paris at 16

jennifer the philosopher waitress had marilyn monroe's nose, a special order. she had an affinity for bars, hells angels and at one time black and blue body art. she provided the blue (eyes, mood). her then husband helped with the blackening from time to time. she was young then, she told me while we were packing up her stuff to move from one dingy cool apartment to the next. clothes, furniture, pots and pans in one corner; incense, coasters, kitchen towels in another. burly friends would move the stuff in the former corner; i'd be carrying out a bag full of the stuff from the latter.

"why'd you marry him?"

"i was dumb. and drunk."

"when did you realize it was all wrong?"

"after he put me in a coma in the hospital."

"good thing it wasn't too late."

"you want this fondue pot?"

"nah."

"he was a jerk. and i was-- how about these?"

"what are they?"

coasters with scenes of paris on them."

"lemme see. cool. yeah. you ever go?"

"not yet. someday maybe."

i hoped she would, figured it was 70/30 wouldn't. practicality - and lifelines - have their drawbacks.

she was maybe 30. already she'd lived twice as long and twice as hard as i. she liked to sashay but quick quick, had just quit smoking. i had just gotten back from msu soccer camp, sunburnt, all welter weight excitement. she had been in aa off and on in equal measure for years, could tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue. i hoped to play as well as the pros, needed to memorize the periodic table for a test, had experimented with kissing.... nobody but my mother had ever hit me - so long ago i couldn't even remember what it felt like. across the room her marilyn monroe nose smelled candles, the nose that the doctors had given her after it was busted. i imagined her laying quiet under white sheets for days. the bleep bleep of the machines keeping pace with her heart. she was an elixer. and she wanted me to date a prep cook named dan. dan hart. he was really really nice. really nice. and he was in love. i was 16.

dan hart and i had different ideas about the definition of a good thing. dan hart had eyes. i told jokes to quench their heat. i turned my back when they turned to deep ocean. i walked outside in the fresh air, where i could breathe, so i wouldn't say something to embarrass. anyone.

but jenny.

"you need someone like-- who's that guy in sixteen candles?"

"jake?!" oh yes.

"no, not that guy. the one in pretty in pink."

"which one?"

"andrew mccarthy."

"really?!"

"yeah. sensitive. kinda sweet."

huh.

i ended up hanging out with sensitive, kinda sweet john. johnny. where we worked. curly blonding hair, bluing eyes. deaf in one ear. he nearly whispered. quietly lean and muscled like a wood-splitting hermit. dark intimacies barely hinted at by that white-white under tan smirk. he lived with his grandmother and sister. father in prison. he said he did't have any passionate hobbies. well, not many, anyway.

she pursed her lips.

one night at work hinting turned rock solid. in front of the cookstaff with their faces in their sleeves. i turned open palm fluid motion to him.

S M A C K

platter and plates still balanced in the opposite hand. my hand, my face, the space he located, all on fire. stinging hot.

his blue eyes flattened on a road. "what--?"

i heard myself say it out loud. "respect gets you farther." what stung more? i'm not sure but the heat. i still remember.

no hobbies. no mother. because of his father.

after that our eyes cooled. they turned away more often than they stayed.

i saw a woman who resembled his grandmother punching buttons on a cash register. almost 16 years after we met.

"do you have a grandson named john, johnny?"

"yes," body and face a giant smile.

she showed me photos of his step-kids.

"he got married to a divorcee a few years ago. he's happy," she said.

"picked up a few hobbies what with kids, i bet."

"oh he sure has." she laughed through smoker's cough.

jenny got married quite a while ago, too. to a biker named redd.

older, bolder, bald, gray beard, sweet, the waitstaff told me when i asked... they still see her from time to time.

"he treat her good?" i ask.

"oh, he's all heart," they extol.

chaps, do rags and all. that's good. i say. real good.

gotta put my paris coasters in my give-away corner tonight. maybe my niece could use em....