11.10.2013 Journal Prompt

Photo by Leon Levinstein
Photo by Leon Levinstein

November 10, 2013: She called it love.

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2 thoughts on “11.10.2013 Journal Prompt

  1. Lindsay

    Don’t you just hate that about women? How they allus want to change your shape and make you into somethin more than you is. If’n they don’t like what way you are, then they shouldn’t say ‘yes’ when the minister asks ‘em and they shouldn’t say ‘I do’ and all that shit about honour and obeyin. You don’t see us men of this world trying to remodel the women they chooses to be kissin, and wantin to make ‘em into somethin so different they can’t see theyselves in the pictures they once took.

    And Agnes, she slaps my head and she says don’t be so stupid, and she says I is worth more than the money they gives me at the store for the twelve hour shifts I put in. Agnes says I got more brains than that and she dresses me up so smart I don’t feel like me and she puts a spit-polish shine to my shoes and a spit-lick finger to my hair so it don’t stand up all which way. And she says I’ve to sit up straight and not to be fartin and not to pick my nose durin the interview.

    It’s an uncle of hers and he owns a big fancy store that sells beds in all shapes and all sizes, and a cardboard cutout of him stands in the window, bigger than he is, and he’s smiling and his smile as big as a watermelon slice, and even though he’s smiling you jes know he’s a scarey guy up close. And he’s recruitin, see, and lookin for a salesman, and Agnes says it’s in the bag on account of he’s her uncle Bob and alls I gotta do is look presentable and talk sweet as honeycomb and mind my peas and queues, whatever they is.

    But I catch myself in the glass of the window before goin in, and seein myself makes me laugh. I ain’t never wore no tie before and it’s one of they clip-on knotted cloth things cos I wouldn’t know how to wear it otherwise, and it’s pinchin my neck as much as the shirt with the top button fastened. And I’m a little red in the face, like I can’t shit and I’m tryin. Trousers is a little tight too and pressin against my stomach, and inside I can feel the trapped air of a fart rollin around and lookin for a way out. And I know then that I ain’t up for workin in no store sellin fancy beds.

    Then the thought of Agnes is in my head and I know she’ll be cross as a bagged hornets’ nest if I don’t go, and all fizz and sting if I do go and I don’t get the job. And she says it’s cos she loves me and she wants better, wants only the best for me. She don’t think to ask what I wants. I thought I got everythin I ever wanted when I got Agnes; pretty as a paintin when we first met and I could put one arm around her skinny waist then. Now there’s a little more to her and it needs my two arms to circle her. But I don’t try to make her anything more or less than she is and I never have. That’s not what men do – I think us men love in a different way.

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