Wait, Tell Me That Again
Well, you can't do that.
“And then I’d do is make it so we couldn’t hurt each other,” he said into his coffee cup. “But I’d have to draw the line somewhere. Maybe physical stuff would be impossible.”
“Wait, tell me that again. You’re talking too fast,” I said, pausing the scrape of my pen on the page long enough for the meaty part of my palm to stop throbbing. I hadn’t written like this since middle, maybe elementary school. Why he insisted on writing it down, I’m still not sure about. Messiah types and their paranoia, I guess.
He took a loud breath. “Where’dya leave off?”
“Can you start back at ‘You are beloved creatures?’”
Glaring at my page, he growled, “Dude, that was like six minutes ago!”
“Sorry, I just dripped syrup on the paper,” I said as I flipped to a new page. “Won’t happen again.”
His eyes darted between my plate and the page. A single red blood vessel streaked the white of his left eye between the bridge of his nose and the dark brown of his iris. Had that been there before? What causes bloodshot eyes, anyway? Blood pressure, sleep deprivation, crying, drugs? I couldn’t think of anything else. I stared down at the page, pen to paper. The slightest bead of black ink pooled under the tip.
I looked up to see he was chewing a sausage link, his lips glossy from the grease. He began before swallowing, the sound of his muddled voice echoing against the walls and floors of the tiny restaurant. He spoke slower this time. “You are beloved creatures, but you don’t act like it. If you knew how special each of you were to me, you could rise up from the shit of your predicaments…did you get that?”
I didn’t remember the cussing the last time around, but I nodded hesitantly. “Got it.” Just to be sure, I asked, “Did you want me to write ‘chaos’ or…” I waited for him to say it again. He didn’t rescue me. I could see in his eyes that he wanted me to say it like uttering those three sounds together would liberate me from the burden of years of religious fundamentalism.
“Where have I ever said that common speech was vulgar?” he barked at me. “Yes, please write it as I say it.”
“Got it,” I said and added, “Sorry. Go ‘head.”
He set down his fork and crossed his arms. “Let’s just stop there for today. I’ll tell you the rest next time.”