Guy calls the doctor, says the wife’s contractions are five minutes apart. Doctor says, Is this her first child? guy says, No, it’s her husband. I promise to try to remember who I am. Wife gets up on one elbow, says, I wanted to get married. It seemed a fulfillment of some several things, a thing to be done. Even the diamond ring was some thing like a quest, a thing they set you out to get and how insane the quest is; how you have to turn it every way before you can even think to seek it; this metaphysical refraining is in fact the quest. Who’d have guessed? She sighs, I like the predictability of two, I like my pleasures fully expected, when the expectation of them grows patterned in its steady surprise. I’ve got my sweet and tumble pat. Here on earth, I like to count upon a thing like that. Thus explained the woman in contractions to her lover holding on the telephone for the doctor to recover from this strange conversational turn. You say you’re whom? It is a pleasure to meet you. She rolls her eyes, but he’d once asked her Am I your first lover? and she’d said, Could be. Your face looks familiar. It’s the same type of generative error. The grammar of the spoken word will flip, let alone the written, until something new is in us, and in our conversation.
Posted on: Fri, 27 Sep 2013 17:44:01 +0000
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