That girl - that girl - sitting on the park bench the entire span of the summer. Every day I'd seen her. Every day a new motif of thoughts flurried up at the sight of her. This time I would talk to her, but safely. I spoke to her in the language of imaginings. With a non-verbal thought in her direction I ventured the invitation: "Would you like to visit my mind?" "Are you nuts," she replied breathlessly, writing the words onto her eyes.
"No. Really, it's rather nice in there. Fine silk carpet, the best imaginable. And a plush sofa to engulf you in comfort."
"Will my cell-phone work?"
"It's quite possible. My brain offers all the amenities. Television, mp3 library, and if you see a dream you like, you're free to jump into it."
She reflected a moment, then looked up with a nod that said,
"Let's do it!"
Before I could even thrill at the notion, she had entered my cortex. After a quick scan of her new surroundings she gave herself to my sofa. The cushioned softness formed around her while whirlwinds of my contemplation cycled about like leaves in an autumn gust. Then the playfulness began. She'd puff a breath into those bundled thoughts and scatter them in all directions. They never, ever found their way back together again. She began turning on light bulbs - but when I looked to see what the idea was, she'd switch them off again. She painted faces on my nighttime visitations - gorgeous Venuses, once. I'd convulse with laughter at the ridiculous lines of red lipstick, and then my dream girls, insulted, turned backs and paced briskly into the distance, with me chasing after in slow motion.
"I don't like this arrangement," I stated, sitting before her in the lotus position, hands folded in my lap. And then it happened. Sudden, spontaneous and swift she pasted a kiss flat onto my inner eye. I blinked and in the space of that blink she was gone. But like wisps of smoke in a corked bottle the memory of her lived on.
Now, though years of life and dreams have separated me from the instant of her departure, it might just as well have been a few seconds. On every mirror my mind conjures forth, there remains the imprint of her lips.
Story #371
Note: If you've fallen madly in love with this girl and would like to leave her a message, and see another of her photos, you may visit her at flork.com/martyna.html
Another note from Indeterminacy: Thank you for all the get-well wishes and birthday greetings (how do these secrets get out!?!). My finger is fine now and doing its share of this typing. So now I've posted the 371st story and have yet to write the 370th. And all your comments and e-mails to answer. Please bear with me - and I know I don't have to apologize but I felt bad having left the blog hanging so long.
Another note: Welcome to my new(?) visitor from Moldova! I saw in my statistic that someone in the city of Chisinau in Moldova stopped by in the last few days. This is one of the countries I know nothing about, and the name makes it sound mysterious and magical to me.
25 comments:
Melissa was worried.
"My boyfriend's fingertip is swollen and red...What could that be?...and is it catching?...What other diseases might he have?...and what if they're...social."
She drew a deep breath as she saw him approaching her park bench. A quick glance let her know that nothing had changed.
"Nice finger," she said dryly.
"It's a whitlow," he said.
"Yeah, right," she thought.
Inde, just take care of that finger.
The whole thing had been traumatic. First Mr. Whitlow, the giant purple bunny with the pink paws, had come out to play--she'd thought.
"Hi Mr. Whitlow!" Janet exclaimed.
"Uh--hi Janet. I've gotta be hopping off now."
Janet watched in bewilderment as Mr. Whitow thumped away. But it was not long before Parsley hove into view. Parsley was a favorite with Janet, even though he had once induced her to eat weeds, with disastrous results. She was a bit hazy on what Parsley looked like, but he was lots of fun. "Hey! Parsley! Slow down!" Janet called, running after him down the garden path.
He looked over his shoulder almost fearfully. "Can't!" he exclaimed breathlessly, and disappeared round a corner. By the time Janet rounded it, he was gone.
Janet was sitting on a bench panting and wondering what was up with all her friends when Mrs. Know-It-All appeared. As usual, she materialized out of thin air, and even though she was Janet's least favorite friend and was bald as an egg, she had presence. Today she was carrying a large roll of parchment.
"Ahem," she said, shuffling through the sheets until she found her place. "Ah yes. Section 73, paragraph 2: 'Imaginary friends shall serve for a term not to exceed eight years, after which they shall move to the next level of development, though they may continue to put in appearances on special occasions (dreams, stories, etc.)'" She stopped abruptly and stared at Janet. "Well? You do understand don't you?"
"I-I-think--"
Mrs. Know-It-All made an impatient movement with her shoulders. "We're just too old for you. Good-bye." And she was gone.
hey your blog is in the stock market. http://blogshares.com/blogs.php?blog=http%3A%2F%2Findeterminacy.blogspot.com%2F
Congratulations!
Melissa wasn't shocked or disturbed by flashers in the park. Deviants were not deviated from the norm of her life, despite her best efforts and longstanding hopes to have fewer of them around. This one however was different. Usually she could be indifferent, or feign disgust (true disgust had long left her), or even break out laughing and point to embarass an open coat closed. But this time... this time she found herself in an odd and unfamiliar middle ground. She was somewhat fascinated, in a trainwreck way, while trying to be aloof as usual.
She couldn't decide whether it was the upside-down rainbow-like upward arc of his semi-firm member, which didn't seem humanly possible, or the blue bow he'd tied just under the meatus, or possibly both, that had her rapt attention. So there she sat, giving it a sidelong stare, and he just stood there letting her take in the artwork, and she did. She just kept looking and she wasn't insincere about it at all. The man eventually (it seemed like an eternal minute but it may have been as much as fifteen seconds) muttered an uncharacteristic "uh, I gotta go" and shuttered the view. She held that position for about ten seconds after he left, still absorbing the ghost of the image. She finally turned back toward the center of the park, away from the pink goose toward the mallard ducks at the pond, and took a deep breath to swallow the memory.
I like that, Mushroom. The bow was a great touch.
"Now I wonder where that finger's been."
HAPPY BIRTHDAY INDIE!!!!!!!
Is it your birthday? Many happy returns.
Is it his real birthday?
Damn where is that listed?
i am always the last to know.
Cooper, you were ahead of me.
Happy birthday, Indie!
Belated happy birthday Indie! :) I enjoyed your story a lot!
Mutha: Oh dear. I knew I would have to deal with stuff like this. I just hope the scratch I have on my face (I honestly cant remember how it got there!) doesn't develop into something I can't explain.
Cooper: I am taking good care of it. The bandage is off and each day now for a while I'm giving it a finger bath with all-natural soap. (Grüne Seife -it's called in German).
Mrs. Weirsdo: How did you know my finger was turning purple! And what a story you wrote! Lewis Carroll move over!
Embodiment of Love: Thanks! I knew about that. I even used to own some shares. But I sold them all some time ago. I'm not sure who listed me, but you can just add any blog you want and it's in. They base value on the number of links it has and which sites link to it. That's all I understand of the game.
Mush: "Fascinated, in a trainwreck way" is quite phrase. Wow. And it was a great story. This doesn't have to do with my finger does it?
Doug: Careful what you say, or I'll have to lay a finger on you.
Cori: How did you find out? I guess I must have told you. Thank you.
Everyone: Thanks for all the birtday wishes. I believe I commented a couple of weeks ago that I'd forget my own birthday if no one reminded me.
Yup, my birthday is on the day that all the coupons expire. It's the day Lady Di died. And this year it's the day the found Munch's The Scream (probably my favorite painting, and I even saw it in Oslo in the 80's).
Viruswitch: I'm happy you liked the story. I'm always so insecure about these until somebody says something. Thanks.
Ah, nice kind of Hitchcockian touch there, Indie. The day Lady Di died. Aug 31. She said, "I love to hold people's hands when I visit hospitals, even though they are shocked because they haven't experienced anything like it before, but to me it is a normal thing to do." I am disturbed by the thought of a whitlow befingered hand holding my hands because I haven't experienced anything like it before, but to you it is a normal thing to do.
Thinks: he's not deliberately scary, he's naturally scary. ;)
Lynsey: I used to read Hitchcock mysteries. And I am truly glad I could raise awareness about whitlow! This might really save someone from blood poisoning some day, or from losing a hand.
This is really the end. I just checked my log and I'm starting to get hits from people searching for Nagelbettentzündung.
THe really awful thing is the search gets three hits altogether, and two of them are mine.
http://de.altavista.com/web/results?itag=ody&q=Nagelbettentz%C3%BCndung%20am%20Finger&kgs=1&kls=0y
You have made your mark on the Internet by giving it... the finger.
I've done my part by spackling it over.
Love reading these stories....tell wiersdo not to squish Leis while rolling over him- Alice might disappear.
The story is excellent -- very surreal and dreamlike.
Then I read the comments!
I'll be back for more. Thanks!
i have a secret. i found you all the way back via retarius. and then he was gone, but you're still here. it's been awful of me not to visit sooner and leave some sparkling commentary, but there are times when you just go to a place and fall quiet and look and get lost.
that was a beautiful story and i look forward to the pleasure of entering your mind again. thank you.
oh, happy birthday and kisses to mr. finger.
Illyria: I love secrets, and I promise I won't tell anyone outside of this comment.
Never feel bad about not stopping by. It happens naturally - we all know about more blogs than we have time to read and also work and live and write our own.
Thank you for the compliment about the story.
Mr. Finger is waving his hand at you now. He's very happy about the kiss. (somehow that doesnt make sense - but nothing here is ever supposed to)
One Guy: Thanks for commenting, and of course you're welcome back. Without knowing, you hit on something that I'm going to announce soon.
It is amazing to me to read that you feel insecure about your stories.
Glad to hear all is well in fingerland -- and glad you have a sense of humor about it. I couldn't resist incorporating it into my blurb.
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