i want, i want, i want. to possess weight, to stop the terror of vulnerability when the wind blows. not physical weight, not the comedy of secret portemanteaus in train stations. certainly not squat moving vans and pianos trailing from windows and smog-headed drivers. i want to be a stone column with delicate pores. i want the velvet polish of a chopping block. i want gravity to dimple at my mona lisa smile. when i stretch my arms out to the world, i want my roots to go deep. i want sable-brush, pointy-nosed dogs to lie sedate at my feet. people will forget to chew their gum, soda water will go flat around me. orchestras tune to my command. i want weight as strong as the marble under the thin green of a pool table. weight as respectable as the formation of a star. bland insinuation for lovers and losers alike. certainty of friendship and persistence of vision. i want never to play the fool again.

THE MUSE OF THE NIHILISTS FALLS IN LOVE

could it be? the girl with enough pity for all the world's blue-eyed slackers, putting it all aside in tentative forays into the Happiness Zone? could it possibly be? it looked so cheap from far away, a sickly-sweet technodisneyland as viewed through thick and bubbly stained-glass windows...and yet, a person comes along and somehow flushes clean the protective layer of doubt and mistrust from her eyes, and she looks again. what was crass and too good to be true is now more than real. when you are standing in the midst of a garden and are convinced that every bloom is an expression of you, you must believe. the brain slows imperceptibly, but the secret tickings of the body take over and she feels more strongly than in a long, long time. to be sure, it is not a perfect fit (what is perfection?) but with careful tending that for once is given without obligation, something new and good is born into this world, and the world sits up and takes notice.

GET THIS

get this: there is a way i can turn my shining shoulders away from him, silently, and i know (to the second) when he will follow me with his eyes, and come to me, and kiss me. i do this now, and he obeys the script exactly. how nice it is to have affections bestowed on command...well, nice sometimes, and terrible at others. i am cautioned that the sentiment is not "true", but today, i refuse to play the game. rejecting the strong coffee and sweet dessert mentality, the pastrami and rye congruity of love, i find solace. i smear my mouth with honeyed crumbs and wait for the inevitable buzzing crowd to appear.

look here, i am thinking about him, really. i have a walkman and on road trips i lend him an earphone - the left one - because he is right-handed and will then better understand my mood, maybe. the crashing, crying emotion of the music. i place the right one in my right ear (i am left-handed of course) in hopes of feeling out the hidden sentiment of him. it never occurs to me to offer him the right one. i never think about trying out the left.

friends really should know better than to give in to the kiss. the vertical growth, each stretching toward the sun, is stunted and replaced by a horizontal one. he looks at me knowingly, and i get upset. wishing i was a mystery that could not be solved. but, a hand on my arm can make me shiver. sad images of children playing freeze tag, pretending to be dead, come to mind. to be one of those children. to convince myself to be something i'm not.

CHRISTINE (based loosely on Marlene Gorris' film, "A Question of Silence")

i do not want to take the dog to the vet. i do not want to pick up the kids from karate. don't want to build equity. cook thanksgiving turkey for the in-laws. reduce drafts in the home.

i don't want to hide pot in a ziplock under the kitchen towels. don't want to buy a one-piece bathing suit. write holiday cards to old friends instead of calling them. do not want to start jogging. or train roses to grow where i want them to go.

don't want to tell him where to touch me that will make me scream out loud. don't want him to know about my fascination with coroner's photos. that i bruise easily. that i cry when he tells me that i just don't understand. that i know about the woman he meets on thursdays after work.

i do not want to hurt them. i do not want to run away from the world. nor to eat my words again and again until i choke.