Wicked Wisdom


LPD.
March 10, 2010, 3:19 am
Filed under: Fiction, Microfiction, Rough Draft, Writing

I’ve been thinking about high school a lot lately. I hated it while I was there, but now Im starting to miss it. Only two things kept me alive in high school: you and The Legendary Pink Dots.

You were perfect for me then. You knew exactly what I needed to keep from losing my mind after those seven hours of torture each day.

You had no idea that you were one of the only two things in the world that I was living for, but you never disappointed me either.

The only thing I looked forward to more than kissing you at the top of the stairs on the way to 3rd period was walking with you after school.

It was the same each day, we’d meet by the tree and start walking towards the lake – taking turns listening to songs by The Legendary Pink Dots on the walkman while talking about everything and absolutely nothing at the same time.

Once we’d get to the lake the photo shoot would begin. It was never planned, but you always said you couldn’t resist taking pictures of my perfect smile. You’re the only person to ever make me smile like that.

I haven’t heard from you in years, but a while back when I saw your photos in a magazine your model, unlike me, had much more than a great smile.

I haven’t smiled like that since we parted ways.

The photos would continue until we could no longer resist, and then usually we’d lay in the grass near the water. We wouldn’t always have sex, though it was amazing when we did. But laying there in the sun with your arms around me was just as fulfilling. I would bury my nose deep into your curly hair and inhale the scent of your coconut shampoo until I could no longer remember what anything else in the world smelt like. And then I’d make fun of you for using coconut scented shampoo.

These are the things I think as I try and get to sleep tonight while my husband sleeps next to me and my children lay in the room across the hall. My husband has long grown unattractive and leaves a sour taste in my mouth. My maternal instinct  is, and always has been, non existent.

I start to wonder where we went wrong, and why it’s not you laying next to me right now. Why our children aren’t across the hall.

I step out of the bed and into the closet. I rifle through a box simply labeled “Old” for several moments until I find it: my walkman, with the The Legendary Pink Dots mix tape you made me in 11th grade in the tape deck.

I return to the bed and  attempt to play the tape. The batteries in the walkman are, of course, dead. I remove the batteries from the remote and replace what remains of the long corroded bullets inside of what was once my favorite toy.

I press play. Lisa’s Funeral begins to echo inside my ear canals.

I wonder where you are, and I ask myself why in the hell I ever chose to smell anything but your coconut shampoo.

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