I Think You Gave Me Your Little Cough

Everyone is out in the living room looking at Musette’s new clothes which her twin, Cozette, gave to her. They are hand me downs. But they are nice. It is the way it has always been.

We ate enchiladas at Cozette’s. Her husband is named Matthew. They live together in a house by the lake which Mathew built. If he didn’t build it, he sure put a lot of work into it. His family is a plumbing company.

The house is heated via a series of pipes running beneath the floor. There is a large mainframe in the basement. Matthew had a different word for the mainframe, something like ‘caulunder’. Every time I’ve seen him in the past, he has complained about being a plumber and not following his dreams; but now that he’s an adult, building his own house, he doesn’t seem so depressed by his job. I think he wanted to be a rockstar; but now that he has built his own house, he is probably the only one of his group of friends who can afford a band room.

Here comes the roughness. A Mobius Strip.

There are a lot of suicides lining the path.

My sister lives in the basement of some other family. Musette’s sister lives in her own house which her plumber husband built for her and filled one of its rooms with band equipment.

Even the platform has fallen out. We are floating, but are we flying. If nothing else, we are denying reality. But are we defying it?

Soon they will be having babies. I might have a baby. The conveyor belt is rolling. I have a cough. My stomach is full of gas. I just can’t let it fly. I’m sitting on a folded out futon. There are three dogs in the room. One of the dogs barks at the television. One of them is lying next to me. The other is walking around and picking up the London socks. The London socks were a gift from Victoria. That is what we need to call her now. Forget her old name. I have forgotten by now the name I gave her for her old name. Now she is only Victoria to us.

Victoria is in her room. Gina is walking around. This is like Bladed Days all over again. Here I am, sucking in the scene and translating it into letters. This can help me move forward. The sound I make as I type: it is a music, especially when I have other music playing in the background. The dance my hands do as they run over the keys makes me happy.

I can connect to you in many ways, but this is my room, where I can dance and sing in some degree of privacy. I live here. I have designed this as much as I could.

The television is playing a show about rye balls being rolled around in mesh baskets into overhead proofers. We try to connect to Netflix, but the Playstation requires a system update. It is not our Playstation. It is not a Playstation 4. It is a Playstation 3, and it belongs to Victoria. I think it used to belong to Chuck, but he gave it to Victoria as a Christmas or birthday present.

Musette say, “I think you gave me your little cough.”

“Even if you do have my little cough, you’ll probably get over it by the time you start your stage.” I say. “I guess we should probably study and stuff. I need to look up jobs on Craigslist.”

She tells me to make a list of things I have to do if I have energy.

“I don’t have energy. I haven’t had any since I got sick.”

“My throat is starting to bother me.” she says.

“That’s how it started with me.”

“Do you have any medicine?” she asks her mom. “I want banana bread.”

“I don’t have banana bread.” her mom tells her. “Scott ate it after I told him about it. He missed out on the last batch.”

She has to take Chauncey out.

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