was his own doing or his own undoing and so I don’t feel sorry for him not being able to bask in the glow of the comments I’ve made regarding his new suit. It should be said that at the time the decision to shoot him repeatedly was more of a knee-jerk reaction than a considered decision. Insofar as once I started shooting I kept on shooting rather than thinking twice about it or realizing exactly what I was doing. I have no recollection of what I was feeling while I was shooting him repeatedly only that at the end of it I was tired of the noise and mess. And that before I started shooting I chanted to myself in my head it is to be now it is to be now over and over again. I’m not sure where it is to be now came from as a phrase to chant over and over again. Maybe the man I’ve shot repeatedly uttered it is to be now during a pre-orgasmic stupor once. That is entirely possible given the kind of man he was. It just now strikes me that I am already thinking of him in the past tense like this is something that happened years ago. Amazing how the mind works sometimes. It’s like Darwinian or something, like that survival-of-the-fittest or adapt-or-die or something. And yet the future is something I cannot even conceive of. What tomorrow will find me doing I cannot rightly say. For now I’ve always been curious about what they call human nature. Why people do what they do and how they see themselves. This is one thing this man and I did not have in common although we did have a lot in common. I would ask him if he thought we had too much in common and that being two peas in a pod or cut from the same cloth was an unhealthy situation. He would say he didn’t think of such things. He said whenever you think or talk about a relationship is when you stop having one. He would always make a salient point to either avoid an issue or bring a premature end to a potentially important discussion. It was his one great skill. He was plain good at avoidance although some things he could not avoid like a hail of bullets for instance. For the record his lies ranged from the little white to the big fat. The worst part about the lying was not that it was habitual but instinctive. I would call him on his lies and he’d say you’ll miss me when I’m gone which could very will be true. I imagine I will miss him terribly. For my part the business with the suit was the straw that broke his mother’s back. The suit and the circumstances surrounding the suit. Ostensibly what amounts to a breaking point, although I don’t approve of the phrase breaking point at all. I don’t recall anything breaking except for the frame to that awful seascape and a vase. It wasn’t as if I was looking for an excuse or for something to set me off. I was not lying in wait. He was the one who would lie in wait for me. Sometimes I’d come home and the lights would be off and he’d jump me. He’d make like a cop and have me against the wall spread eagle and frisk me from stem to stern. This is what he liked so I’d humor him. I was what is known as the submissive although that is another phrase I do not care for. Every time my heart would nearly jump out of my chest and he’d say the game was supposed to get your heart pumping as he’d fondle my breasts or some such. The first time he mentioned the word game I said … This is a game to you? He said everything was a game like he was in some spy movie. He was always quoting obscure movies and half the time I had no idea what he was talking about. All in all it was not what you would call a healthy situation. He’d say peculiar things too although nothing sticks out in my memory to illustrate it. He could be hard to figure out sometimes which is something else we have in common. I slipped there. Clearly I meant being hard to figure out was something we had in common and not have in common. It is funny how the mind works sometimes. How wishy-washy how fallible. The man I’ve shot repeatedly was as fallible as they come. And vain. He was hell-bent on buying a new suit although he didn’t need a new suit and couldn’t afford one either. He owes money or used to owe money to everyone and their brother but I guess is off the hook now having been shot repeatedly so all is not lost as far as that end of it is concerned. … How are you going to pay for this new suit? I asked him when he told me he was planning to buy one. He said whatever stupid thing it was he said and then said it wasn’t for me to worry about. Then he lied about some job he might be getting. There was no job. And even if there was a job they weren’t going to give it to him. This lie came on Valentine’s Day and the custom was for him to take me to a fancy dinner. I laid into him about selfishness and narcissism and insensitivity. He made one of those incredulous faces he used to make and said we can still go to dinner but he didn’t feel like it just then and asked if I was that hungry and then suggested I have something to hold me over. Truth is I wasn’t terribly hungry but said … To death I’m starving … to make a point. I can have a melodramatic flair that borders on the poetic at times and this was another thing this man and I had in common. He said … Maybe if I give you twenty-nine cents a day we can save you from imminent starvation. I laughed but I wasn’t laughing with him I was laughing at him. He couldn’t tell the difference. I said … Even if I was starving to death you wouldn’t even know it. …I’ve been starving to death since I’ve known you. I’m not exactly sure what I meant by that when I said it but I think it was true nevertheless. He reached into his pocket and handed me a dollar bill. He said … This should keep you off a respirator for a few days then. Then he sat himself down on the couch and I went into the bedroom. A few minutes later he proceeded to talk about a television show he’d seen about ancient Indians. I could hear him even though the bedroom door was closed. He’d do this all the time whenever we’d argue. He’d have a conversation with me even though I wasn’t there and he’d talk loudly so I could hear from behind whatever closed door I happened to be at the time. I believe this was to signify that he didn’t need me or something to that effect. He said there were giant earthen mounds scattered across the mid-west and the south and there were scores of skeletons and artifacts buried within these mounds and one of them covered more acreage at the base of it than the great pyramid at Khufu. I could never tell whether the story he was telling from another room had some sort of double meaning or not. I tried to find a connection between this Indian story and what was going on between us but couldn’t. The one aspect of the story I noted was the Khufu part because I think he meant Giza although I could be mistaken. After telling me this I hear him go into the shower where he takes his sweet time. This was roughly when I decided to shoot him repeatedly although it was more of a knee-jerk reaction than a considered decision in most ways. The suit the Indians the starvation Giza Khufu and the shower were all the last straws. He comes out of the shower in a towel and struts around like he’s something to look at. Then he cracks open a beer and drinks it slowly while he drip dries on the couch. All the while I’m thinking it is to be now it is to be now it is to be now. And I’m still not exactly sure where I got it is to be now as a phrase to chant in my head but don’t think it is vitally important at this stage of the game. Eventually he excuses himself and says … I’m going in to change into my new suit so I can take you to your Valentine’s dinner before to death you starve, in that mocking way he has. When he emerges from the bathroom wearing his new suit he holds his arms out and spins around like a model and asks me what I think. This is when I shoot him repeatedly. Some of the bullets hit him in the chest and some in the head and I don’t stop shooting until I tire of the noise and mess.