|02-20-2003, 03:52 AM||#16|
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: Sherman Oaks, California
Funny, I never imagine I'd find myself here. Not now, not in this place, not with these hideous shoes on my feet.
"Cough," said the man behind me.
"Uh what?" I asked. "Did you just 'say' the word cough instead of coughing?"
"I may have said cough, but cough I did." said the man. "Who the hell are you to ask anyway? Here's my card. Call me."
I looked at the card. It was blank.
Then I looked up at the man.
He was gone.
And I was still wearing those hideous shoes.
"Those shoes are hideous," said the man.
He's back again. How did he do that?
"Magic." he laughed.
I cried. This is too fvcking wierd.
But life had always shown me weird twists. It was like I was a magnet for that kind of thing.
I looked down at my feet, hideous shoes and all, and looked back up, hoping the man had disappeared again.
He had not.
He was an odd little man for being so tall. Face all teeth and freckles and smelled of brandy wine and cellophane paper. I flipped the card over to find a small but accurate caricature of him was proudly drawn in the right hand corner.
I smelled sulfer. He was gone.
And I was on my way to the market to buy a turnip.
Swirling flakes of snow vivified this moment....trodding along....red shoes, yellow trim. Bowling shoes? No, too much support. Grim reminder of adolescent trauma in the bowling alley. With Teresa May. St. Teresa. Careful what you wish for, she used to warn. It might just.....Whoa! Nearly fell. Got to keep my mind on here and now. Gravy. I need gravy and biscuits. Why!? Have I ever even eaten gravy and biscuits?! Evil magician.
I did wear gravy once though. Late one night, after many Hershey's kisses and tequia shots. I'd rather not talk about that though. Picking my way through the snow I tried to piece it together. Ugly shoes with good support..Turnips..Biscuits n Gravy..Chocolate..Tequila What am I? A waitress in Hell's kitchen?
Click clack, click clack, down the street I go in these hideous high heels. I'm a little wobbly because the back heel is about to come off, but I think I'll make it.
"Where do you think you're going?" said the on-again-off-again man, startling me from my concentration of walking askew.
"Oh, umm, I have to buy a turnip," I said.
"A turnip? Whatever for?" he asked, smiling.
"To bring back to grandmother for dinner," I replied, digging into my pockets to pull out the money she'd given me to buy the turnip.
I wiped a goop of gravy out of my eyes. He licked it off of my fingers. I was scared.
"I happen to have a turnip," he cackled and danced. "But it's a magic turnip!"
He eyed the wad of cash in my hands. Turnips were expensive these days and I had just enough to fulfill grandmother's wishes of bathing in a tubful of turnips.
But the allure of the magic turnip was too much for me to resist. I offered myself. He declined. I offered my cousin. He declined. I offered my third born. He declined.
"Money talks." He said.
"Yes," I said, looking down at his feet. I pondered.
"But you seem to be lacking a pair of shoes as fancy as the ones I have on my feet," I lied.
"How about these BEEEOOOOOTIFUL shoes for that magic turnip huh?"
And I winked. And then I tottered on my now-beautiful shoes.
He looked at me with that kind of cocked-head bling-bling look that is all the rage
and took out what appeared to be a Slim Jim and started eating it. His mastication made me want to vomit, and he wouldn't close his mouth. As he made what could easily be described as borderline sexually- excited chomping grunts he said, "Those are some bling-bling shoes and I needs new shoes!" Then a small piece of slim Jim flew out of his mouth and hit me on my bottom lip. His eyes beamed onto my lip like a mama eagle checking on her young. My tongue instinctually slipped it into my mouth - not unlike a child eating his own booger for no other reason than because it's wrong. I wanted to spit it right back into his face and scream, but Grandma needed that magic turnip and I could only do God's Will. I swallowed it for Grandma and acted as if nothing happened. It tasted smokey flavored, salty, and not fat-free. Of course it reminded me of summer camp with uncle Lou, but I felt demoralized and cheap now. "I want new shoes, good ones to go with my new Diesels...not Eccos or Steve Maddens, I need something stylish but not ones that everybody already has. I gots to make a statement about my individuality, you dig?" he said. He pulled his black v-neck tee shirt aside from his chest revealing a tattoo. "I got this one in the can, do you know who this is....DO YOU.....DO YOU!?"
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