2 AMERICANS

Written at Zee's Writing Studio on June 12, 2012.  Our assignment was to choose from a variety of postcards of paintings and were then given a list of words/sentences from the June issue of Harper's Magazine. We could marry the words and images in any way we felt inspired. I chose three images and challenged myself to use all of the words/sentences.  Enjoy!


From Harper's Magazine, June 2012:

wish you were here   2 Americans   the last 10 years
my old man   the attractions are obvious   silence/shapes
"what is this? corn?"   her little brothers best friend
19th birthday   yawning too much   this is alarming
in a tunnel of concentration   wild things   she silently repeats okay, okay, okay  the dry grass of August   she is not speaking   a white blankness  book of my mother   syllable, porcelains, beach, cup, snail, lamp, and pie

Oh, my darling, I wish you were here.  Here we are, 2 Americans stuck in this hovel in Paris, so far from you.  What was I thinking when I agreed to this adventure with Marge?  Yes, the attractions are obvious.  I mean, just look at this photograph of the two of us in the chair--me, belly swollen with our beloved spawn; her long and lithe.  Me, raven-haired and pursed-lips; her all flaxen and peachy.  Day and night.  Night and day.  We fit together so well and, yet, I must say this is alarming in ways too many to mention.

Our photograph was taken by the petulant child downstairs who is often lost in a tunnel of concentration over God knows what.  She knocked on our door asking for a cup of coffee for her sisters 19th birthday, all the while yawning too much.  I don’t quite know what to make of this family we’re staying with.  They seem to me to be a tribe of wild things; mysterious and spooky.  The mother sits in a chair, watching her cat play, while she silently repeats okay, okay, okay.  When she is not speaking, her face takes on a white blankness until suddenly, she looks up and shouts, “What is this? Corn?”  It’s a madhouse, I tell you, and it can’t be good for the baby.  I wish to come home immediately! I never thought I would yearn for the dry grass of August back home.  I console myself with the fact that I will leave this dreadful place in one week’s time and with the fact that this is the 1st time we have been apart in the last 10 years.  That, however, hardly seems like much of a consolation. It feels more like a punishment for going off in the first place.  As much as being away from you pains me, it gives me a greater appreciation of you, my darling.
At least I have been able to work on the book of my mother, often by the dim oil lamp when the house is quiet.  I usually write for an hour until the baby starts kicking, then I take a break and have just a sliver of fresh blackberry pie that I’ve made sure to have on hand. Oh, how delicious it is in its tart sweetness! Oh, how hard it is to not eat the whole thing, purple syrup dripping down my chin and staining my dressing gown!  I do love the silence at night and the shapes that the shadows make while they dance across the floor against the flickering light.  I eat my pie on the finest of porcelains, which also reminds me of you and your love of finery.  Do you remember how appalled you were at the beach when, instead of porcelain place settings, we found cracked and chipped dishes of various patterns? The shock and disdain on your face! And the snail that inhabited your slipper that evening? Oh, what a travesty! I must admit, darling, to laughing about it right now. Please don’t be displeased with me, my love.
I can hear that wretched child from downstairs right now.  She is singing “This Old Man” but has changed the words to “My Old Man.” Do you know that earlier, after taking our photograph, she blurted out that she had to look after her little brother’s best friend and leapt away so fast that she spilled the coffee all over the entryway? What a strange lot! There’s more here than meets the eye, I assure you, and if I had the energy I would get to the bottom of it. As it stands, I haven’t the energy or interest to engage in such foolishness. I am absolutely and completely exhausted and must retire now, my darling, to dreams of coming home to the safety of your arms. But before I dress for bed and bid you farewell I must utter one last syllable: Help!

Your loving wife,
Veronica