Sense Part Two (installment #17)

Sense: Part II (Working title)
Sense Installment # 17 (continued from April 3rd)

“You are having fun at my party?” he questions, unsure what to do or say.

“Oh yeah, it’s great. We should all start dancing again. That was so much fun. I love that song ‘A-la-la-la-la long, Long long time.’”

“It’s so good I know,” his hand gesturing to me then resting on his hip, a comfortable European.

The noise from outside is a muffled murmur.

Our crowd threatens, “We hear talking! No talking! Just kissing,” then hushed giggles.

“We better do what they say,” he utters, his hand now on my face pulling me close. The nerves skip and tap and bounce once again.

My knees buckle, the one resting on the toilet seat has bent and is about the slip off. I stand on two legs and feel like I am standing in jelly. A huge tub of jello up to my ankles, wet and cold and making me shiver. My mind becomes a blizzard of yeses and tugs and hips girating, smashing into one another. I want to videotape this because this is what a first kiss should look like, locked up in a bathroom with your friends jeering at you from the other side of the door; and us. Us-the smoldering smell of sweaty teenage bodies, bursting out of our skin for one first try at something new and exciting, very hot and sexy.

Word to the wise

Silence is all too often ignored. A shy wall flower that takes its place next to the dessert tray and the coffee pot at the rear of the room. People feel the need to stifle it; they criticize, gossip, point fingers and whisper, speak with their mouths full and say foolish things. Perhaps it would be a relief to us all if for one day we counted our words and used them only when completely necessary. It is body language, the nonverbal that constitutes 90% of communication. Maybe we can do without the 10% for a little while. In short- learn to shut the f-up and just BE sometimes.

The Quiet World
Jeffrey McDaniel

In an effort to get people to look
into each other'’s eyes more,
the government has decided to allot
each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.
When the phone rings, I put it
to my ear without saying hello.
In the restaurant I point
at chicken noodle soup. I am
adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night, I call my long
distance lover and proudly say
I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.
When she doesn'’t respond, I know
she's used up all her words
so I slowly whisper I love you,
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

Sense Part Two (installment #16)

Sense: Part II (Working title)
Sense Installment # 16 (continued from March 19th)

I have no time to think, everyone is loud and talking and asking questions as though Harry makes all the rules. I hear “What? How come? Why can’t we all watch?” Hormones pour out, wanting to know, but too chicken to try it. They want to watch and learn first.

I don’t even look at Pete. I am so nervous I fart. Better out here than in the bathroom I think to myself. Everyone blames Louca as always and he swears it wasn’t him.

I yell, “Louca, dude, your ass is stinky.”

He claims innocence. I want to cajole the others into teasing him about his smelly bodily excretions and have him fart on queue, which he does. We usually take a lighter and hold it close to his jean-covered cheeks. He farts and we see a little blast of flame emerge. We get a kick out of it, but right now there are more important things, like being locked in a bathroom with Peter. I am not anxious anymore like I thought I’d be; not after the blameless fart. I am actually feeling a little cocky. I kissed George and it was good, I was good. Now I feel like Pete is going to be one lucky guy because I know what I am doing. We walk into the bathroom and the door is closed behind us. Ellena is standing by the door and so is everyone else. The light is on, the toilet seat down. I place my knee on the seat, my hands on my hips.

He is standing by the sink. I think about how anticlimactic this really is; how I imagined us tearing each others’ clothes off before the door even closed. He smiles at me, a look of nervous affection spreads over his face. He presses his lips together, his eyebrows slightly raised he asks,

“So, what do we do in here?” he expects an answer.

I shrug, “Whatever,” a profound reply.

Bowery Poetry Club featuring V 3/27/06

R. Villaneuva. My role model. One with a writer's discipline. I strive to be as dedicated to the pen as you have been. Word.