Page 53 - WTP Vol. VI #4

Brain Matter
But then we tell ourselves stories about these things, about the timing and the gestures leading us out the patio doors into the new land of the summer garden and its vines. Perfume me with it. Let its greens ring like bells.
“It’s the sunny side, is why it matters.”
“We were friends before the weather changed.”
“That’s debatable.”
We throw away phrases as the winds pick up, pausing at the edges of the rioting greens. Always meta- phors intruding on our fun, always metaphors.
“You take the first step.” “No, you.”
“No, you.”
And we count the petals of a sunflower, or, better, its seeds, to make the moment last as long as possible. Rationing ourselves is all we have, and how we hold on when the going gets you know how. Words dry the tongue, make it long for a cold cup of water.
“What will we do when you’re out of ideas?”
“You have none?”
“Not my job. I merely flank you, and address the smaller issues of insects and toxic molecular particles.” “But how will you deal with them?”
“A little thing called imagination.”
“We’re nowhere again.”
“Get back on the path.”
Now we’re in the middle of a tale told by a toothless stranger. I understand nothing he says, all labials. What if his story is meaningful, or in some way life-saving? Will we blame our failure to advance on him or on the lack of a cohesive plot—will we change by the end of our tale?
“Have we changed?”
“I’ve changed my underwear since we started.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Would I kid? Look at how we’ve been eating. Lucky I had a spare is all I’m saying.” “Lucky is the word.”
Difalco is the author of The Mountie At Niagara Falls, an illustrated collection of flash fiction. His short prose has appeared in many print and journals worldwide, most recently in Gone Lawn, Flash International, and Brilliant Flash Fiction.
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