Sunday, 18 January 2015

Lady Review: Connie Converse

It is a nice enough night and the moon is out. A woman (it's Connie Converse) turns her face to the sky and moonlight comes down like a cross between a little ringing bell and a light mist. She closes her eyes and listens to the night insects flying about and buzzing and rattling. The moonlight is cool on her face as the sunlight is warm in the day. It is the 1950's. She sighs. Once again, only more so this time, it is the 1950's.
     A 1950's man is staggering home. Kicks a dog, braces himself against a tree and pisses into a bush. The urine hits the ground with a lot of weight. The man coughs and grunts and big fart bubble the shape of an American football forces its way past two opposing bum cheeks. Sort of empty wet popping sound.
     'Well, yeah,' says the man, as though the fart had been a question to himself. And it had been.
     He notices Connie Converse sitting out on her porch. Up until now she had been ignoring him. But here his thoughts become audible, impossible to ignore. He would like to touch her naked breasts with his naked hands in the back of his car; he'll pick her up tomorrow at say 8:30.
     'Oh jeez,' thinks Connie Converse. The night air is pregnant with man thoughts. He is deciding what to say. She can sort of hear his mouth dithering on the point between speech and non speech, 1950's platitude and non 1950's platitude. Then she hears a sound like a twig snapping. That was the man deciding to definitely go for it, why not.
     'Well hey there, Connie. How's things going? Fine night, ain't it? You bet, you bet... Say, what is this you're doing out here all alone? Moon bathing, I suppose? Need some company?'
     'Fuck off, Ted.'
     Ted stands awkwardly on the spot for a few moments, slaps his thigh, spits on the ground. He is thinking right now, Connie Converse is able to divine – even right now after I just told him to fuck off in the 1950's - about putting his hands on me.
     'No,' she says.
     'But why not?' Asks Ted.
     'Because, you fucker, I am the moon.'
     'You...' Ted blinks and Connie Converse is gone. He looks up at the moon. It is wearing glasses.

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