2006-02-23

It Says Hi

It came in with a bunch of bananas from the farmer'’s market.

The first warm, sunny day of spring had my mind full to bursting with ideas. Distracted, I plopped a bouquet of Gerber daisies and some hot house tomatoes on the counter in the kitchen. It scampered off unseen, unheard as I made dinner.

When I sat down to write that night, I felt a soft caress on my ankle. I looked down. Nothing. But I sensed something there with me, staring into the monitor, watching words run across the screen.

By the time I lay down in bed, the sun was reaching through the window. Putting the story to bed was hard but my body relaxed and my mind finally emptied. I was almost asleep when a few muscles spasms sent my legs kicking. I heard something hit the floor.

I turned on the light.

Nothing was there.

As my mind reached back into dreams, I felt something small, hairy and insistent by my ear. Then I was deep asleep.

It was with me in the shower the next day. It was almost as if it was all around me. All I saw was misted tiles and colorful bottles of girl-scented confections for hair and skin. But I knew wasn'’t alone. I rinsed my hair and got out quickly, not scared but unnerved.

I got used to it after a while.

It even rode with me in the car, staring out the window, the tip of a hairy leg just touching my arm. It loved the beach and would nestle in my hair, peeking out over my shoulder at the crashing waves as I jotted in a notebook.

It grew.

It fed well.

The chaos of my house while I was caught up in a story meant it never went without a meal.

We had an understanding of sorts.

But once, when I'’d forgotten it for a few days, it came upon me suddenly, menacingly. It reached my waist by now and wore vestiges of clothes made of wrinkled paper. It didn'’t speak.

It didn'’t need to.

Need filled its eyes.

I slunk off to the office. Hours later, as I stared at the screen, it sighed contentedly. Skittering softly across the floor, it stood next to me, its many eyes staring into mine. I was transfixed.

It opened its mouth and I heard a dull pop. Its jaw had unhinged. Slowly, its mouth reached up to mine. I knew what was going to happen. I wanted it to happen.

"Yes,"” I whispered.

Gently, it enveloped me.

It swallowed.

I was consumed.

With a soft burp, it closed its mouth, climbed upon my chair, and began to type.

2 comments:

Stephen D. Rogers said...

Think this might give you a chance to rest up?

Jennifer Jordan said...

It isn't giving me an opportunity.