There are days I’m trying to make it through the hour. There are days when night is day and day is night. There are days when the day has ended before I begin my day. There are days I think everything is happening at the same time and there is no beginning middle and end; what is happening now and what happened yesterday are happening all at once.
K is anxious to arrive. She has two more hours on the Bolt bus. She has been listening to Ipodcasts and writing in her notebook. She has on a red dress and large contemporaneous sunglasses. She has been sending Iphone images of her knees and sun glare.
It is the second time a woman has come to see me from Seattle.
This is her second time seeing me but really the first because when I saw
her the first time she was there with friends and not only for me.
There is something brave and selfless about K seeing me from Seattle and it makes me suspicious. She has written a story about our first meeting that will be unlike my story about it. I have to edit my version. It is dishonest and paranoid.
A sent me a letter. I said I take things day by day. She understood.
She was shitty the latter half of the day we went to Oxbow. I have a feeling she won’t send me her stories for awhile. She doesn’t want me to write to her about other women.
I bought flowers for K. I’m self-conscious about what I’m wearing,
my body shape, my hair, my teeth, my fingernails, my penis, my history or the lack of it.
I’m in better shape two hours before I see her.
I care about A but I haven’t made up my mind. And there is her wrath that will raze my internal landscape.
When A and I were standing by the river and the standing dead trees and talking about her teaching career and I was looking at the brown rocks in the water and the one yellow rock that looked like an Idaho potato our eyes were dumb with selflessness. It was twenty minutes later that she aggravated me with her jealous talk about a thirty year old educated black man she has been talking to.
K likes to watch girl on girl porn. She prefers sex with women. She can only get romantically involved with men. This doesn’t make sense to me but I don’ think it’s supposed to. She is still evolving sexually.
My ex wife looks at me like a hunted animal. I get the sense that she
has been making me feel guilty about us. I reach out to her and she rejects me. I won’t reach out her not until she does with me, and not with farm eggs.
K wears short dresses, pants are too restrictive. We have Chinese food and Chinese beer. We walk over the Burnside bridge to my place on 24 and Broadway. It is the second time I cross the Burnside bridge from a Chinese
restaurant to my place. The first time it was with a woman who sent me a video of herself mouthing a dildo.
I keep my pants and t-shirt. I feel like a coward. I think it is forward to remove my underwear. K brushes her teeth with a tooth brush she brought in her backpack. She has on black underwear and a long t-shirt. She has on grey purple black nail polish on her fingers and toes. Her long fingers look like a penis. Her forehead is unfinished. She hides it with bangs. I brush her hair aside.
You look good like this, I said. I love your forehead.
It’s big, she said.
No it isn’t, I said.
K looks shy and endearing when her forehead is seen.
K has straight legs that meet a small tight ass. I want to see the small of her back.
I like how we play with one another’s fingers. It feels good.
Don’t take this the wrong way, I said. You remind me of a mail order bride.
She thinks about me killing her. I think rabout her killing me in my sleep.
I think about how stupid she is for staying over with someone she doesn’t know and how stupid we both are and how my anger about her stupidity and wanting to berate her because of it is a symptom of how fucked up I am.
I think she stole my remote control. It is nowhere to be found. It was there the day before she left.