8.2.2015 Journal Prompt

Image from Breakfast at Tiffany's
Image from Breakfast at Tiffany’s

August 2, 2015: She called him Baby.

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One thought on “8.2.2015 Journal Prompt

  1. I don’t get it. I don’t. Not for a minute. But well, it’s right there in front of me and she’s scooping up the cat in her arms and she’s calling it Baby and making all kinds of noises to show she’s pleased to have found it. And Cindy’s soaked through cos it’s raining – cats and dogs it’s raining, for fuck’s sake, like a jug has been tipped on its head and water pouring, running everywhere.

    And the street is like a river, all the streets, and all ripple and polished glass, and there was something on the radio about records tumbling for this time of year and the reporter saying it was good weather for ducks, which I think ducks is something stupid if they’re out in this. And cats with any sense, well they’re curled up by the fire and sleeping. Only, her cat, her baby, well it wasn’t.

    She was worried and hanging out of the window and calling into the yellow wet street and calling to the stars and the moon, cept they couldn’t be found neither. And she ups and says she’s going out to look cos she’s worried. Don’t ever worry about me like that. And I says to her that the cat’ll be ok and cats has got the sense God didn’t give ducks or geese, and Baby’s probably sitting warm and pretty someplace. She insists and how could I let her go out there by herself?

    So, she’s not the only one is soaked through to the skin and carrying puddles in our shoes so every step is a fucking splash, and calling into dark holes and on our knees looking under cars and behind bins. And it turns out it’s just like I said it would be and the cat’s curled into sleep in the steamed up window of the Laundromat, only, it takes us above an hour to discover this.

    And Cindy’s so pleased to see the cat and she’s hugging it close and calling it Baby, like I said, and making those noises she makes – noises she used to make for me whenever we was making out. And she’s crying for fuck’s sake and not minding that she’s so wet she’s dripping everywhere and rainwater pooling at her feet and the woman in the landromat scowling at the floor and what’ll need mopped up when we’re gone.

    I say we should go, and Cindy smiles at me – and it catches me unawares, you know, cos like she aint smiled at me for such a long time. And she thanks me and notices then how wet I am and how wet she is and she laughs and cries both at the same time and the cat is purring like a small engine. And I’m smiling too – smiling cos Cindy’s smiling, grinning maybe, like the cat what’s got the cream which aint exactly how it is.

    And fuck if she doesn’t kiss me then, the cat caught between us, and she kisses me all wet and slippy and that’s a surprise more than Cindy smiling. And the woman in the landroat clears her throat like she has something to say and then don’t say nothing – ‘cept with her eyes. And I say again to Cindy that maybe we should go.

    And as I said, I just don’t get it. How Cindy can be with that fucking cat, which is all the time soft and sighing, and with me she’s hard and blowing air like a horse that’s been whipped, and she don’t care if I’m late or lost or out in shitty weather. And I’m the one as got her the bloody cat in the first place! But then she just smiled at me and kissed me, and just for that warm Laundromat moment, well, nothing feels wrong.

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