- 1 blueberry bagel with cream cheese. i can master cream cheese spreading as long as i split the bagel perfectly in half. a lot of c.c. in the middle (hole). it’s a c.c. storage hole. fruits with vanilla yogurt: 5 cubes of watermelon, 4 grapes, 2 cubes of pineapple, 6 cubes of cantaloupe, 7 cubes of honeydew (2 not separated completely).
- small cold brew with 2% milk
- 2 pieces of white bread with chocolate spread
- stuffed potato soup (small). 1 scoop of vanilla ice cream with chocolate (bad; too artificially sweet). C caught a cold yesterday and when she calls me her voice is hoarse. it takes me quite a while to believe she really wants to. she says she misses my hips. i am lying prone. sometimes i feel sad because our body is the only thing we have to ourselves and in a split second it could be gone like it is here no more, otherwise it will always be gone after a few decades in the sense of wrinkles and plaques. last month when i went back home my father lay his hand out under my eyes and said, “you are so young. see, my hand has plaques.” that is a sadness i can’t bear. one day it will be my hand too, fingers clenched, the back of my hand up, presenting, waiting to be acknowledged. why tell me what i already know? i’ve noticed not only his hands but also cheeks and neck, which have fewer plaques but have them anyway. maybe it is because we talk of getting married so often, i find myself imagining our saggy bodies entangled on a bed surrounded by piles of clothes and one huge pillow and two comforters. i shall go ahead and assume she won’t miss my hips anymore at that time.
i start off lying prone but as i proceed i feel the urge to turn around. i turn around and hide under my comforter. my comforter is dark blue with a colorful dinosaur pattern. someone is talking in the hallway. i wish they could turn off all the lights at night, but the girl in the room next to mine says she would be too scared to sleep. they talk and talk. C is saying how much she wants to touch me and how sweet my voice is. i have been cautious. i try to be as quiet as possible. when we finish whoever has been in the hallway is gone. the whole apartment is silent. did they hear anything? i’ve barely made any sound; my voice could have been anything but sweet. i am surprised she even hears it.
also in the past summer, i learned there are people who never need to control their voice while making love so when the situation comes up they don’t know how. how? how do you remain silent in the face of the most intense sensation that will ever pass through your body with your eyes shut and your teeth clenched like it’s just another suffering you have to endure? yet for some, silence is part of sex because it’s always not happening in the right time, at the right place, with the right person. or sometimes it is with no person, or a virtual person, someone on the phone.