Skip to main content

Giving Shit

One day, Edward Julian Watson had on a yellow dress shirt only; he had not done up the buttons on the cuffs yet and this is what Edward Julian Watson noticed, while standing in his yellow bathroom, looking into the mirror, that was above his bathroom sink.
Of course, what Edward Julian Watson noticed was not noticed at first. In fact, Edward Julian Watson almost looked away from the mirror; but when his eyes snapped back upon the reflection of himself; those eyes widened; so wide were the whites.
And yes, Edward Julian Watson's hand did indeed grip the edge of the sink, as he leaned forward and perched his puckered pinched fingers to his hairline.
Edward Julian Watson was wondering if he should be fainting.
Because his heart was pounding very fast and wanted to leap from his chest.
Edward Julian Watson was scared.
Because Edward Julian Watson noticed he was going bald. He just knew it.
So, he did not touch his hair, not even with the very tips of his fingers. Instead, Edward Julian Watson stood up straight and took a long, stiff look in the mirror, at his head. His hair.
I am sexy, he thought.
Not for long now, Bozo, Edward Julian Watson's thoughts answered themselves.
So, Edward Julian Watson decided to look down at his nipples.
But, he just had to look back up to his head. His hair.
And that is when Edward Julian Watson become aware of the fear in his eyes.
“Snap out of it,” Edward Julian Watson said out loud, but he was still paranoid, when he walked out of his front door ten minutes later.
Edward Julian Watson decided he better shave his moustache.
What? You want to lose more hair?
Shut-up,, Edward Julian Watson strangled his thoughts.

Becki stood in front of the mirror in her yellow room. Becki was wearing a green dress. She was happy.
It was probably because her hair looked nice.
It almost always did. It had taken her years to perfect how to do so. And Becki could do so in many different styles, to boot.
I am not empty headed,to herself, without defiance.
Becki was having dinner with her Mother. In less than half an hour, she would have to be there.
Becki had purchased her Mother a lovely bouquet of daffodils, on her way home from work. These flowers were waiting paitently on the wooden stand that was beside her door. They were wrapped in pink paper; green stems poking out from the bottom.
Becki smiled one last time in the mirror.
Prouder than peaches of herself.
Because her lipstick looked great, too.
Becki picked the yellow blooms up carefully on her way out. She was not wearing a coat, as she walked down the back stairwell and out into the early April evening. Quietly.

Edward Julian Watson adjusted his yellow tie.
The white banner above the entrance of the Glenwood Community Centre said Saturday Night Singles Dance in red lettering.
Edward Julian Watson licked his teeth and stepped inside the glass doors; Eric Clapton's guitar filling his ears. Edward Julian Watson scanned the dimly lit room for a green dress.
Edward Julian Watson would worry about his hair tomorrow.



Labels:

Comments

AJ in Nashville said…
Weeell, it's nice to see that The Voice has someone to spend time with when he isn't bugging you, Queenie. :)

Nice story. Hope all is well.
Wednesday, 2 March 2005 at 21:02:00 GMT-5
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Village Itself

Across the road from my home is an apartment building. It is made of brown brick and has three stories. It also has plenty of windows I often forget about while I go about my daily and nightly routines. I also forget my curtains are white, lacey and see-through scraps purchased from an aisle in Wal-Mart. Fifteen apartments. That may all house people with binoculars. It was the muggiest night this past summer had owned. Brenda was down for a visit and when she comes, it usually means a night spent over on my couch for her. Brenda lives in another town. It was one in the morning, no sleep to be found between the two us. We sat slouched on my front porch trying to capture the occasional breeze offered, sucking it deep into our lungs, praying it would cool us down. Our glasses of Pepsi sweated warning us how warm the drink would taste in our mouths. "Tilly! Tilly!" the shout sat our spines straight as we looked across the street to the where the sound was coming fr...
17 comments
Read more

Rosy Cheeks

My son's circle and lined wall, created with the permanent red marker, became something he liked to show-off. I guess the other kids who come here liked it, too.   I guess he wanted to show-off more. That is one of the many hypothesis I have about how the Map of Africa came to be. I just keep hoping my kid is some kind of odd little genius.  On the morning I discovered the map of Africa, I was not speechless and I could breathe. "What is this?" I demanded. And loudly. My son shrugged his shoulders. "I like it. It's nice. Took a long time." He had chipped paint off the wall. His walls are white. That morning, it was discovered his room used to be beige.   And it was starting to look like a room in an abandoned house. I thought to myself that maybe this look would be the in thing  20 years from now and he could make millions. He could be a visionary. It was a good enough excuse for me to leave the room. I used it...
22 comments
Read more

..What Are You Waiting For?

She had a real calm smile; it took its time creeping up into her eyes. And there she was looking up at me. She was sitting, right down there on the sidewalk, up against the wall of the bank. Her hand was wrapped around a red pen; buried into a magazine. And I was walking by her. Her eyes were brown. I did not smile back at her. One can never be too sure about anyone who is downtown. A few days later; it was grey and chilly, and I saw her again. With the same simple smile; this time growing into recognition. She stood just inside the entrance way of the video store, ducked, despite the fact she was barley five feet tall and the doorway was at least ten. Funny girl, I thought. Her smile passed by quickly, and then she bent her head down, to the inside of another magazine. She took a long, lipstick drag off a cigarette. "What are you doing?" she asked, when I was passing by her a day and a half later. And I stopped my step, for I was truly stumped. I looked down at my br...
11 comments
Read more