Morphine
Her- The Celebration
“Bonne Anniversaire!”
“Happy Birthday!”
“Feliz Navidad!”
“You idiot! That’s ‘Merry Christmas’!”
I am finding myself amongst my many acquaintances, Jennary, and Samuel this grey Sunday morning. They have created one of my favorite things, unconsciously of course, a Black Parade, allusion intended.
I sit on top of the table where my Victorian tea party is to be served shortly and they march towards me, their voices mingling, their gloved hands bringing gifts like peace offerings in glossy black paper.
And Samuel sits beside me, in his beloved bowler, whispering comments about them past the currently un-straightened jet curls he likes so well. He reminds me that I will be punished severely if I don’t send out Thank You cards, despite the fact that I asked them to bring me only their pretentious little souls.
I cringe bitterly when Mrs. Jaime asks him if he could kindly remove his hand from where it’d been creeping up so that we could begin the tea section of this tea party.
Once the music and laughter fade, I smile as they march away. Jennifer slaps me in a most unprecedented fashion. She begins yelling without reason and blurs into obnoxious mass of 4’11” teenager instead of the magnificent female I thought I knew.
Samuel steps between us, asking her in his polite 6’2” way to please leave. She does, taking Zachary away from me as well. He looks as confused as I must be. I do not understand. I cannot.
My rescuer from the short girl carries me, unnecessarily, up the stairs to my “apartment”, past the kitchen and living areas into my bedroom. He lays me on the enormous black four-poster and goes to get ice from the refrigerator.
“Yes, definitely a Jennifer-sized handprint.” He diagnoses, running it over my cheek. “Too small to be anyone else’s.”
“Ouch!” I squeak, turning my head quickly.
“I’m sorry. I would never mean to…” He apologizes, the action seizing his entire body. Every inch of the adoring, beautiful, bespectacled punk band –drumming being before me. This is where the decision is made… Somewhere, here, I have to… Forget everything that happened until now. The years of borderline stalking and obsession.
“It’s okay… It just stung a bit.” I say, removing his glasses. He places both hands in my lap.
“Still…”
“It’s okay.” I repeat, setting them on the nightstand and shoving away the face that is attempting to mask this one, as I’ve let it before. I focus on the lips, the eyes, the pants, the boy before me.
It’s ethereal.
“Happy Birthday!”
“Feliz Navidad!”
“You idiot! That’s ‘Merry Christmas’!”
I am finding myself amongst my many acquaintances, Jennary, and Samuel this grey Sunday morning. They have created one of my favorite things, unconsciously of course, a Black Parade, allusion intended.
I sit on top of the table where my Victorian tea party is to be served shortly and they march towards me, their voices mingling, their gloved hands bringing gifts like peace offerings in glossy black paper.
And Samuel sits beside me, in his beloved bowler, whispering comments about them past the currently un-straightened jet curls he likes so well. He reminds me that I will be punished severely if I don’t send out Thank You cards, despite the fact that I asked them to bring me only their pretentious little souls.
I cringe bitterly when Mrs. Jaime asks him if he could kindly remove his hand from where it’d been creeping up so that we could begin the tea section of this tea party.
Once the music and laughter fade, I smile as they march away. Jennifer slaps me in a most unprecedented fashion. She begins yelling without reason and blurs into obnoxious mass of 4’11” teenager instead of the magnificent female I thought I knew.
Samuel steps between us, asking her in his polite 6’2” way to please leave. She does, taking Zachary away from me as well. He looks as confused as I must be. I do not understand. I cannot.
My rescuer from the short girl carries me, unnecessarily, up the stairs to my “apartment”, past the kitchen and living areas into my bedroom. He lays me on the enormous black four-poster and goes to get ice from the refrigerator.
“Yes, definitely a Jennifer-sized handprint.” He diagnoses, running it over my cheek. “Too small to be anyone else’s.”
“Ouch!” I squeak, turning my head quickly.
“I’m sorry. I would never mean to…” He apologizes, the action seizing his entire body. Every inch of the adoring, beautiful, bespectacled punk band –drumming being before me. This is where the decision is made… Somewhere, here, I have to… Forget everything that happened until now. The years of borderline stalking and obsession.
“It’s okay… It just stung a bit.” I say, removing his glasses. He places both hands in my lap.
“Still…”
“It’s okay.” I repeat, setting them on the nightstand and shoving away the face that is attempting to mask this one, as I’ve let it before. I focus on the lips, the eyes, the pants, the boy before me.
It’s ethereal.
♠ ♠ ♠
Okay, so there isn't really a sex scene but... Well... We're keeping it PG-13