“You forgot me! O’ Botendaddy! Just because I was late to the writer’s workshop! I didn’t make it into your last post!”
It was the Punker Model Writer Chick. Another year older. 21 now maybe? Who the hell knows. She looked different. She didn’t look punk. She grew her hair out, no more piercings, normal make-up, dressed nicely. It was a shocker. She was quite attractive. It looked like she had bathed recently and shaved her legs and shitty, hairy armpits.
“I didn’t forget you!” I said with my fingers crossed.
“seriously, I like, you know, dot, dot, dot, that’s the ticket! Yeah baby, you look fine! You know what I’m saying? Seriously, you are a very pretty girl when you want to be.”
We sat on the side veranda next to the research building.
“I’m more mature now. I went back to the City this summer. You got really, really thin, what happened? Are you sick or something? Do you have some kind of cancer? You like totally have a tanned six-pack, it’s incredible. You have nice skin. You don’t have old man skin. No way you are as old as you claim to be.”
She sat across from me on the low concrete wall of the interior courtyard. She was sipping Beetus-free iced tea of some sort from a clear plastic cup.
“I’m down to 198 now. Waist size 33.89″. 30% weight loss. Total loss of 86 pounds. BMI normal on the main charts: 24.9! Some of the other charts and apps recommend 192 to break the barrier, but whatever. Now that I’ve broken the 8 minute mile and I hit BMI normal and I weigh under 200, I will need new goals.”
I couldn’t eat because I was waiting for insurance exam.
“You know that I skate, right? I heard that you played ice hockey, you were a coach, you taught ice-skating. Why don’t we skate this fall? I did figures until I was 16. I’m not Olympic, but I’m OK for a tall chick. I stopped smoking. And I stopped roaking the schmiee. No more x, no more drugs, no more kiddie parties. I want to grow up and be a real writer.”
She got up and stood close to me.
“Not a bad idea. To skate, I mean. I still have my CCMs. I love to skate. Need to get rid of this heat though, it’s disgusting. I worked out today. Hi reps, low weight and I walked about 40 minutes. I may not run again until tomorrow. I needed a break. You know, as long as you keep writing you’ll always be a writer. Just write as close to your experience as you can even if it’s painful. People know authenticity.”
“I can’t believe I let you touch me. I’m a Brahman. A 10. A former Manhattan fashion model. You are disgusting, old, creepy. I feel so dirty, so ashamed. Make love to me. Now. Right here, right now. No-one will see us back here. I yearn for you tragically. No one else works for me. Touch me the way you touched Annabel.”
I had my arm around PMWC’s waist but I looked off into the distance misty-eyed.
“Annabel. The only girl I ever knew who had purple eyes. I remember sitting with her at the cliff’s edge above the river as the storm would roll in in the dusky gloaming. She was very mystical. She loved me against all reason. That seems like a hundred years ago now.”
J’ai cueilli ce brin de bruyère
L’automne est morte, souviens-t’en?
Nous ne nous verrons plus sur terre
Odeur du temps, brin de bruyère
Et souviens-toi que je t’attends.
L’Adieu – Apollinaire – Alcools
Peace be the Botendaddy