j9, she/her

September Sixteenth by Rene Magritte

“Almost ready?” I asked, leaning over while still standing, trying to tie my shoe in the most inefficient way possible.

“Let me get a drink first,” Veronica said, grabbing a glass and heading to the bathroom sink.  Veronica told me she liked bathroom water more than kitchen water on our fourth date.  It was a little weird, but I didn’t judge her.  Maybe she knew something I didn’t.

She paused to smile at the mirror before turning on the tap.  I remember what she told me about that, too.  She said she did it every time she came across a mirror to remind herself that she was a beautiful person.  She was beautiful, that was certainly true.  I couldn’t knock her runner’s figure or her shielded eyes or her Mediterranean brown hair.  She also dressed well.

When I was in elementary school, I remember we had this assembly in which some guy came in and the basic message of it was was that we should protect the rainforests.  I have a vague recollection that there were songs involved, but I can’t really remember the full details of something that happened almost fifteen years ago.  What I’m stuck with now is the question: why did the school permit someone to tell 7 year olds to protect the environment?  What could I, a 7 year old kid, possibly have done to stop the mean companies from bulldozing trees to make paper out of?  I disliked paper just as much as the next kid; you had my full support already.  Did they pay that guy or did he pay the school?  And which would be worse?

“Ready now?” I asked as she finished her second glass.  "We should get out there before sunset.“

“Yeah,” she yielded, tossing me the glass glass.  

“That’s glass,” I scolded, carefully setting it inside the dishwasher.  

Does this qualify as a skill: I’m really good at measuring someone’s attractiveness.  I can look at any woman and immediately scale her outward beauty compared to other women.  If you put 100 women in a room I could place them in order of my attractiveness to them without any struggle at all. What does that mean?  What does that say about me?  Do other people have this same skill?  I’m afraid to ask.  I haven’t ever mentioned this to anyone.  I realize it’s a very rude thing to even talk about doing.  Plus, where would I find the 100 women?

We disembarked from my second floor apartment, careful on the icy outdoor steps to the parking lot.  After four sentences of discussion, which I will spare you, we decided to head west, so we could face the setting sun as we ran.  I had forgotten my sunglasses, but Veronica had remembered hers.  She also remembered her water bottle and her ipod.  It was one of those mid 2000s ones, definitely pre-iPhone, but I couldn’t remember what it was called. Anyway, she also had one of those straps runners have that lets you attach it to your arm as you run.  Man, technology has really advanced.

When I first started driving I used to be really nervous about making left turns. Something about them startled me.  Maybe it was the improvisation and finesse required to judge the distance needed to successful turn without getting destroyed by the opposite side of traffic, maybe it was because I probably only did ten of them before going for my license test.  I think I’ve mastered it now, but I still really prefer right turns.  They’re a lot easier to pull off and there’s less of a chance your car will be hit if you make an honest American mistake.

2. kitsch