Dream House

22 05 2012

Most houses reaching this point of decay await only the wrecking crew, though one I have seen resurrected as shrine to our patchwork, violated, seductive, wondrous bodies. I have come in search of my first crush, a relic of the times when familiarity was the only ingredient needed for backyard weddings, and the family cat stood in as witness, maid of honor, and priest. I find the one I seek by following the pointed instructions of cracks slashing across the ceiling like the hand of death come to claim this place. She is kissing another boy.

She was always quick to kiss the other boys.
She was even quicker to dump them.

I help her take out the trash and things are just as they should be: only her, and me, and the dusty jukebox that is the only evidence this house was ever fit for human inhabitants. We dance in the feeble glare of flickering neon lights. This, at last, is paradise.

But peace is fleeting and jealousy always lurking, and I am dogged by the kiss I walked in on – the kiss that wasn’t mine. Never mind that if it had been mine I would’ve been dumped as quick as he, for the touch of our lips would have pulled us forever out of childhood; I wanted her as I had always wanted her.
And as she, apparently, had wanted me, for quicker than thought we are sharing our first kiss, at once tender and hungry.

The cat chose this moment to tear through the room, hissing and spitting at the dog right on his tail, before flying out the door and down the stairs. My first crush and I are quick to give chase. We must rescue our priest if we are to ever have our wedding.




One response

26 05 2012

Such a vivid scene. I felt there. thank you.

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