|Jul/Aug 2009 Fiction|
We listen to French drone music and beat each other with foam swords and break into your Dad's bedroom and steal his Cuban cigars and kiss Eskimo-style and sip Pepsi and play Mario Party and doodle smiley faces in lipstick on our wrists and write our last names backwards in Microsoft Word and light imported cigarettes with a Starship Enterprise zippo and eat tuna-fish sandwiches and discuss the dangers of mercury poisoning and google our parent's middle names and bob our heads to Mozart and break into your mom's bedroom and steal her shoes and arrange them in columns and take pictures of them with our cell phones and post the pictures on eBay.
You pour me a glass of white wine and add two drops of red food coloring and write a poem about how I own pet mice and how my favorite food is Red Bull and how I always lose when we play Mario Party and I pour you a glass of apple juice and add one teaspoon of honey and write a poem about how you have one green eye and how you stutter when you pronounce the letter B and how you always do jumping-jacks when you are nervous.
We break into your sister's bedroom and steal her makeup kit and doodle dinosaurs in eyeliner on our ankles and kiss Eskimo-style and google "how to waltz" and breakdance across your Turkish rug and make funny faces with our eyes closed and eat tuna fish sushi and discuss the dangers of mercury poisoning and write your first name in front of my last name in Microsoft Word.
I remove this story from my backpack and hand it quietly to you and whisper "Happy birthday" and tell you this is a story about us and you giggle and beat me with a foam sword and we turn off the lights and turn off Microsoft Word and turn off the French drone music and smoke Cuban cigars.