The Letter 'F'
Blossom Dearie
I'm not clear anymore on his exact words, but I was rapt.
He ranged all over: bubblegum, plastic, [f]ornication, old songs, new songs, school, [f]lour, Kingston, shoes,
tea bags, politics, poetics, key-tars and existentialism.
I listened, absorbing his syllables the way cake absorbs milk.
Textured.
"It's not that I don't appreciate RoseArt's e[f][f]orts to produce low cost art supplies, it's that they've sacri[f]iced
too much quality in [f]avor of quantity." He explained, sitting down on the strange greenish sand
surrounding the lake.
"Oh, I agree." I [f]ollowed suite, sitting about two [f]eet away, looking at his plum-colored Converse lo. "My
Crayola 64 lasted in[f]initely longer than my RoseArt 96. And the color was so much better! Vibrancy---"
"Without saturation, I know." He grinned at me, looking up through his bangs. "I think you've heard my
opinion of Crayola."
"Naturally..." I hugged my knees and frowned. He cocked his head to one side.
"What's wrong?"
"You spoke as i[f] I was somekind o[f] OBVIOUS [f]angirl."
"But it IS so obvious. You've been beaming like someone's mum all evening." He sighed and layed back.
Despite my disappointment, I couldn't help but stare at the isosceles triangle o[f] skin that appeared between
his Blue Barracudas shirt and his per[f]ect-[f]it jeans. He caught my gaze and digital-smiled. He closed his
eyes and looked smug.
"My point exactly..."
"Well... At least I have good taste." I said, wrenching my eyes [f]rom his body, knowing no one else
understood the draw. He [f]lashed his eyes up at me and sat up quickly, putting his [f]ace in mine.
"Oh, I wholeheartedly agree. But you don't take action." He took my hand and put it on the inside of his
thigh.
"What impropriety is this!" I said, removing my hand and scooting away [f]rom him. "We've only just met, Mr.
Cicierega! and I am hardly so [f]orward."
I was livid.
Here I'd been, thinking I'd met this beauti[f]ul, sweet, slightly-[f]amous guy, as I'd intended and he was...
Well, I had no idea what he was and to be completely honest, I wanted to do it again.
"But I am." Neil said, pushing himself toward me again and placing one leg over my legs and the other
behind my back. I stared straight ahead, unable to [f]ocus my eyes on anything in particular. He bit his lip
slightly and smiled again, definitely laughing at me in his head. I [f]urrowed my brow and pouted the way I
knew I should.
"I would never have guessed." I whispered, pushing my hair behind my ear and cocking my head to one
side. He glanced down then stared at my hot dog earring. "I had hoped though."
"You have lovely ears," he said after a short time. "Can I...?"
"Can you what?"
"Can I touch it?"
"What? I guess, I mean..." I laughed. "I don't think they've ever received attention [f]rom anyone but me."
"What a pity." He said and took the wiener out, setting it on my knee. "They're actually quite [f]ascinating..."
He began tracing the di[f][f]erent ridges with his [f]ore[f]inger and pinching the lobe slightly.
"What's so [f]ascinating? Ears are ears, Neil."
"No, no... They're shaped exactly as ears should be shaped. You know?"
"Not really."
"Well, I mean, some people have weird points or too many piercings or hair growing out of 'em." He
explained, still playing. He put his other hand under my hair to examine the other ear. "How'd you get the
scar?"
"I'm sorry...?" It was insanely relaxing, him touching them as he was. Therapeutic even. "What scar?"
"This one, on your tragus."
"On my what?"
"Here," he brought my [f]ingers up to a short, thin line on the inner point o[f] my outer ear. "Do you recall?"
"Oh, yeah... I, uh, used to live down the street [f]rom this [f]amily that had these enormous rottweilers and one morning the dogs got out and... I [f]lipped."
"You ran?"
"Yeah," I said, placing my hand back on the bank. "Anyways, they caught up with me and took me down. They were [f]riendly, it turns out, but over-excited, you know? Scratched me up, licked my [f]ace, made me miss my bus."
He leaned in and kissed my unscarred ear. I stared at him, utterly con[f]used.
Neil looked at me care[f]ully and kissed it again.
"This one is per[f]ect."
He ranged all over: bubblegum, plastic, [f]ornication, old songs, new songs, school, [f]lour, Kingston, shoes,
tea bags, politics, poetics, key-tars and existentialism.
I listened, absorbing his syllables the way cake absorbs milk.
Textured.
"It's not that I don't appreciate RoseArt's e[f][f]orts to produce low cost art supplies, it's that they've sacri[f]iced
too much quality in [f]avor of quantity." He explained, sitting down on the strange greenish sand
surrounding the lake.
"Oh, I agree." I [f]ollowed suite, sitting about two [f]eet away, looking at his plum-colored Converse lo. "My
Crayola 64 lasted in[f]initely longer than my RoseArt 96. And the color was so much better! Vibrancy---"
"Without saturation, I know." He grinned at me, looking up through his bangs. "I think you've heard my
opinion of Crayola."
"Naturally..." I hugged my knees and frowned. He cocked his head to one side.
"What's wrong?"
"You spoke as i[f] I was somekind o[f] OBVIOUS [f]angirl."
"But it IS so obvious. You've been beaming like someone's mum all evening." He sighed and layed back.
Despite my disappointment, I couldn't help but stare at the isosceles triangle o[f] skin that appeared between
his Blue Barracudas shirt and his per[f]ect-[f]it jeans. He caught my gaze and digital-smiled. He closed his
eyes and looked smug.
"My point exactly..."
"Well... At least I have good taste." I said, wrenching my eyes [f]rom his body, knowing no one else
understood the draw. He [f]lashed his eyes up at me and sat up quickly, putting his [f]ace in mine.
"Oh, I wholeheartedly agree. But you don't take action." He took my hand and put it on the inside of his
thigh.
"What impropriety is this!" I said, removing my hand and scooting away [f]rom him. "We've only just met, Mr.
Cicierega! and I am hardly so [f]orward."
I was livid.
Here I'd been, thinking I'd met this beauti[f]ul, sweet, slightly-[f]amous guy, as I'd intended and he was...
Well, I had no idea what he was and to be completely honest, I wanted to do it again.
"But I am." Neil said, pushing himself toward me again and placing one leg over my legs and the other
behind my back. I stared straight ahead, unable to [f]ocus my eyes on anything in particular. He bit his lip
slightly and smiled again, definitely laughing at me in his head. I [f]urrowed my brow and pouted the way I
knew I should.
"I would never have guessed." I whispered, pushing my hair behind my ear and cocking my head to one
side. He glanced down then stared at my hot dog earring. "I had hoped though."
"You have lovely ears," he said after a short time. "Can I...?"
"Can you what?"
"Can I touch it?"
"What? I guess, I mean..." I laughed. "I don't think they've ever received attention [f]rom anyone but me."
"What a pity." He said and took the wiener out, setting it on my knee. "They're actually quite [f]ascinating..."
He began tracing the di[f][f]erent ridges with his [f]ore[f]inger and pinching the lobe slightly.
"What's so [f]ascinating? Ears are ears, Neil."
"No, no... They're shaped exactly as ears should be shaped. You know?"
"Not really."
"Well, I mean, some people have weird points or too many piercings or hair growing out of 'em." He
explained, still playing. He put his other hand under my hair to examine the other ear. "How'd you get the
scar?"
"I'm sorry...?" It was insanely relaxing, him touching them as he was. Therapeutic even. "What scar?"
"This one, on your tragus."
"On my what?"
"Here," he brought my [f]ingers up to a short, thin line on the inner point o[f] my outer ear. "Do you recall?"
"Oh, yeah... I, uh, used to live down the street [f]rom this [f]amily that had these enormous rottweilers and one morning the dogs got out and... I [f]lipped."
"You ran?"
"Yeah," I said, placing my hand back on the bank. "Anyways, they caught up with me and took me down. They were [f]riendly, it turns out, but over-excited, you know? Scratched me up, licked my [f]ace, made me miss my bus."
He leaned in and kissed my unscarred ear. I stared at him, utterly con[f]used.
Neil looked at me care[f]ully and kissed it again.
"This one is per[f]ect."
♠ ♠ ♠
This is not based on a true story... Except for the part that is.