BELC_ Vol 1 (5) (1)

BRIEF ENCOUNTERS OF
LITTLE CONSEQUENCE
10 VIGNETTES THAT YOU PROBABLY WON'T REMEMBER
BY SIENNA PARKER

For all the beautiful strangers whose names I've either
forgotten or never learned

1
a squirrel saw me naked
A squirrel saw me naked. How was I supposed to feel? My body
seen like I was a slab of meat, a piece of ass. You tell me how
you think you’d feel if you were getting ready, putting lotion on
your body, and then you looked out the window and saw a
squirrel staring straight at you.
What’s even worse, it didn’t even turn and scram when it saw
me looking. It just kept on staring.
[friend speaks]
What do you mean by that?
[friend speaks]
I just feel exposed is all I’m saying. What doesn’t make sense
about that? I was fourteen and from that moment on, I felt like
a different person. I felt like all these animals saw me that
way. Everyone saw me that way. Just like the squirrel.
I bet that squirrel went around, whispering about me to other
squirrels, and then those squirrels infecting their acorns with
the secrets of my body. Then those acorns forgotten grew into
the trees carrying whispers and rumors about me. Then the
birds came to those trees and made their homes and raised
their children and singing their songs.
And whenever a bird sings, it infects everyone else with my
shame. The birds' songs taunt me. So now when I walk down
the street, everyone stares at me because everyone thinks that
they know me and thinks that they own me. And it’s that damn
squirrel’s fault I’ll never be at peace.

2
an
Irish man with a box of eggs
We met an Irish man with a box of eggs in his bag. He moved
the bag from beneath my bar stool so that I would not
accidentally kick it and cause the eggs to break.
Eggs are fragile and can break very easily if you are not careful
with them. Even if the eggs are in a box for protection, any
disturbance can cause the shell of an egg to crack. A cracked
egg shell is not always so dangerous. If the insides of the egg
do not escape the cracked shell, then you should not worry.
Although, if the eggs must still go through a long journey, then
a cracked shell is hazardous and has potential to worsen. It
may worsen to the point where the insides of the egg seep out
from the shell. The damage from a seeping egg can be severe.
Not only would lose the valuable insides of the egg (which you
were probably looking forward to using in your kitchen, to cook
an omelette or bake muffins) but the insides of the egg may
trickle on to items in its immediate vicinity. The viscous
substance inside of an egg is sticky, and wet, and hard to
clean. You would crinkle your nose and recoil if you reached
into your bag to discover all of your contents soaked by the
insides of a broken egg.
Thus, I was not offended when the Irish man moved his bag
from beneath my bar stool. He was taking reasonable
precaution. You would have done the same in his situation,
bringing a box of eggs in your bag to a jazz bar.

3
Sun Burn
“These are big waves,” he shouted in my direction. I looked at
him and said nothing.
There was silence for a moment as we both sat on our
surfboards in the calmly rocking water. There hadn’t been any
waves large enough to ride the whole morning.
“Where are you from?” he asked. He wore a white cotton t-shirt
soaked limpid by the ocean. The shirt clung to his arms and
torso displaying his skinny and undefined body. He was pale.
Under the summer sun, his face had begun to turn pink from
prolonged exposure.
Something about his aura seemed sinister and I couldn’t help
but think of human destruction upon nature. I thought of
forests ablaze from forgotten cigarettes, farms with chickens
obese and swollen from injected hormones, skies filled with a
brown-grey haze of exhaust, wrinkled and dried river beds from
years without rainfall.
“California,” I responded sharply lost in my thoughts of
disaster and death. I looked at him again. In what had been but
a moment, his face had transitioned from a glowing pink to a
burning red. His body, which I had originally observed as thin,
appeared more angular and pointed. He seemed to have
protrusions that moved under his skin like beetles crawling
under wallpaper.
Growing increasingly repulsed and worrying that I had been in
the sun for too long as to be imagining such horrors, I decided
to head back to the shore. I paddled away cautiously and did
not look back.
Once on the beach, I immediately began to feel better. I sat on
the sand and looked out towards the water. I saw a wave rising
larger and larger in the distance. I saw him, the devil himself.
He was on the wave cackling with glee, happy and sunburnt on
the hot, summer day.

4
Body Builders
Sweaty, grunting bodies. Clanking iron. Pulsing, beating,
throbbing, clanking.
He walked in. Open the doors, burst of light. All movement
stopped. Step-step-step but like rolling thunder. No, like a
cracking whip. No, like a furious greek god (that’s right). Stepstep-step
like a furious greek god into the gym.
They all turned and stared. He had returned, sleeveless. His
back, arms, and chest glistening with curves and valleys, with
nothing but muscle. His thighs could crush a melon or a
human skull (it had been done before). They all scrambled to
the side like little mice. Squeaking away to the corners of the
gym as they stared aghast and terrified at his return.
He cleared the floor of its puny dumb-bells, kettle-bells, and
other children’s play-things. All the while, staring at himself in
the mirrors, flexing his beautiful and sculpted muscles.
A show for himself and for his spectators, the other men.
“Other men - HA!” how could they be called men? He was a
man. He grinned confidently and looked at himself in the
mirror, falling deeply in love with himself.
Before his feet was the largest iron barbell in the gym. Loaded
to 220…on one single side (that’s 440 total). He laughed deep
and threatening. The mice-men cowered further trying to
shrink their tiny heads inside their thick, protruding shoulders.
He bent over and grabbed the bar. Prepping his feet, defining
his stance. He looked at himself once more in the mirror. A
sweat began to break at his brow and his face turned red as he
held his breath. And then, he began to cry. Tear-tears-tears but

like a summer typhoon. No, like a sweet babbling brook. No,
like a despairing water nymph (that’s right). Tears-tear-tears
like a despairing water nymph falling onto his fleshy and
strong hands.
He fell forward and cried his harrowing cry. The mice-men all
began to cry too. Everyone crying and hugging and sniffling.
Little dribbles of snot and trembling lower lips. They cried for
they had all worked so hard for their bodies. So much effort,
and pain, and time. They cried because they were all so
beautiful and lovely. And he, the strongest man, he cried the
most because beneath his hardened and enormous muscles
was but a small and lonely heart that was not loved
enormously enough.

5
Mushroom Harvest
“I’m not ready,” she zipped and dodged the hands.The
mushrooms had grown to ripe on her head. Mushrooms with
red caps and yellow stems, soft and round, sprouting from
mushroom follicles.
“Oh, but you must,” responded the hands. It was Harvest
Season. They encircled her holding shears.
“It must be done now!” said one hand.
“For tomorrow the mushrooms will be spoiled” added another.
The hands grabbed the girl firmly by her wrists. Her fragile
bones snapped under the grip. “CRrriiiacck," was the sound her
bones made. The hands giggled with glee. They sat her in the
uphostelred velvet chair. Her arms akimbo and awkward at the
fracture points.
The hands raised their shears and gathered at her back. Cutsnip,
snip-cut at the mushrooms. One by one from her head.
Another fruitful season for the hands.

6
Museum Lovers
A shared smile is all it took for me to fall in love. Just that
single glance of you at me and me at you to realize; you did
not have to say it, but I knew it. You were in love with me and I
was in love with you.
I turned away. I felt the blood rush to my face rosing my
cheeks. I hoped that you were still looking. I had to check that
you were still looking. I turned around but saw that you were
walking towards the next gallery. Perhaps I had imagined our
moment, our smile, our love. Once more, I turned back to the
painting.*
I walked through the rest of the galleries. Faces from the
paintings of lovers looked at me. I thought about my love for
you and imagined how our painting would look.
I sat down at the museum cafe and redeemed my coupon for
an espresso. They gave me a little cookie on the side. I drank
the espresso quickly. I don’t like coffee. I nibbled at the
cookie. Crumbs fell on my lap. I dabbed my mouth with a
napkin, my lipstick came off with it.
I saw you walk in. You redeemed your coupon too. I watched
as you turned from the counter to look for a seat. You looked
at me. You smiled. I hadn’t imagined it. You came over to me:
“May I sit with you?”
I looked at you. Before I could say yes, you sat. You knew me
so well, you knew I wanted to be with you.
You sipped your espresso slowly. You liked coffee. You ate
your cookie in two bites. We were so different but yet so the
same.

“What is your name?” you asked.
I answered.
“I really enjoyed the exhibit,” you said. You talked about your
favorite paintings, your favorite artists. You talked about
theory. You knew so much. I saw you were passionate. You
never told me your name. You had mine but I did not have
yours.
“I am really enjoying talking with you,” you said and looked me
in the eyes. You licked the right side of your upper lip. I looked
down at my lap and saw the crumbs. I brushed them off and
thought about you. I thought about your gentleness, your
strength, your knowledge, your kindness. You were everything,
you were perfect. You did not have to say it, but I knew it. You
were in love with me and I was in love with you.
“Let me get you another espresso,” you said. You got up and
bought me another espresso. There was no cookie this time. I
don’t like coffee but I took a sip from the small cup. It was but
a small sacrifice to remain with you.
I saw you staring. You looked at me a moment longer. I waited
for you to speak. You leaned forward and whispered in my
ear, “I saw you in the gallery earlier but didn’t think that you
were that pretty because your hair is frizzy and you have a
large nose, but have skin like smooth chocolate, it’s exotic.”
Such words you had spoken, I had never heard so sweetly said.
You thought that I was beautiful! Yours were a lover’s
words. You did not have to say it, but I knew it. You were in
love with me and I was in love with you.
*From the archives of the museum:
Leda and the Swan, Revisited
Oil on Canvas, 1988
“In this provocative rendering, the artist subverts the greek myth of Leda and Swan through her literal yet surreal interpretation. In
the original telling of the story, Zeus disguises himself as a swan to be with his lover, queen of Sparta, Leda. Leda and the Swan has
inspired masters throughout the centuries from artist Leonardo Da Vinci to poet William Yeats. At times, the myth is told as
seductive romance and at others as a brutal molestation.
In this version of the myth, the artist depicts a woman who cannot see that her lover is but a simple bird. Examine the bird’s
feathers closely and you will see that they are not white like a swan’s but grey like a goose's. The bird is this painting is not even a
swan, it is a goose. Next, look at Leda, our misguided heroine. Her golden hair wraps around her face and her eyes symbolizing the
limitations of society’s conceptualization of femininity. Leda has an obscured vision of the world. She sees a world that glitters and
glistens, a world in which a goose can be a swan and where a swan can be a god.”

7
Automatic Doors
Automatic doors don’t recognize that I’m there. It’s like I don’t
exist to them. I mean it. No matter how long I stand there, they
don’t care. They won’t open.
I’m not sure when it started. It didn’t always used to be this
way. I think it may have started a couple months ago. If I really
think about it, probably back in September. Remember that
week where it was unreasonably hot? That week where at first
we all thought having heat was great since it had been really
foggy and cold for at least the entire month of August. But
after two days of that heat, everyone started getting annoyed
and frustrated.
I went to the Target down the street one morning after I spent
the whole night prior tossing and turning. Stripped off my
pajamas until I was naked and then threw off my sheets
because it was so hot. So, that next morning, right when the
Target was opening... Actually, I got there before the store
even opened. I was that impatient I got there early. I wanted to
buy a fan. So when the store was supposed to open, I stood
right in front of those automatic doors and nothing happened.
I thought maybe the staff just hadn’t opened the store exactly
on time, so I stood there and waved to that abysmal-looking
cashier. He stared back at me blankly so I motioned for him to
open the door and he kind of stared at me a bit more and then
looked away. The punk.
Behind me comes this mom and her kid hanging off of her
hand. Before they even come as close to doors as me, the
doors open and I follow them inside. I didn’t think much of it
then and, when I exited, I must’ve followed behind someone
else and so the doors didn’t have a chance to deny me my
existence.
That, as far as I can recall, was the first incident.

And now, it’s February and the affliction is starting to take a
toll on me. Imagine going your whole life and you never gave a
thought to automatic doors. That’s the whole point of them,
right? Then suddenly, it’s like you’re not even a real person.
Every other single person in the entire world except for me
these doors work.
I still have mass. I’m not a hologram that you can stick your
hand through. No, I’m still here. At least for now... I think what
I’m scared of most is that maybe this is just the start. I keep
looking behind me to make sure my shadow is there and I think
it’s starting to fade. My reflection doesn’t seem as crisp in the
mirror as it used to be. I can’t really explain it and I’m probably
being paranoid. But what’s for certain is that automatic doors
don’t work for me and that’s all I can really tell you.

8 Blimp
“I’ve been in this here county my whole life,” he said creaking
back-and-forth on his rocking chair. He turned toward me and
repeated the statement, “I’ve been in this here county my
whole life,” and then he added, "except that three-day stint
when I ran a ferry business. It had me traveling all across
county lines.
"But it wasn’t no regular boat ferry, it was a blimp.
"Yes, I saw a blimp for sale in the local paper sold by a sad,
squirmy kid named Skip. I reckon Skip didn’t have any right to
sell the blimp, but I bought it fair and square, paid in full, .
"I fixed it up good, that blimp. Repainted it and redid the
interior, was able to fit 15 nice leather seats, cupholders
included.
"That first day, I parked my blimp in the field right next to the
ferry port. I shouted at the folks lining up for the ferries, ‘Come
ride this here blimp, best mode of transportation there ever
was. Bring your coffee and your juice, we’ve got cupholders.
"Only one passenger came by, a droopy looking woman in a
faded paisley dress.
"She said she was going to Area K. I flew her to Area K. A
regular suburban neighborhood.Three kids sitting on the
sidewalk carving pumpkins. Every mailbox on the street
decorated with a little paper ghost. Strangely quiet in Area K.
The droopy woman looked at the children sitting in front of her
mailbox. They scooted away so she could grab her mail.
Envelopes in hand, she walked up the driveway into her house.
She never turned on the lights.

"I asked the three kids, ‘Who put the paper ghosts on the
mailboxes?’ The children all shrugged.
"I got back on the blimp.
"Next day, I picked up a couple. They asked me to take them to
Golden Lotus, a Chinese restaurant in a strip mall. I was
hungry so I went inside the restaurant to order take-out to eat
on my flight home. As I was waiting, I saw an old man’s
birthday party at a big circle table with a stained, white table
cloth. Everyone ‘round the table looked jolly and happy except
the birthday boy. He wasn’t really a boy though, must’ve been
having his 95th birthday. He sat immobile, his face
expressionless, neither pain, nor pleasure. He blew out his
candles and then slowly took a bite of gelatinous green
dessert. My order arrived and I left.
"Third day, that last day, I picked up a family with their picnic
basket. They asked me to take them to the top of a dune by the
beach. I sat there a while looking at the waves and the kite
surfers. I saw a man down by the shore dragging a large
suitcase through the sand. He was close to the water and his
bag kept getting hit whenever the break came high enough.
Whenever the water touched the bag, the man would curse
loudly, but he just kept walking close to the water. He walked
far enough down the shore and I left when he was but a tiny
speckle in the setting sun.
"It was too expensive to keep the blimp, I decided. Only three
days, but that was enough for me. I deflated it. It’s out in the
shed gathering dust. You can have it if you want."

9 Walking
They walked with the same gait: very little bending of the
knees, a gentle dragging of the shoes along pavement, a limp
on the left side as though there were a subtle pain in the
ankle. Slowly-paced but deliberate.
Yet, aside from this twinned shuffle, the couple could not be
anymore different.
He, in some schools of thought, would be considered a giant
and she, in some classifications of anatomy, would be
considered a dwarf. He hairy and beastly. She whispery and
dainty. He had a sharp mind for languages but could not sing.
She only spoke in her native tongue but could command any
operatic aria.
They were an uncommon couple, that was obvious to most
everyone. Yet, when they walked side-by-side there was no
denying their bound coequality. Seeing them together reminds
me that we are the way we are and that the way we are is pure.

10
In two bursts of light
The light blinked twice more and then there was darkness. A
tidal wave of velvet black. It immersed us and swallowed us
whole. Fading memories in two final images.
During the first burst of light, she stood there with the vase in
her hands. There was single yellow tulip standing erect in the
middle of the vase. She looked to her left and her eyes grew
wide with surprise. Her lips were slightly a part in the
beginnings of a gasp. I noticed her hands. She had long
fingers and brown skin. She had wrinkles of her knuckles and
dirt under her nails. She gripped the vase tightly making the
tendons on the back of her hands and wrists protrude.
In the second burst of light, she was gone. Left in her place
was a wooden chair. The vase with tulip placed in the center of
the seat. The flower hung limply and I watched as a petal
began to loosen. The petal began to fall to the floor. As it
made its descent, the light vanished. In my mind, the petal will
forever be falling.
Like a reverse Polaroid, these images move from clarity to
darkness. We are drenched in nothing now.

THE END
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