Asunder by Robert Lopez

Author:Robert Lopez [Robert Lopez]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Short Stories (single author)
ISBN: 9781936873005
Publisher: Dzanc Books
Published: 2010-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

THE BE ALL END ALL

* * *

A WOMAN SAID TO ME ONCE IT ALMOST DOESN'T FEEL LIKE IT'S TWO-THIRTY.

I’ve kept this in my brain ever since, next to where I keep particular lines of poetry, but away from pertinent information. I can’t recall what prompted the statement, although it may’ve been in response to some confession I’d been dying to confess.

Women have a way of leaving their mark, of staying with you.

When lacking a satisfactory answer I always manage to compose a stoic look on my face. Brooding, even. This is because I am no good on the spot or off the cuff. I usually need days to respond to a question to anyone’s satisfaction.

This woman was beautiful in a way that makes you sorry you were born.

Example of typical exchange between myself and woman who said, It almost doesn’t feel like it’s two-thirty.

What is wrong with you?

Stoic look on face. Brooding, even.

A pregnant woman was walking her dog in the middle of the night in a park where I was sitting on a bench contemplating death and masturbation. She walked the way pregnant women walk, particularly when they are out in the middle of the night walking dogs. It is the same way fat women walk to the bathroom, halfway between a waddle and a cry for help. I don’t know if she did this every night, walk the dog this way. There are things you know about her, though, without having to ask. Mostly, she wouldn’t appreciate this kind of recognition.

If you see her say I’m sorry.

At that moment she was the object of an affection I cannot describe nor explain. I thought maybe it was misplaced. I thought maybe the affection should’ve been directed elsewhere. That is my tragedy, if I have one. Otherwise it’s not being able to make sense of such things. The pregnant woman is her own tragedy and I have almost nothing to do with it. But mostly I regarded her as a subject. Of what, I’m not certain.

In the end, I’m not sure I can differentiate between subject and object.

One could ask, What were you doing in a park in the middle of the night sitting on a bench contemplating death and masturbation? And what exactly does contemplating death and masturbation entail? And what kind of a person engages in such activity?

Stoic look on face. Brooding, even.

Perversion is one of those eye-of-the-beholder things.

I watched her walk the dog. It was a kind of ballet.

I have no real need to express anything and certainly no affinity for it. I’d rather look pensive and have others misinterpret whatever countenance I’ve affected.

All this until I am left with a pregnant woman walking her dog in the middle of the night. There was no exchange between myself and the pregnant woman walking her dog in the middle of the night, typical or otherwise. If there had been it would’ve concluded quickly.

Example of imagined exchange between myself and pregnant woman walking her dog in the middle of the night:

Is it a boy or girl?

Boy.

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