“You know I’ve been fixated on the puzzles and denials of mortality for years, and you’ve never been much help,” I tell the Coauthor. A raised eyebrow is the only response I get. We stir honey into our tea.
I lift the cup to my lips, but the Coauthor covers my hand.
“Wait until it’s cold,” she says.
“But I like it warm.” I protest.
Steam curls around our entwined fingers.
*******
Through long stretches of indeterminant time, I sit. Waiting. Sometimes the vulture’s talons. Sometimes the ice of infinity. Visitors are rare, and I like it that way. The Crystal Ball rolls through the room, stops abruptly, and opens its cavernous mouth.
“You’re a liar,” it says.
“No,” I shake my head. “But I tell stories. That’s how I breathe.”
*******
Before being overtaken by digital displays, the ticking of the clock meant something. The steady sound was comforting, though on occasion, it disrupted my sleep. But now, I’m awakened by heavy fog rolling in, the enormity of loss crushing everything in its path.
“I want it over now!” My arms are crossed, but my demand is tempered by a tiny sliver of shame.
“Oh good grief,” the Coauthor smiles. “It was over before you started.”
*******
When I speak to the Viral Collective about geraniums and longevity and the bad choices I made last fall, there’s nothing but forgiveness in the air. “We see how hard it is,” they say, stroking my shoulder. Patting my head.
I want none of it. My intentions were pure. I deserve another chance.
“You will not be found innocent,” the Collective says. “The geraniums froze.”
*******
The Artificial Mothers are make-believe virgins, whoring around in contradictory clothes. They pretend to love us as they scatter offerings like stars or candy at parades. But beware: It is the hatching of a million snakes.
Even the wisest mavens end up sidelined, old locomotives cleverly switched to dead-end tracks. Sometimes, when a thug thinks no one is looking, he shoves the Viral Collective off the cliff, and they tumble into The Fiery Lake below. Their wild and joyous gestures suggest the water is fine.
And at least for now, we’re safe. The air is thick with peppermint.
********
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Short visits with an honest God 