April 28th 2009

At a cocktail party. Civilized Millennials drink neon cocktails in martini glasses on a winding iron staircase along the side of a red bricked rectangle. I’m in the middle of two Valley girls going blah blah blah about Kesha’s new book. “Oh fur shure she’s fuckin genius are you serious? I know this one dude she sucked his dick after a party in Nashville or whatever and then when he woke up the next dayuhhhh his whole living room was like… trashed like… there was a hole in this painting and the couch was like… flipped over.” “Yeah I just bought it I gotta read that book.” I wouldn’t bother, I thought. “I heard she’s been nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature this year” I add as I straight face it and take a sip of steamy poison from the glass and look around. No one laughs. What’s new. What do they know from funny these bastards. Then I look up and there she is. Her face more beautiful than any other woman’s I’ve ever seen – both on the street and in the magazines. Her eyes play the room like Rachmaninov’s Concerto No.1 in F sharp minor. She is in the middle of her own lifeless situation. Some guy has obviously made a joke and is now laughing at it too. She smiles politely so he doesn’t feel completely wretched but I know that wouldn’t detract him. There’s boredom in those eyes that I know I can alleviate. She catches me staring and I don’t break. I smile. She smiles back. A real smile. One where I can see her teeth and even the inside of her mouth. Her teeth are perfect structures like the rest of the bones in her face. She looks like Angelina Jolie. But better. Gorgeous eyes. Gorgeous nose. A fierceness that comes with that look. I begin to climb the staircase still staring and smiling. She starts into her crowd backwards and does the same for a while before turning and walking up glancing down occasionally as I lag behind. We climb the stairs still apart until we are somewhere near heaven, if there is one. Either way we’re above the clouds now. We catch up and stop, still not speaking. She looks over the edge. I watch her face. I love everything about it. From the shape of the nostrils to the shape of the indent above her lip. I place my hand on her cheek. The skin is firm and smooth and young. I know we have a shot at happiness and everlasting youth together so I kiss her. The kiss is soft and salty and everything you’d imagined it to be.

I wake up crying knowing. From the moment we are above the clouds I know it’s all a dream. I take a shower. It’s too hot and the cold knob doesn’t make it any cooler. I brush my teeth. My gums bleed. I put on clothes. The right sock has a hole in the ankle. I’ve pulled it on too many times now I guess. Even a sock’s life sucks. Less so than a condom’s. But I guess its all relative. I drive to the dermatologist and wait 20 minutes looking at pictures of celebrities on vacations. Then the nurse comes out of the black hole behind the door and says my name with a question mark and a smile. She sucks me into a hole within the hole where I wait another 20 minutes. Luckily I have the magazine with me. The doctor finally comes in and checks the moles. I’m worried about the one between the tip and the shaft. Right behind the mushroom where the circumcision took place when I was 10. Show me he says. I unbuckle my pants and he takes a knee to take a look. After a long minute he says it looked pretty normal. That I should continue to monitor it for any changes in color. Then he has me turn around for him and by the end of it all he convinces me to cut off 2 other moles. One on my forearm and one on my toe. The lidocain burns when he gives me the shot itself, but afterwards I don’t feel a thing. Still don’t.

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