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BRIEF ENCOUNTERS OF LITTLE<br />
CONSEQUENCE<br />
10 VIGNETTES THAT YOU PROBABLY WON'T REMEMBER<br />
BY SIENNA PARKER
For all the beautiful strangers whose names I've either<br />
forgotten or never learned
1<br />
a squirrel saw me naked<br />
A squirrel saw me naked. How was I supposed to feel? My body<br />
seen like I was a slab of meat, a piece of ass. You tell me how<br />
you think you’d feel if you were getting ready, putting lotion on<br />
your body, and then you looked out the window and saw a<br />
squirrel staring straight at you.<br />
What’s even worse, it didn’t even turn and scram when it saw<br />
me looking. It just kept on staring.<br />
[friend speaks]<br />
What do you mean by that?<br />
[friend speaks]<br />
I just feel exposed is all I’m saying. What doesn’t make sense<br />
about that? I was fourteen and from that moment on, I felt like<br />
a different person. I felt like all these animals saw me that<br />
way. Everyone saw me that way. Just like the squirrel.<br />
I bet that squirrel went around, whispering about me to other<br />
squirrels, and then those squirrels infecting their acorns with<br />
the secrets of my body. Then those acorns forgotten grew into<br />
the trees carrying whispers and rumors about me. Then the<br />
birds came to those trees and made their homes and raised<br />
their children and singing their songs.<br />
And whenever a bird sings, it infects everyone else with my<br />
shame. The birds' songs taunt me. So now when I walk down<br />
the street, everyone stares at me because everyone thinks that<br />
they know me and thinks that they own me. And it’s that damn<br />
squirrel’s fault I’ll never be at peace.
2<br />
an<br />
Irish man with a box of eggs<br />
We met an Irish man with a box of eggs in his bag. He moved<br />
the bag from beneath my bar stool so that I would not<br />
accidentally kick it and cause the eggs to break.<br />
Eggs are fragile and can break very easily if you are not careful<br />
with them. Even if the eggs are in a box for protection, any<br />
disturbance can cause the shell of an egg to crack. A cracked<br />
egg shell is not always so dangerous. If the insides of the egg<br />
do not escape the cracked shell, then you should not worry.<br />
Although, if the eggs must still go through a long journey, then<br />
a cracked shell is hazardous and has potential to worsen. It<br />
may worsen to the point where the insides of the egg seep out<br />
from the shell. The damage from a seeping egg can be severe.<br />
Not only would lose the valuable insides of the egg (which you<br />
were probably looking forward to using in your kitchen, to cook<br />
an omelette or bake muffins) but the insides of the egg may<br />
trickle on to items in its immediate vicinity. The viscous<br />
substance inside of an egg is sticky, and wet, and hard to<br />
clean. You would crinkle your nose and recoil if you reached<br />
into your bag to discover all of your contents soaked by the<br />
insides of a broken egg.<br />
Thus, I was not offended when the Irish man moved his bag<br />
from beneath my bar stool. He was taking reasonable<br />
precaution. You would have done the same in his situation,<br />
bringing a box of eggs in your bag to a jazz bar.
3<br />
Sun Burn<br />
“These are big waves,” he shouted in my direction. I looked at<br />
him and said nothing.<br />
There was silence for a moment as we both sat on our<br />
surfboards in the calmly rocking water. There hadn’t been any<br />
waves large enough to ride the whole morning.<br />
“Where are you from?” he asked. He wore a white cotton t-shirt<br />
soaked limpid by the ocean. The shirt clung to his arms and<br />
torso displaying his skinny and undefined body. He was pale.<br />
Under the summer sun, his face had begun to turn pink from<br />
prolonged exposure.<br />
Something about his aura seemed sinister and I couldn’t help<br />
but think of human destruction upon nature. I thought of<br />
forests ablaze from forgotten cigarettes, farms with chickens<br />
obese and swollen from injected hormones, skies filled with a<br />
brown-grey haze of exhaust, wrinkled and dried river beds from<br />
years without rainfall.<br />
“California,” I responded sharply lost in my thoughts of<br />
disaster and death. I looked at him again. In what had been but<br />
a moment, his face had transitioned from a glowing pink to a<br />
burning red. His body, which I had originally observed as thin,<br />
appeared more angular and pointed. He seemed to have<br />
protrusions that moved under his skin like beetles crawling<br />
under wallpaper.<br />
Growing increasingly repulsed and worrying that I had been in<br />
the sun for too long as to be imagining such horrors, I decided<br />
to head back to the shore. I paddled away cautiously and did<br />
not look back.<br />
Once on the beach, I immediately began to feel better. I sat on<br />
the sand and looked out towards the water. I saw a wave rising<br />
larger and larger in the distance. I saw him, the devil himself.<br />
He was on the wave cackling with glee, happy and sunburnt on<br />
the hot, summer day.
4<br />
Body Builders<br />
Sweaty, grunting bodies. Clanking iron. Pulsing, beating,<br />
throbbing, clanking.<br />
He walked in. Open the doors, burst of light. All movement<br />
stopped. Step-step-step but like rolling thunder. No, like a<br />
cracking whip. No, like a furious greek god (that’s right). Stepstep-step<br />
like a furious greek god into the gym.<br />
They all turned and stared. He had returned, sleeveless. His<br />
back, arms, and chest glistening with curves and valleys, with<br />
nothing but muscle. His thighs could crush a melon or a<br />
human skull (it had been done before). They all scrambled to<br />
the side like little mice. Squeaking away to the corners of the<br />
gym as they stared aghast and terrified at his return.<br />
He cleared the floor of its puny dumb-bells, kettle-bells, and<br />
other children’s play-things. All the while, staring at himself in<br />
the mirrors, flexing his beautiful and sculpted muscles.<br />
A show for himself and for his spectators, the other men.<br />
“Other men - HA!” how could they be called men? He was a<br />
man. He grinned confidently and looked at himself in the<br />
mirror, falling deeply in love with himself.<br />
Before his feet was the largest iron barbell in the gym. Loaded<br />
to 220…on one single side (that’s 440 total). He laughed deep<br />
and threatening. The mice-men cowered further trying to<br />
shrink their tiny heads inside their thick, protruding shoulders.<br />
He bent over and grabbed the bar. Prepping his feet, defining<br />
his stance. He looked at himself once more in the mirror. A<br />
sweat began to break at his brow and his face turned red as he<br />
held his breath. And then, he began to cry. Tear-tears-tears but<br />
like a summer typhoon. No, like a sweet babbling brook. No,
like a despairing water nymph (that’s right). Tears-tear-tears<br />
like a despairing water nymph falling onto his fleshy and<br />
strong hands.<br />
He fell forward and cried his harrowing cry. The mice-men all<br />
began to cry too. Everyone crying and hugging and sniffling.<br />
Little dribbles of snot and trembling lower lips. They cried for<br />
they had all worked so hard for their bodies. So much effort,<br />
and pain, and time. They cried because they were all so<br />
beautiful and lovely. And he, the strongest man, he cried the<br />
most because beneath his hardened and enormous muscles<br />
was but a small and lonely heart that was not loved<br />
enormously enough.
5<br />
Mushroom Harvest<br />
“I’m not ready,” she zipped and dodged the hands.The<br />
mushrooms had grown to ripe on her head. Mushrooms with<br />
red caps and yellow stems, soft and round, sprouting from<br />
mushroom follicles.<br />
“Oh, but you must,” responded the hands. It was Harvest<br />
Season. They encircled her holding shears.<br />
“It must be done now!” said one hand.<br />
“For tomorrow the mushrooms will be spoiled” added another.<br />
The hands grabbed the girl firmly by her wrists. Her fragile<br />
bones snapped under the grip. “CRrriiiacck," was the sound her<br />
bones made. The hands giggled with glee. They sat her in the<br />
uphostelred velvet chair. Her arms akimbo and awkward at the<br />
fracture points.<br />
The hands raised their shears and gathered at her back. Cutsnip,<br />
snip-cut at the mushrooms. One by one from her head.<br />
Another fruitful season for the hands.
6<br />
Museum Lovers<br />
A shared smile is all it took for me to fall in love. Just that<br />
single glance of you at me and me at you to realize; you did<br />
not have to say it, but I knew it. You were in love with me and I<br />
was in love with you.<br />
I turned away. I felt the blood rush to my face rosing my<br />
cheeks. I hoped that you were still looking. I had to check that<br />
you were still looking. I turned around but saw that you were<br />
walking towards the next gallery. Perhaps I had imagined our<br />
moment, our smile, our love. Once more, I turned back to the<br />
painting.*<br />
I walked through the rest of the galleries. Faces from the<br />
paintings of lovers looked at me. I thought about my love for<br />
you and imagined how our painting would look.<br />
I sat down at the museum cafe and redeemed my coupon for<br />
an espresso. They gave me a little cookie on the side. I drank<br />
the espresso quickly. I don’t like coffee. I nibbled at the<br />
cookie. Crumbs fell on my lap. I dabbed my mouth with a<br />
napkin, my lipstick came off with it.<br />
I saw you walk in. You redeemed your coupon too. I watched<br />
as you turned from the counter to look for a seat. You looked<br />
at me. You smiled. I hadn’t imagined it. You came over to me:<br />
“May I sit with you?”<br />
I looked at you. Before I could say yes, you sat. You knew me<br />
so well, you knew I wanted to be with you.<br />
You sipped your espresso slowly. You liked coffee. You ate<br />
your cookie in two bites. We were so different but yet so the<br />
same.
“What is your name?” you asked.<br />
I answered.<br />
“I really enjoyed the exhibit,” you said. You talked about your favorite<br />
paintings, your favorite artists. You talked about theory. You knew so<br />
much. I saw you were passionate. You never told me your name. You<br />
had mine but I did not have yours.<br />
“I am really enjoying talking with you,” you said and looked me in the<br />
eyes. You licked the right side of your upper lip. I looked down at my lap<br />
and saw the crumbs. I brushed them off and thought about you. I<br />
thought about your gentleness, your strength, your knowledge,<br />
your kindness. You were everything, you were perfect. You did not have<br />
to say it, but I knew it. You were in love with me and I was in love with<br />
you.<br />
“Let me get you another espresso,” you said. You got up and bought me<br />
another espresso. There was no cookie this time. I don’t like coffee but<br />
I took a sip from the small cup. It was but a small sacrifice to remain<br />
with you.<br />
I saw you staring. You looked at me a moment longer. I waited for you<br />
to speak. You leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “I saw you in the<br />
gallery earlier but didn’t think that you were that pretty because your<br />
hair is frizzy and you have a large nose, but have skin like smooth<br />
chocolate, it’s exotic.”<br />
Such words you had spoken, I had never heard so sweetly said. You<br />
thought that I was beautiful! Yours were a lover’s words. You did not<br />
have to say it, but I knew it. You were in love with me and I was in love<br />
with you.<br />
*From the archives of the museum:<br />
Leda and the Swan, Revisited<br />
Oil on Canvas, 1988<br />
“In this provocative rendering, the artist subverts the greek myth of Leda and Swan through her literal yet surreal interpretation. In<br />
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<br />
inspired masters throughout the centuries from artist Leonardo Da Vinci to poet William Yeats. At times, the myth is told as<br />
seductive romance and at others as a brutal molestation.<br />
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<br />
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<br />
swan, it is a goose. Next, look at Leda, our misguided heroine. Her golden hair wraps around her face and her eyes symbolizing the<br />
limitations of society’s conceptualization of femininity. Leda has an obscured vision of the world. She sees a world that glitters and<br />
glistens, a world in which a goose can be a swan and where a swan can be a god.”
7<br />
Automatic Doors<br />
Automatic doors don’t recognize that I’m there. It’s like I don’t<br />
exist to them. I mean it. No matter how long I stand there, they<br />
don’t care. They won’t open.<br />
I’m not sure when it started. It didn’t always used to be this<br />
way. I think it may have started a couple months ago. If I really<br />
think about it, probably back in September. Remember that<br />
week where it was unreasonably hot? That week where at first<br />
we all thought having heat was great since it had been really<br />
foggy and cold for at least the entire month of August. But<br />
after two days of that heat, everyone started getting annoyed<br />
and frustrated.<br />
I went to the Target down the street one morning after I spent<br />
the whole night prior tossing and turning. Stripped off my<br />
pajamas until I was naked and then threw off my sheets<br />
because it was so hot. So, that next morning, right when the<br />
Target was opening... Actually, I got there before the store<br />
even opened. I was that impatient I got there early. I wanted to<br />
buy a fan. So when the store was supposed to open, I stood<br />
right in front of those automatic doors and nothing happened.<br />
I thought maybe the staff just hadn’t opened the store exactly<br />
on time, so I stood there and waved to that abysmal-looking<br />
cashier. He stared back at me blankly so I motioned for him to<br />
open the door and he kind of stared at me a bit more and then<br />
looked away. The punk.<br />
Behind me comes this mom and her kid hanging off of her<br />
hand. Before they even come as close to doors as me, the<br />
doors open and I follow them inside. I didn’t think much of it<br />
then and, when I exited, I must’ve followed behind someone<br />
else and so the doors didn’t have a chance to deny me my<br />
existence.<br />
That, as far as I can recall, was the first incident.
And now, it’s February and the affliction is starting to take a<br />
toll on me. Imagine going your whole life and you never gave a<br />
thought to automatic doors. That’s the whole point of them,<br />
right? Then suddenly, it’s like you’re not even a real person.<br />
Every other single person in the entire world except for me<br />
these doors work.<br />
I still have mass. I’m not a hologram that you can stick your<br />
hand through. No, I’m still here. At least for now... I think what<br />
I’m scared of most is that maybe this is just the start. I keep<br />
looking behind me to make sure my shadow is there and I think<br />
it’s starting to fade. My reflection doesn’t seem as crisp in the<br />
mirror as it used to be. I can’t really explain it and I’m probably<br />
being paranoid. But what’s for certain is that automatic doors<br />
don’t work for me and that’s all I can really tell you.
8 Blimp<br />
“I’ve been in this here county my whole life,” he said creaking<br />
back-and-forth on his rocking chair. He turned toward me and<br />
repeated the statement, “I’ve been in this here county my<br />
whole life,” and then he added, "except that three-day stint<br />
when I ran a ferry business. It had me traveling all across<br />
county lines.<br />
"But it wasn’t no regular boat ferry, it was a blimp.<br />
"Yes, I saw a blimp for sale in the local paper sold by a sad,<br />
squirmy kid named Skip. I reckon Skip didn’t have any right to<br />
sell the blimp, but I bought it fair and square, paid in full, .<br />
"I fixed it up good, that blimp. Repainted it and redid the<br />
interior, was able to fit 15 nice leather seats, cupholders<br />
included.<br />
"That first day, I parked my blimp in the field right next to the<br />
ferry port. I shouted at the folks lining up for the ferries, ‘Come<br />
ride this here blimp, best mode of transportation there ever<br />
was. Bring your coffee and your juice, we’ve got cupholders.<br />
"Only one passenger came by, a droopy looking woman in a<br />
faded paisley dress.<br />
"She said she was going to Area K. I flew her to Area K. A<br />
regular suburban neighborhood.Three kids sitting on the<br />
sidewalk carving pumpkins. Every mailbox on the street<br />
decorated with a little paper ghost. Strangely quiet in Area K.<br />
The droopy woman looked at the children sitting in front of her<br />
mailbox. They scooted away so she could grab her mail.<br />
Envelopes in hand, she walked up the driveway into her house.<br />
She never turned on the lights.
"I asked the three kids, ‘Who put the paper ghosts on the<br />
mailboxes?’ The children all shrugged.<br />
"I got back on the blimp.<br />
"Next day, I picked up a couple. They asked me to take them to<br />
Golden Lotus, a Chinese restaurant in a strip mall. I was<br />
hungry so I went inside the restaurant to order take-out to eat<br />
on my flight home. As I was waiting, I saw an old man’s<br />
birthday party at a big circle table with a stained, white table<br />
cloth. Everyone ‘round the table looked jolly and happy except<br />
the birthday boy. He wasn’t really a boy though, must’ve been<br />
having his 95th birthday. He sat immobile, his face<br />
expressionless, neither pain, nor pleasure. He blew out his<br />
candles and then slowly took a bite of gelatinous green<br />
dessert. My order arrived and I left.<br />
"Third day, that last day, I picked up a family with their picnic<br />
basket. They asked me to take them to the top of a dune by the<br />
beach. I sat there a while looking at the waves and the kite<br />
surfers. I saw a man down by the shore dragging a large<br />
suitcase through the sand. He was close to the water and his<br />
bag kept getting hit whenever the break came high enough.<br />
Whenever the water touched the bag, the man would curse<br />
loudly, but he just kept walking close to the water. He walked<br />
far enough down the shore and I left when he was but a tiny<br />
speckle in the setting sun.<br />
"It was too expensive to keep the blimp, I decided. Only three<br />
days, but that was enough for me. I deflated it. It’s out in the<br />
shed gathering dust. You can have it if you want."
9 Walking<br />
They walked with the same gait: very little bending of the<br />
knees, a gentle dragging of the shoes along pavement, a limp<br />
on the left side as though there were a subtle pain in the<br />
ankle. Slowly-paced but deliberate.<br />
Yet, aside from this twinned shuffle, the couple could not be<br />
anymore different.<br />
He, in some schools of thought, would be considered a giant<br />
and she, in some classifications of anatomy, would be<br />
considered a dwarf. He hairy and beastly. She whispery and<br />
dainty. He had a sharp mind for languages but could not sing.<br />
She only spoke in her native tongue but could command any<br />
operatic aria.<br />
They were an uncommon couple, that was obvious to most<br />
everyone. Yet, when they walked side-by-side there was no<br />
denying their bound coequality. Seeing them together reminds<br />
me that we are the way we are and that the way we are is pure.
10<br />
In two bursts of light<br />
The light blinked twice more and then there was darkness. A<br />
tidal wave of velvet black. It immersed us and swallowed us<br />
whole. Fading memories in two final images.<br />
During the first burst of light, she stood there with the vase in<br />
her hands. There was single yellow tulip standing erect in the<br />
middle of the vase. She looked to her left and her eyes grew<br />
wide with surprise. Her lips were slightly a part in the<br />
beginnings of a gasp. I noticed her hands. She had long<br />
fingers and brown skin. She had wrinkles of her knuckles and<br />
dirt under her nails. She gripped the vase tightly making the<br />
tendons on the back of her hands and wrists protrude.<br />
In the second burst of light, she was gone. Left in her place<br />
was a wooden chair. The vase with tulip placed in the center of<br />
the seat. The flower hung limply and I watched as a petal<br />
began to loosen. The petal began to fall to the floor. As it<br />
made its descent, the light vanished. In my mind, the petal will<br />
forever be falling.<br />
Like a reverse Polaroid, these images move from clarity to<br />
darkness. We are drenched in nothing now.
THE END<br />
Thanks for playing