we moved away from the parkway, and climbed up the parapet-wall to our upper yard, and into the house, breezy and unlocked, in a trusting manor. we swept to our respective rooms, as one does after a day at the beach. to wash, to groom, to doze, to eat. all to do something alone. i moved into a room, past the open french-style doors and lazy white curtains gently swirling under a light breezy fan, to find a pink-lettered note [see attached] on my bed. it was charming and kind, attractive and soothing, and i thought oh, what a surprise. reading it for comfort, rather than for i.d., many seconds flew by.
another person came to my side, with a cylinder in her hand, lovely painted and feminine in style. “yes, this came with my letter! you got a letter too, i see. where is your gift?” i pulled the object from her gentle grip, and imagined it was a stylized candle of some sort. a candle, i told her, maybe that’s what it is. at that, i tugged at the fastening at the tip, the obvious top, to unleash the wick, certainly every gift candle--left in a house--should have a wick. as i pulled at the side foil and decorative top, a swelling began inside the canister. too late, i realized that this thing was more than a candle and worse, a quite unkind gift. i didn’t wait for smoke to begin emanating, as i quickly stepped towards the outdoors, and those following behind, putting their thoughts in order and coming to the same dismaying conclusion, called out suggestions and beckoned me to hasten my steps, but also to be safe and careful.
the cylinder of danger vibrated with potential and it throbbbed at its tip like a turned-on penis, and then i tossed it, hard as i could, away away, to another world, safe away from me and us.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
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