conversation seven( or, broken records)
Our dialogues used to be loops, we worked in patterns, and certain things we‟d always say. There were topics we‟d always revert to. Sandra‟s baby. Pete‟s drinking. Tom‟s lack of focus. The noise of the factory, painful monotony, any chance to stand and ask “What have you made today?” before I opened my lunchbox.
But Bill Murray‟s not in Groundhog Day anymore. Or he is if you put the DVD on, but that brings up questions of fiction and reality and I really want to keep this simple. Because we are, we‟ve always been, and I don‟t want that changing.
But we already have. Changed, that is. I look at your lips, now, your jeans‟ emblem, follow your laces to your ankles. And sometimes I imagine the underneath, which means I‟ve crossed a boundary, and I hope you don‟t know it, while I sort of hope that you do. Because I‟d like to lick along the edge of your ears. And that‟s not what friends do. Unless, you want to be the sort of friends that do that?
conversation twelve( or, not like the movies or that song by Katy Perry)
We go to see bad movies. The fast food equivalent of film. Anything with Paul Rudd, Jennifer Aniston or Adam Sandler. And sometimes, sure, they do an independent and we see that too, but what works for us are the films we can‟t get anyone else to go with us to. And that‟s what I like most about you. That‟s one of the things, anyway.
Last night, when you started sinking into the café sofa cushions either because I make you relaxed, or there are places you‟d rather be you told me what I‟d never asked and didn‟t know. Sometimes you like subtitles. You really like Mesrine. Your collection of Hong Kong cop dramas is pretty comprehensive.
“I can‟t disagree,” I reply. “But then, I‟ve not seen it.” I‟m lining up lines like this on flipcards, and I‟m throwing them at you like paper flowers or rabbits or packs of cards for dramatic effect until one them works. Until you invite me. Which I‟m pretty positive you‟ll do if I hold out long enough.
And really, I like the wait. I can withhold like there‟s not tomorrow, like sex isn‟t even cited by Maslow, so in this way you might be my match. You‟re subtler than me, sarcastic like me, spend your summers in dark rooms watching stories you want in on, wish you could be a part of. Because life‟s okay but a bad movie‟s better.
AMY MACKELDEN 10
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