Smile, Silly Butt

I bought a stethoscope and tried to listen to my heart. I was no doctor in medicine and not even a vet, for that matter, but I assumed that all you have to do is plug the stereo thing in your ears, put the cold... brrrrr... piece of metal somewhere next to your nipple, and listen to whatever happens there. I bought a second hand one from a jewelry store. They claimed it was used to save at least one woman from fainting after shown the beauty of diamonds, and three husbands from dying after shown the number of zeros before the decimal point, ha-ha... said the seller. Then said seller tried to sneak in a special deal ring at only four grand's, ...a specials... today only since we are renewing our stock... she said bending so low that her cleavage showed off all the way down to her belly button and maybe even lower. But after having me count the last ten dollars of the fifteen for the stethoscope in dimes, plus a few single cents, she moved her attention elsewhere. If looks could murder I wouldn't be writing this story by now.1

I hopped on one leg all the way home, happy as a newborn (assuming they are happy). My car was on its last fuel drops and I had to save these till I won the lottery, which I knew is going to happen any time soon. I rushed upstairs, pulled off hastily the t shirt, cleaned the ear pieces with whisky and put a match to them for a few seconds... barely saving the plastic from meltdown annihilation, and plugged them all the way in to my eardrums. Then I touched the other end to my heart and... listened.2

Well, I am certainly no musician but I would not need a musician's ear to understand that there was something wrong with the sound arrangements. There were no thumps, no bumps, and not even the stupid thunderstorm that stupid poets use to describe this biological functionality which seemed to be disfunctioning in my case. What I heard was... screeches. I jumped scared, tearing the instrument from my ears and almost losing an ear lobe in the process. I looked at it lying threateningly like a snake on the floor, its heinous Hydra head flat nosed and conically shaped, its forked tails curved inside ready to bite my... things... Maybe I should return it to the shop, the bastards sold me a second hand good for nothing piece of iron... I thought bitterly recounting the dimes in my mind's eye. Then I remembered the almost murder and decided to give up on any return attempts.3

I took a few cotton picks from the bathroom cabinet, made sure they were not used more than two times on any previous occasion (I developed a special notching system on the thin stick to keep track), and carefully dug into my ears cleaning them to the best that can be cleaned by my unprofessional efforts. Then, gently and carefully, picked the "snake" from the floor and tried again... no change. The same screeching noises I heard years ago as a kid, when slithering my way into the church's graveyard at midnight to look around for skulls. This was the rusty gate's noise, slow on my way in and fast on my way out chased by an enraged alley cat (probably looking for skulls too). 4

I panicked, something was wrong with my heart, and clearly it was not to be overlooked. I looked at my face in the window pane, the mirror having been impounded by the city's police till I pay my traffic offenses, and whispered to myself... you miss her, don't you?... Then I took out the old fashioned laptop from underneath that loose tile underneath the bed's rear right leg where I hid it from eventual duty collectors, hooked it up to the telephone which was the only facility still working in the chamber (through the neighbor's wireless network, and he never knew...) and started typing.5

my lover,6

melancholy, cruel sun,
touch me not until I'm done,
stay your cool and dark abyss,
oh, I miss her, oh I miss...7

I typed and re-typed five times, the cheap wobbly keyboard jumping all over the page and printing ideas of its own. I was afraid to lose the words till I will finally have it right, my mind was acting in ways unknown at times and once I got the words on paper first time it was right. If I tried a second time it came out like a Chinese restaurant's menu, the Chinese portion of it. I then read it five times more and pushed the Send button. Then went to bed, making sure there is a chair underneath my door knob. I did not want to lose my last pair of shoes to some hobo, mainly the one I stole them from. I don't remember dreaming, I do remember dreaming of her. Every night I dreamt of her. Each and every night.8

I woke up uncounted hours later at the unmistakable beep of you've got mail, tripped on my shoes... aha... no one stole them..., narrowly missed falling out the window and pushed the Open button. As my bleary eyes hardly could focus on the screen I went to the bathroom and dipped two fingers in cold water rubbing gently against my eyelids... much better. I returned to the computer, sat cross legged in front of it and allowed myself to sink in love. I sunk in love. Then started looking around, at first incredulity setting in, then frustration, finally I ended up reading it seventeen times... no, cannot be, she forgot it... no... Not that I knew what she forgot, but something had the wrong feel to it. I wanted to paint a sad smiley on my face and wear it next day to work, but I was afraid of the security guard who once almost broke my neck in a double Nelson stranglehold when I arrived there with two thick red lines painted from my nostrils down to my chin. Little helped the fact that I told him I was kicked by a horse in my face... ... yeah... a horse... family, ha?...9

I took the stethoscope and listened... screech... screech... yeah, I knew and she knew, my heart needed some oiling and she loved me so much that she... missed the hinges.10

Carefully, I started typing again.11

my lover,12

melancholy's single child
took my hand and asked beguiled...
why your eye is painted sad?
do you miss her, foster dad?13

This time I did not check it for any literacy or harmony or typography... I just sent it. After all, poetry is not my life. She is. And she will run it through the spell checker for me and only then read it. A moment of panic... I scanned the text with my eyes, oouf... thank God, I did not type him instead of her. Though she would probably have corrected such an error herself... or would she?... Checked the chair under the door knob, went for a short pee and opened the water crane listening with satisfaction to the trains rushing through the piping and knowing that tomorrow I will get another letter of complaint from my neighbor's bald lawyer. It helped grow my used stamps collection. Then dropped on the bed and fell asleep immediately. I was beat with screech worry and I was eager to dream of her again, both adding up to my fatigue and sleepiness. This afternoon I fell asleep at my desk at lunch time... luckily I could justify it with intelligent words of the type... this is my break so I do what I want... Still, I saw my boss take his red pen, lick it with his tongue, and make one big X in some notebook. The analphabet, all he knew was X...14

I woke up with a start, did not hear any beep, any noise, instincts told me there must be something in. As I was reaching a stage in my dream where she was telling me ...if I have to choose between you two, I choose... him... pointing to a Disney stuffed Tigger wagging his tail, you can imagine I also wished myself awake at that moment... ridiculous, I kept mumbling to myself, unconvinced, she wouldn't do such a thing... and I pushed the Open button. Love, oh, love, oh, love... so much love, so much love, yet... something was still amiss, something in the wording, in the length, why could I not put my finger on it and get it done with. Frustration, which lingered from my earlier attempt, just got stronger and impatience nastier. I took the stethoscope to get scientific medical confirmation to my corollary (wow, sometimes I surprise myself with some words) and instead of pushing it into my ears and risk abrasion, I approached the earpieces to the laptops' mike, turned up the volume to the maximum, and listened to my heart again. This time he thumped, but I mean he really thumped with a shoe or a ten pounds hammer on the wall, my neighbor I mean. I think I discerned some four letter words in his muffled curses as well, like love, or dear, so I shouted a few love words back and focused on my heart. Screech... screech... 15

I was desperate, disillusioned, pissed off... piss!... I shouted to my neighbor above the colossal computer din, knowing he would like a new four lettered one to his incomplete collection. I dropped the stethoscope on the bed, not afraid of it anymore, and sat at the keyboard... she loves me, she loves me not... one last try.16

my lover,17

melancholy found a nest
round that third rib in my chest,
need one flower in my life,
miss you wife, oh, miss you wife...18

I did not go to sleep anymore. I simply waited in front of the machine, playing the odds in my mind that she finally is fully back, her fire... fire!... I shouted for my neighbor's sake even though I could clearly hear his snores. I heard a siren turning the corner into my street... my, my, they are too fast... I thought, hoping against hope that they did not come because of my shouting. They passed by, thank God... I lost my train of thought, not caring too much, and started scribbling something on a piece of paper. Sometimes I preferred paper to screens, paper has a mortality to it, like us...19

The computer was silent. I wondered how many times she checks her mail per day, her day, my night, is there any chance I will get one more mail today, the mail? Or none. Or a beautiful love letter. No, I do not want a love letter, I thought to myself, what do I want actually? I looked at the piece of paper in my hands, hoping my subconscience has helped me out, all I could see were words of the type eeny-meeny... I was about to start chewing it after dipping it in the hot mustard contained in the hundreds of small bags I pocketed from the office's cantina, when that distinct beep tickled my ear... beep... just 2k size... not a good omen...20

I did not wait, I am impatient by nature, I spread the mustard baggies around me ready to stomp on them if needed, got to the screen thumbs inside my pj's waistline imagining myself Gary Cooper facing the villains, and pushed the button. I blinked several times reading and re-reading, then smeared some mustard on my finger, sucked it to justify the tears and then read it again. Finally I picked up the stethoscope, plugged it in my ears and touched my chest with its cold end. Hey, who said thump-thump-thump? I lay on my back on the bed, some loose springs needling my skin, closed my eyes, and listened. I wish I was a poet I thought. Only a poet could listen to this kind of music and translate it into words for others to hear it. Was it the sound of icebergs floating? Was it the sound of beetles waking up? Was it the sound of Tigger jumping, Elvis singing Blue Hawaii, Pepsi bubbling, ferrets biting, desert blooming? Was it the sound of love, of her, of... you?21

I kept the stethoscope to my skin, fixed it in place with sticky tape, firmly determined to go to work with its earpieces in my ears and spray the guard with mustard in the eye if necessary. Then went back to the screen, sat in front of it, and absorbed repeatedly the words printed there by whispering them again and again...22

smile, silly butt...23

I smiled, oh, I smiled...24

* 25

Next day I gave back the hobo his shoes, ran all the way to the office bare footed with the hobo on my trail wishing I was a fairy, sprayed the guard with mustard in the eye, and sat at my desk smiling silly. I guess they will have to get the fire brigade next, I smiled inside, feeling the flames slowly exit my heart and encompass my body...