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2002-12-19 - 9:49 p.m.

monday evening revisited

It came one evening in a medicine bottle filled with delicate white pills. She gave me a coffee mug with a funny green drink in it that tasted like the floor of a candy store and made my head buzz, my throat burn. She smiled her big wide southern grin, pressed play, and mouthed all the words theatrically. She can�t hear you. On the screen, Severine opened her legs to strangers like wings and flew away from the ordinary.

I traced the blue river vein on my arm and watched the invisible trickle of the drugs. It dripped down my neck and down my back, the wet warm feeling of the first time. Suddenly, I was in her club. �Did people really dress like that?� I asked. She looked at me. We watched the movie quietly, and immersed ourselves in silent infinities of carefully knitted turtlenecks and poorboy caps with pompoms. I had seen that white tennis outfit before in my mother�s Leisure Arts book. �Elsa�� I guess here the white is for purity.

baah