We have a fat fish
Right now he is wedged under a piece of pretend wood at the bottom of his aquarium
His extremely tiny mouth is opening like a heart valve, again and again and again
In a rhythm making life happen
I’m waiting for him to die
Because he’s not really fat
He’s actually sick (more…)
Her face is like a paper bag. It’s a face you see behind a cash register, mechanically pushing numbers and counting quarters and always reminding you to “have a wonderful day.” Her paper bag face has that standard red writing, something like “Come see us again soon” or “Join our membership rewards program.” Like you see it, and also don’t see it at all. So, I call her Paper Bag.
Anyway, Paper Bag is asked to restock the shampoo and it is a task she knows she will master. She has a plan for the shampoo so that the prettiest ones will be right in the center. She has on her red “I Work Here” vest and brings all the boxes of shampoo over to the shampoo aisle. This will be a masterpiece.
There are customers in the store and even though they don’t see her, they like that she is making her task into something pleasing. They will appreciate that all of the bottles line up.
“Oh, hello, ma’am,” says a customer. “Can you help me find diapers?” She looks up from her boxes. She knows exactly where the diapers are. “I can!” This is gleeful. “How is your day, sir? You’re going to want to head over towards the laundry and pet food. Right over here.” She does a little point with her finger to show him just where to go.
The customer watches her and then he feels better. “Oh, right here! Thank you, ma’am.” She does a little swivel and heads back to the shampoo.
This customer is also forgettable. He is also a paper bag. But in this moment he is not. He is brighter. He is now cheered by this girl in a red vest. He swivels in her direction and thanks her again. “I appreciate it!” he says and now he knows that he will have diapers and this will postpone an argument with his wife.
Paper Bag spends two hours arranging the shampoo. Her manager is slightly stunned at how she has taken on this assignment. Maybe Paper Bag should arrange the makeup tomorrow. Her manager now feels more pride wearing her manager-red vest. Maybe she is a good manager, seeing the potential in her employees.
Paper Bag knows she is doing a good job with the shampoo. She is maybe the best paper bag in the store. Next time when this manager sees her, and the next time a customer comes in looking for diapers, Paper Bag will look different. She will have redefined paper bags.
On the second floor of the house, up the stairs, to the left, and through the double doors, there was an enormous closet. Gigantic in size. Like a hotel room. Even if you stood with your arms straight out to your sides with double twirling batons in both hands you wouldn’t you be close to the walls. They would be a dozen double batons away. Every time I walked into the closet, I felt like the whole world must be so much bigger than I realized. If a room like this could be made just for shoes and dresses and custom watches, what else were people creating? Limitless possibility. I would stand at the entryway and forget where I was going.
There hadn’t been cowboys in The Valley since the early nineteen eighties, but they were re-emerging. At shopping malls stocked with shoe stores, cell phone kiosks, jewelry retailers, and airbrush photography studios, you could find them. Even though it had been forty years since their boots clicked against the cold, shiny floors, the cowboys were comfortable because the shops hadn’t changed much. And shoppers still had fancy hair, big earrings, and credit cards just like in 1983. On any given day in 2017, there would be a cowboy leaning up against the wall of an ice cream vendor or with his arms propped up on a corn dog stand. It was home.
They open the door because I’ve arrived. I move to step inside, one foot over the cracked threshold, mid-air, inches above the living room floor, the padded welcome mat. One foot is nearly grounded while my arms stretch in that circular maneuver, embracing others, accepting an embrace. It’s what one does at arrival. Step in, share greetings. The door is still open, one foot now firmly down, the other one closely making its entrance; I’m now inside.
I’m thinking, for god’s sake pretend this is our introduction, that I can create a first impression, erase what you know, what you think you know, leave that on the porch, so I can walk in for this first time. The hug I accept is light, unsure, comes with a pat, attached to a how are you, how have you been, attached to a caution, a flashing light, a warning.
The door is closed. I am inside. What happens now, let me hand off my coat, thank you, it’s cold out. Then it’s good to see you rolls like a muffin from a table, you look well, you look tremendous, so glad you are here, offer a drink, offer anything, turn up music, there’s punch in the dining room, help yourself.
I am inside and I am very much still outside. Still on the porch, no feet within, calculating the risk, the escape, running back down the stairs, hiding behind the garbage cans, creeping silently toward the sidewalk and around the corner to freedom, to solitude, to safety. Punch sounds perfect, this is lovely, thank you, so glad I could make it and thank you for the invitation, very happy to see everyone, been too long, yes me too.
I’m down the street with my bag and my coat and I’m running.
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