Imogene forgot how vulnerable laying on your back feels. At the doctors, typically bare feet scrunched down onto the cold metal stirrups or at the dentist, mouth plied open, the occasional water spritzed into your dry mouth. Even at the beach, half-naked begging for the sunshine to overcome the creepy stares from awkward pre-pubescent boys. And now, laying on her back at the bottom of her apartment steps, tomato sauce dripping from the walls, Imogene decides to take a moment and think.
Her thinking is briefly disrupted by Mr. Cox calling out for the 100th time, "Imogene, watch that top step. I haven't fixed it yet!". He hasn't fixed it yet. What is he waiting for? He is waiting for her to die. Death makes people do all kinds of things they are too lazy to actually consider doing within any relative framework of daily life. She debates getting up before her boyfriend emerges from their third story apartment. He will undoubtedly be racing for class, see her at the bottom of the stairs and freak out. It doesn't help that the fantastically delicious tomato Ragu he has so lovingly made and packaged for her lunch that day is now covering a good portion of her unaffordable white blouse, as well as the surrounding wall space. "Typical", he will say. Typical.
In this, now growing moment, Imogene remembers something. She recalls something: a memory. The thought of this memory so overcomes her present state that she actually stops thinking and only remembers. She is so lost in the memory that she doesn't notice the pair of feet coming down the stairs and gently stepping around her. A tall gentleman, wearing a suit, a large coat and a purse disguised as a briefcase, is talking on his cell phone. He looks down at her and quickly mouths, "You ok?". Clearly, she is ok. Despite the fact that there is fantastic tomatoe Ragu everywhere, SHE is ok. She understands that he really doesn't care, and so she doesn't even bother mouthing back to him, "Yeah, I'm ok". Instead she mouths back to him "Stay tuned" because that is the only phrase she can think of, lying on her back.
She wants to go back to her memory. It was comforting and it made her feel young again. Younger than thirty. Ok, younger than thirty-two. She was six again, and she was hanging upside down from the monkey bars. She could feel the summer air, coolly pressing against her naked torso. Her favorite striped shirt hung around her face and she felt like she could do anything. be anyone. go anywhere. Imogene could not remember the last time she was not bound by time, by appointments and bills and the state of the union...
Imogene did not want to get up off the floor. She was growing fond of the floor. She debated the possibility of staying there all day. Until she saw Jamie's turquoise blue Puma's coming towards her. She quickly closed her eyes.
"Immy...what..are you hiding? You need to get up. How long have you been here. You were supposed to be on your bus a half hour ago. Oh my god, my Ragu is all over. Can you go get..." and on, and on, and on.
Imogene's eyes remained closed. She could hear Jamie say something to the effect of, "I don't have time for this". Time. Yes, she had eluded time. A half hour? She had left time and space. Could this be possible? All her life a time machine lay at her feet: The floor. She realized that no one died standing up, they lay on their back. Here they were able to flush out time and fill up their hollow bodies with memories.
This was comforting to Imogene because she would be dead in six to nine months. She was probably slowly dying right now, on the floor. She could not figure out how, if at all, to tell Jamie. There wasn't enough time to explain it all to him, but maybe if they lay on the floor, together, they would have all the time in the world.
Jamie stopped trying to clean the Ragu off the walls with his handkerchief and reached for Imogene's hand.
"Immy...you need to get up. You're freaking me out."
Imogene's eyes opened and she stared into Jamie's freshly shaved face.
"You shaved. You look different now"
"I had a few minutes to kill, so I thought I'd surprise you."
Jamie gently pulled Imogene to her feet.
"Surprise!" she said, "I'm going to go upstairs and lay down"
"Are you feeling ok?"
"yes. I just want another moment"
Friday
blotzed
Her eyes continue to peck at me from across the room. Refusing to take off her puffy, white coat, she circles the room: mammal or fish? I had never hoped for us to be at the same party. Sure, we had mutual friends, common friends, commonalities...stuff, places where we both would be. But it's a new year and who doesn't want to ring in the new year with people you've loved?
Love. I meant love, not loved. Or maybe I meant to say what I did actually say, which is that I loved her. Wait, what? The room is filling up. I need another beverage. One with less bubbles and more beer. She's gonna see my wimpy, plastic champagne glass and think I'm silly. Did she get a haircut? It looks better. Like her hair actually has a shape. Usually it's just a ball of fluff circling her head. Soft, like cotton. It would deaden in the water, though. Instantly flatten against her small head like a thin drapery. but still so soft.
Oh, God, no...I need to walk past Abigail in order to get to the keg. Strikingly beautiful, insecure, No-sense-of-personal-space Abigail. Here she comes, full throttle, her hands already touching my shoulders before I can even fully make out her face.
"JOOOOOOhn", followed by an aggressive hug. The last thing I want to do is mingle with a giant bulge in my pants because the nice, hot girl manhandled me. I'll just have to stay in her grip awhile until everything subsides.
"Abigail, you're intentionally blocking the beer"
"No, I'm the beer maid. Check it out", at which point she flips her two long golden braids behind her and pushes her chest out. Not an easy thing to do, considering we still have zero air density between us. Catching a view of the puffy, white coat behind Abigail, I realize I've been out-maneuvered. Molly turns from the keg and towards me, plastic cup filled to the brim with beery nectar, pursed on her lower lip. I can already smell the empty keg container. Molly's eyes meet mine and I swear to God, they twinkle. She's laughing at me. With her eyes. The luscious beer spills down Molly's throat and I am still embraced by Abigail-empty-keg-maid.
I actually feel my chest tighten up. She hates me. I took the best years of her life, and she, in return, took the last bit of beer. Wait, she's approaching. The only space between us is now filled by an Amazonian, oblivious Abigail. We lock eyes and Molly licks the beer foam off of her upper lip. She takes her cup, now only partially filled, and places it in my hand, that is currently embracing the Amazon.
"Happy New Year", she says, followed by a small hiccup. I watch as the puffy, white coat walks away from me and into the fresh, night air. Still entangled and slowly losing my breath, I continue to hold the cup of beer until someone knocks it out of my hand and across the already sticky floor.
Love. I meant love, not loved. Or maybe I meant to say what I did actually say, which is that I loved her. Wait, what? The room is filling up. I need another beverage. One with less bubbles and more beer. She's gonna see my wimpy, plastic champagne glass and think I'm silly. Did she get a haircut? It looks better. Like her hair actually has a shape. Usually it's just a ball of fluff circling her head. Soft, like cotton. It would deaden in the water, though. Instantly flatten against her small head like a thin drapery. but still so soft.
Oh, God, no...I need to walk past Abigail in order to get to the keg. Strikingly beautiful, insecure, No-sense-of-personal-space Abigail. Here she comes, full throttle, her hands already touching my shoulders before I can even fully make out her face.
"JOOOOOOhn", followed by an aggressive hug. The last thing I want to do is mingle with a giant bulge in my pants because the nice, hot girl manhandled me. I'll just have to stay in her grip awhile until everything subsides.
"Abigail, you're intentionally blocking the beer"
"No, I'm the beer maid. Check it out", at which point she flips her two long golden braids behind her and pushes her chest out. Not an easy thing to do, considering we still have zero air density between us. Catching a view of the puffy, white coat behind Abigail, I realize I've been out-maneuvered. Molly turns from the keg and towards me, plastic cup filled to the brim with beery nectar, pursed on her lower lip. I can already smell the empty keg container. Molly's eyes meet mine and I swear to God, they twinkle. She's laughing at me. With her eyes. The luscious beer spills down Molly's throat and I am still embraced by Abigail-empty-keg-maid.
I actually feel my chest tighten up. She hates me. I took the best years of her life, and she, in return, took the last bit of beer. Wait, she's approaching. The only space between us is now filled by an Amazonian, oblivious Abigail. We lock eyes and Molly licks the beer foam off of her upper lip. She takes her cup, now only partially filled, and places it in my hand, that is currently embracing the Amazon.
"Happy New Year", she says, followed by a small hiccup. I watch as the puffy, white coat walks away from me and into the fresh, night air. Still entangled and slowly losing my breath, I continue to hold the cup of beer until someone knocks it out of my hand and across the already sticky floor.
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