Bird swept in a turbine, reborn–

Shock of acuity overwhelms my language and deforms it vaguely. What’s happening? I don’t know. It's something. How can we go on? I don't know. But we must. Everyone is very kind today. Today must be special. 

So I’ll tell you what’s happened. I started dreaming again. I dreamt animals I’d never dreamed before. Two headed scorpions, giant tropical fish, a mountain goat with talons protruding from its hooves. I’d recount them in the mornings to my roommate. My roommate is very awkward. 

Our conversations up to this point had been vague and tediously polite, but once I mentioned the first creature—the scorpion—she began asking each morning about my dreams. Then the thin, impenetrable barrier between our conversations burst and consumed itself. We became friends. 

Analisa. Her name is delicate and regal. She is regal like a distant ox and delicate like a motorcycle. A stomper and a slammer, out of habit, never out of anger. 

What’s happened is: Analisa has fallen in love. Analisa has fallen in love with me. I know because I saw my name in her diary. Her writing is large and fastidious. I am neither. I blame my narrow frame for my vices. It’s easy to slip by unnoticed, to hide without trying, to open cabinets and drawers in silence. Shame on me. Shame on you, too, for shaming me. I feel most alive when rolling another person’s secret in my cheek. It’s like sucking an unbreakable candy that grows with every lick. 

What’s this have to do with your life? Nothing. Nothing unless you’ve been in love or even worse, a lover’s object. I find most yearners repulsive. Every time I fall in love I am consumed by agony and dread. Madness, even. 

It doesn’t matter. I always choose what’s easy. We share this quality, me and Analisa. Regardless of feeling, we will proceed with our new routine. Every night, I will dream. Every morning, I will tell her. I will go to work and she will go to school. In the evening, I will go to Crawford’s for the pool tournament, if it’s Tuesday, and the gym on Mondays and Wednesdays. Other nights, I seek new experiences. Analisa? I don’t know where she goes. 

Last Friday, I had sex with a man who had twelve toes. His penis was average, and his foreplay was horrible. I am not usually attracted to feet, but I wanted to suck his extra toes because—as I mentioned—I seek new experiences. He said I could but only if I sucked them all. I asked him to wash his feet before, which I then regretted, for they tasted very strongly of soap. The calloused nubbins on his extra pinky toes reminded me of my grandfather’s breath after he smokes a cigar alone in the garage and rinses his mouth with Listerine. 

Last night, I dreamt a calf being birthed. At first, nothing was coming out except a blonde shock of hair. The cow midwife bunched the hairs together with both hands, pulling and pulling. She motioned for me to help so I began pulling also and the hairs were coarse and wet while my hands were thin and soft like a baby’s. They began to bleed. The hair wrapped all around the birthing mother before the calf emerged chin first. It landed on its back then rolled right over, standing without a wobble or a buckle. The hair hung down from its nostrils and trailed behind. The midwife took out a pair of scissors to cut it, at which point I began to bawl and scream, Let nature have its way, for once, Let nature have its way. I woke up mid yell and Analisa knocked on my door at almost the same time. 

FUCK. What’s– Oh. Analisa? 

Sorry. God, I didn’t mean to… 

No, you’re good. 

Are you okay? 

Yeah. I’m good. 

Okay. Good. 

Good night. 

Good night.

I heard her heavy shuffle back to her room down the hall and the thud of her door. I turned my phone over. 3:33 A.M. I fell asleep listening to her pace. Her rhythm has become so familiar to me, I’d recognize the weight and drag of her gait even if she were in the center of a crowd all moving at the same pace. But don’t tell me that is the same as loving.