MONO ISSUE 2 - Flipbook - Page 91
weight of this world is killing me —
I confess how obsessed I am with sad songs and before I finish the lyrics he says me
too!
and then I know.
I tell him sometimes me and Mairéad eat the apple pie straight from the tray with two
spoons at once like they're our actual hands
—that once I was shut in the cupboard with the ghost of the wartime soldier — that once
in my kitchen I fed the little mouse on purpose — that sometimes when I’m stressed I
just keep chopping things for stews — sometimes when I’m stressed I polish the
banister with Mr. Sheen— that’s just me — he laughs you know you’re so funny — I like
women who are funny — and he tells me they put apple and red onion in the coleslaw
here and it tastes mighty fine that he imagines I might like to try it.
I show him the scar from the bicycle ride but he doesn’t notice. I watch the sweet pies
on the display counter attract fruit flies — the chilled deserts spinning in their crystal
cabinet. When the coleslaw arrives the beetroot bleeds into his mayo just the way he
likes it and I’m not alone in the diner — I wished I wish I wished for this — when one
strand of his hair is electric against mine he must be able to feel it like the way I feel I
need to push my hand across the shiny table and brush just one of his strong fingers like
my brick of a phone in the middle of the night just holding it out for signal under the
pillow and —
when it does I’ll know — I’ll know to run to the ice cream counter — to say yes! I’ll have a
tall glass and two spoons and no I don’t know the capital of any country but I know his
favourite flavour. My god, add nuts, add sprinkles, add a cherry, add confetti and stars—
what time is it?
I take the floaty bits from the princesses hats. I give them to the little girls who run
around waving them like napkins fanned out before they’ve been used. Somewhere in
this place they’ve put the teacher we all crushed on at the top of the menu and we can
add little gems to our eyes for an extra cosmic +£1. I read my sweethearts horoscope
but he’s already sleeping as sound as a babe. I rub moisturiser into my elbows and
imagine him in bed in his sweats.
On the bench seat one girl has a rainbow painted across her nose like a pore strip, she’s
wearing chiffon of course she is but with long socks up her arms — she’s like some dying
bird and her parents don’t understand how her long legs work — they can’t meet her sad
eyes — before I go I put my lyrics alongside segments of orange — I want to give them to
her but instead I give them to him —
He says I’d like that coleslaw to be ours, we could call it have a good day Coleslaw. I
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