riddles and roses: unnumbered scene four

lazy autumn days. playing the piano. i with my book, one leg dangling off the divan, tapping the floor rhythmically to the punch-drunk-pulsing of keys.

“i think i’ll take herman for a walk,” she said.

“i’ll go with you,” i replied.

“um, i think i’d like to go out alone today. i’m feeling a bit melancholy. walking alone in the cool weather would do me some good.”

“well, we could go out alone together (old schopenhauer quip),” i suggested.

she smiled, two garden paths snaking together, then apart, similar to

“okay.” she said.

she searched through the shaggy hair of herman and found his collar to hitch the leash. we left the apartment and strolled into the hazy aether of early october. the weather at this time of year – fallen leaves on cobblestone bridge - always has the quality of an old photograph, linking past and future pleasures, innocently unaware that that’s the pleasure in itself. she looked beautiful and somehow motherly in her sweater. i told her so. she laughed and punched me.

“are you coming to the show tonight?” she asked.

“sorry. i’ve work to do tonight.”

“work. i hate when you work. you always wind up getting drunk by yourself.”

“occupational hazard, dear. by the by, did i tell you my friends will be in town this week?”

“no.”

we were both silent watching herman nuzzle a clump of leaves on the ground.

we walked back at the apartment. she prepared for the show. i poured a glass of brandy.

“you look stunning, doll.” i said.

“be good, will you?”

“yep. good luck.” i said, rising and giving her a kiss as she left.

alone in the apartment, i poured another glass and retired to the study. everything was as still as still, save the wind outside, which rose like smoke through time, an ancient cadence. i began to write.

ice skating. crescent moon, pines, snow clinging to mittens, not melting, unusual.

brandy.

snow on tongue, fall, icy pants, laughing. laughing.

brandy.

building a snowman. little red hands working and molding and shaping. unconcerned. hurt when breathing heavy. alive. so goddamn alive. carrot for nose. shovel in hand. cheering. completion. snowman alive. takes shovel. completed. snowman swings shovel. decapitates the children. horror. so much horror.

poured another glass.

later, driving. sitting with friends on the broken down baltimore pier. behind, the long, long skies over the endless prairies. the train station in boise where the mothers cry. and the stars are out. and don't god shine crazy over the wheat fields?

later, in bed, warm hand.

warm hand, and stirring half-consciously, i.

“how was the show?”

“went well.”

“you can read me when i finish.”

“tease.”

“tomorrow?”

“ice ska…”

“oooh. let’s go thrift shopping.”

“sounds wonderful.”

“coffee, shopping. walk to square.”

“yeaeh.”

i rolled over and pulled her close. she smelled like nicotine and sex, and i thought of the first time i saw her…