Honey, I Killed the Cats by Dorota Masłowska

Author:Dorota Masłowska
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Deep Vellum Publishing
Published: 2019-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

He shouldn’t add so much to the fare. But that’s Arabs for you. You almost only threw up on yourself, and right away he has to sanitize the whole upholstery and wash and buff the body! I told him I was going to report him to the Better Business Bureau. Oh, he can shove it up his ass. Money is so totally dated.

Church, churches are so romantic, wonderfully nonsensical. I’m going through a complete religious phase. I was a Buddhist, but isn’t that becoming ordinary? Boredom like nobody’s business—“Sorry, I’m off to my seclusion.” From that they made something to supplement colon therapy. I’m starting to like church. The sullenness, the properness, the gilding, total madness. Only I can’t motivate myself because on Sundays I always have the worst hangover. Though I don’t truck with religious people not being able to use a rubber. It’s sick: how are they supposed to protect themselves from AIDS?

But I adore the smell of a church; why don’t they make perfumes like that? Incense, naphthalene, mold, and old man breath, it reminds me of childhood, that monstrous communism. It’s always before my eyes, the image of me running in from the yard, out of breath, I open the fridge, I want to reach for the bottle of supercarbonated root beer, but all there is is a pitcher of moldy tea. Remember—we didn’t have that other stuff! Our diet consisted almost exclusively of pierogi, borscht, kielbasa, and those rotten little pickles they had. And bootcakes. Don’t ask me what that is, but I adore it, with melted butter. My parents were hardly ever home, they fought. Anyway, we all fought, we children helped too, as much as we could. Mama printed fliers calling on the people to boycott the system, she gave them to us, and my siblings and I handed them out at subway entrances, at shopping centers, at language schools. I walked out onto my balcony and looked through my binoculars at that whole Berlin Wall thing. People wanted to cross it, they came with ladders, tractors, but all for naught. It was enormously tall, and so airplanes kept getting snagged on it, and the clouds stopped on our side, and it was constantly raining, while in the West there was constantly sun.

So, as that brownnoser Chris now tells me …

Oh, I’m sorry, I start to fall apart whenever I get stoned …

Truth be told, I have nothing against him. I don’t hate him in the obvious way any average person would in my shoes. I accept the fact that Chris is polyamorous, and that because of that I have to tolerate a person I don’t tolerate, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to think the thing that’s staring me right in the face. He’s constantly undermining my person, he undermines what I say and do. He maintains that I’m upset. I’m upset, even though I’ve been going to therapy for four years! A single spark is enough, and we’ll be at each other’s throats.

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