Pink Shorts
1.
“Baby Girl Wozinski,” two hours and seventeen minutes old, was swaddled in the standard, hospital-issued pink blanket and cotton cap while her mother slept down the hall in room 419 and her father, a commercial airline pilot, fucked a stewardess named Mitzy in a motel room during a layover in Weehawken, New Jersey.
2.
Bobby, age seven, sat upon Santa’s lap while his mother snuck a drink in the department store bathroom. Bobby told Santa what he wanted most for Christmas, a pink Huffy bicycle with a horn and a basket, and Santa smiled and winked, whispering, “Only special little boys get pink Huffy bicycles. Are you a special little boy?” Bobby thought for a moment then replied, “Yes. I am.”
3.
Mallory, 13, applied her mother’s lipstick, a shade called Coral Reef, and took eleven dollars from her purse before sneaking out her bedroom window to meet a group of friends in front of the 7-11. Her best friend, Lucy, brought her older brother Kyle, a junior at Washington High School. While Lucy was inside buying candy bars and slushies, Kyle told Mallory she was pretty, then asked if she wanted to learn how to kiss a boy “down there.”
4.
While packing for college, Allison, 18, decided against bringing her Binky, the tattered, pink and white satin blanket she had slept with since birth, not wanting to appear childish or uncool to all the new friends she was hoping to make.
For the first month in her dorm room, Allison woke each night with a start, the feeling that she had lost something irretrievable keeping her awake and unsettled until morning. She finally visited the school psychiatrist, who gave her two prescriptions: for Ambien and Lexapro, and after that, she no longer had trouble sleeping through the night, nor did she care anymore about making new friends.
5.
In an attempt to spice up her sex life and prevent her marriage from failing, Carolyn, 38, visited the lingerie department at Neiman Marcus, passing over the rack of comfortable, sensible cotton nightgowns in muted shades of pink and lilac, heading straight for the less breathable fabrics in black and red.
She charged $300 worth of new undergarments, then spent the rest of the afternoon in her bedroom, perplexed by all the straps and padding, attempting to understand how each piece was meant to be worn.
When her husband came home from work that evening, she called him into the bedroom, where she was stretched out on their bed in polyester and nylon. Upon seeing her, Carolyn’s husband began to laugh, and was unable to stop himself, the way it often is when something is terribly funny. He continued laughing even after Carolyn ran from the room and locked herself away in the master bath, where she tore the itchy fabric from her body and wept at her reflection in the mirror, wondering desperately how anyone could be so repulsive.
6.
Marcus, 43, retired to his bottom bunk after the guards called lights out, and when he was certain his cell-mate was asleep, he retrieved the small padded envelope from under his pillow and removed the photograph of Angie, his 16 year old pen pal, and the lacy pink thong she had sent him as a gift. In what had been his nightly ritual for the past two months, Marcus held the photo in front of his face with one hand and rubbed the thong against his cock with the other until he came with a quiet moan, the only activity capable of lulling him to sleep in his cold and comfortless cell.
7.
Britney, 25, locked herself in her walk-in closet while her parents, publicist, manager and 4 bodyguards paced in the living room downstairs. She took the day-glo pink bob wig from its hiding place on the back of a shelf and arranged in gently atop her tender head, admiring herself in the full-length mirror before breaking into an old, well-memorized dance routine.
Silently mouthing the accompanying words: “Oops, I did it again. I played with your heart. Got lost in the game. Ooh baby, baby…” Britney imagined before her an audience full of screaming fans watching her, emulating her, adoring her.
8.
Albert, 36, returned home from his job teaching social studies to a group of seventh graders at the local middle school. He poured himself a glass of apple juice and closed the curtains in his living room before retrieving a shoe box from under the couch, pulling out all fifteen of his beloved Barbie dolls, each dressed impeccably in mini skirts, business suits, evening gowns, and coordinating plastic heels.
Albert arranged them all delicately on the couch and looked them over for a moment, deciding that Weekend Get-Away Barbie was the one most in need of a good hair-brushing. He took her from her place next to Shopping Spree Barbie, and as he gently brushed her long blonde hair with the pink, plastic comb, he told them all about his day: his students’ lack of intelligence, the other teachers’ lack of compassion. Then he paused mid-brushstroke and chuckled good-naturedly, as if he had just realized something horrible but was better off knowing, and said, “You are the only ones who really understand me.”
9.
Jacob, 19, lied in bed with his girlfriend Ashley, just after they had lost their virginity. For the first time in his life, Jacob deeply regretted the fact that he could not see. Before now, when he listened to his father yell and throw glasses and chairs, heard his mother cry out in pain or his little sister weep into her pillow, he was glad he couldn’t see their faces and the expressions that registered there.
But now, tracing his hand across Ashley’s belly, where it dipped beneath her pubic bone, sight was the thing he desired most.
“Tell me what your vagina looks like,” he said, and she giggled, embarrassed, but then realizing he was serious, Ashley relayed in almost perfect detail exactly what she looked like.
“Pink?” Jacob asked.
“Yes, pink,” Ashley repeated.
“Well, it must be the most beautiful color there is.”
The Letter
I took pen to paper
Wrote down what I had to say
My hopes, my fears, my thoughts and dreams
My heart and soul neatly punctuated and grammatically correct
I thought you might be interested so I sent it your way
No return address, no second guess
The words hold more meaning after they’ve traveled the miles
From one end of the country to the other
Not the fibers and wires of the telephone line
With the pauses and sighs that don’t express but confuse
Each period, a definitive statement
A new paragraph, a new sentiment
But now I can’t remember how I signed
With Love
Much Love
All My Love?
Those one or two words tacked on the front make the biggest difference
You should receive it pretty soon
You don’t know when it’s coming but there it will be
Unless a problem has transpired
Through rain and sleet and snow
The letter lost its way or even worse
The envelope tore and gaped
And all the points I tried to make came tumbling out
Faded and anonymous somewhere in the middle of us
If I could have I would have sealed myself inside that envelope
I did my best, even still
You won’t see me smile or catch my tone when you unfold the paper
The words aren’t an embrace or even a stare
No questions will be answered
No gratification received
But keep in touch
And paint me a picture of what I’m missing
Across the miles, I’ll do my best to help you remember me
34 Anderson Street
I lived in a brownstone three flights up
on a cobblestone street in Boston,
eye-level with rooftops and telephone wires.
you could hear people living in the next
building over (one time I even heard
them making love).
my roommate was a cute girl smaller
than me with terrible hygiene.
she was oblivious in many ways but
especially in love.
she would stumble into the living room
every morning in a camisole and panties,
smoking a cigarette and looking for coffee,
and we’d sit together in silence
smoking and sipping before I’d head off to work
our only shared ritual
and even that was bad for our health.
I left once for a week and came back to find
her in the same position on the sofa,
not wearing pants and
ashing into a dish overflowing with butts,
a week’s worth of trash attracting
fruit flies in the kitchen.
by the time I moved out she
was already gone. she had
taken the radio I bought for
the shower and left a wooden
table that only had three
legs which she picked up on
the street the day we moved in.
the fact that she left that table upset me
more than if she had taken half of my belongings.
#2
I remember picking up my guitar after learning he liked to play, conspiring with the music teacher to perform a duet at the school recital–sitting side by side on the cold aluminum risers, neither of us singing the words but tracking the chorus and verses in our heads, nodding to each other with every change; it’s the only song I still know by heart: all minor chords and words with no underlying significance; and I still find myself relearning old skills, sometimes even picking up new ones, hoping for the chance to sit beside him again, playing together in practiced unison, our bodies turned just slightly toward each other.
#1
Mentally picturing all of my belongings, I knew I could be completely packed in only a handful of hours if I went about it rationally and with focus; unfortunately, logic often falls to the wayside under such circumstances, clouded by associations and emotions that lay like a sleepy fog overhead, bringing everything to a standstill–I found myself among half-packed boxes and rearranged furniture, frozen in thought, unable to remember what I was meaning to do next; such daydreaming and reminiscing has no place among the boxes; it has to be kept on a shelf in the back of a room, let logic and order run things until the move is complete, then it can be brought down from its hiding place, unpacked in its new home.
Repopulating the Planet
Posturning
Girls trying so hard
and boys pretending not to
try at all
No women or men
but children
posturing
pretending
trying on personalities like
a mother’s 4-inch heels or a father’s striped silk tie
molding themselves in play-doh
life size re-creations
of the people they want to be -
the people they think they are
April 19, 2008
