Writing prompt: The visitors
Image from promotional materials for 2005 animated
film, Kontrol
Eskape.
Daniel came with a backpack full of canned cat food
and Max, a fluffy grey tabby artfully splotched with
patches of orange, on a leash. As he kissed my cheek,
his toothbrush nudged me in the chest. It was tucked
into his front shirt pocket alongside a container of
floss and a ballpoint pen. He had a change of clothes
in the car and had packed a tent, too, just in case.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be staying,” was the
first thing out of his mouth. Max, unleashed,
threaded my legs and dashed into the living room.
Later we found a small disc of cat urine on the floor
by the ficus, Max’s lament, his only accident.
I made a crimini mushroom omelet with muenster cheese
and served it with a side of crisp potatoes roasted
with whole shallots and rosemary sprigs. When Dan
emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered, he
opened a bottle of Pinot. We sat in eating in silence
until the second glass, when he rolled up his left
sleeve and showed me the marks, a neat imprint of
fingers wrapped around bicep.
“Eric’s at it again.”
His boyfriend was a brute, a nasty sort who was
attractive if you didn’t know his back story, didn’t
know he was a sweet manipulator that could turn
maniacal. Daniel turned and lifted his shirt,
revealing an archipelago of bruises on his lower
back, a long bloodied scratch across his spine. He
never had a mark above the clavicle or below the
groin: Eric was strictly covert.
“I forgot to take out the recycling.”
Suppressing a sigh, I reached for his hand, tamping
down my guilty urge to blame the victim, give him a
hard time for sticking around with beautiful Eric,
the work acquaintance I’d set him up with. Eric of
the deceivingly kind brown eyes and silken hands, of
the long fingers of bendable steel and the
high-pitched staccato laugh, a machine-gun guffaw
that was as hairtrigger as his rage. I didn’t want to
know about it, didn’t want to provide sympathetic
catharsis.
“I forgot to take out the recycling, so he dragged me
to the bin.”
“I’m so sorry, Daniel.”
A story of kicks by wingtip, recycling carefully
sorted and dutifully delivered to the curb, Daniel’s
attempts to keep his expression flat and his
apologies genuine – Eric wanted simple obedience and
sincere contrition, not a melodramatic man-beating
scene. Last time it was about dry cleaning, though
neither of us can remember whether the issue was
overstarching (Eric has very sensitive skin) or
Daniel’s forgetfulness, the shirts that weren’t
picked up in time for the conference.
“He’s so . . . quiet about it, have I told you that?
He doesn’t yell or scream. But his face is
terrifying, Janine. It looks like it’s going to
collapse on itself. Someday his brow will fold into
his mouth and he will reveal himself to be the alien
I know he is. Max always runs under the guest bed
before anything happens. He’s my early warning
system.”
Daniel took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. I
knew tonight wasn’t going to be the beginning of his
redemption story, just another painful, repetitive
chapter, the time before the revelation. He would be
back there maybe even tonight. The reunions were the
best part of this, weren’t they? Max would stay with
me this time and I would stay out of it.
I leaned
back and grabbed another bottle of wine from the
rack.
What haven't I told you?
I let the
first
U.S. punk compilation slip out of my hands. Album
cover from Rate
Your Music.
Jean of
Jean’s Musings
– a lovely blog that
I recommend highly – has passed a meme my way, a
request to list five things that you might not
know about me. Given how much I’ve revealed here,
that’s a tall order, but I think I can dredge up
some obscure facts.
*I once had a Secret
security
clearance. The think tank I worked for
did a lot of work for the defense department and
the library was responsible for the classified
document collection. Getting the clearance was
nerve-wracking, as was the proximity to potential
national secrets. It was a relief to leave it
behind.
*I have never seen an episode of the television show
Friends.
*Punk music was the soundtrack of my life for a long
time. I knew my now-husband was a good match after we
watched a movie that included the song Viva Las
Vegas. As we were leaving the theater I told him
“Every time I hear that song I …” He finished the
sentence, “think of the Dead
Kennedys version?” That’s right. Ahh,
love.
*I got my license at 25 (or was that 26?), but
I don’t
drive.
You wouldn’t want me to. Trust me.
*Despite a lifelong allergy to cats, I have never
lived without at least one kitty, except for a brief
pet-free period in graduate school. They are worth
the asthma, the itchy eyes, the mounds of tissues.
An extra fact: I’ve got some recipes in the Nov/Dec
issue of Vegetarian
Times,
along with a short profile in the contributers
column. Go to your newsstand or local library and
take a look. I'll be putting up more information
on the Food Writing
section soon.
If you have your own five facts, I'd love to read
them.
And for your listening pleasure, Viva Las Vegas!