"Mr. K and Ms. S cordially invite you to attend their wedding on the 16th of May"
The invitation was pretty, I suppose, if not decorated overzealously with dolphins, which S loved so much when we were together. It looks like some things never really change. She certainly sat in his lap as they stared at the computer monitor, sifting and sieving through images of dolphins, deciding whether or not they should go with a gracefully submerged s-shaped posture, or the exuberance and raw energy of a bottlenose exploding from the water. Jesus, did they actually consider getting those cheesy entangled dolphin rings as well? or matching yin and yang dolphin tattoos? She'd never be that tacky, of course.
Don't get me wrong, here. I don't have the kind of emotional stake in this whole thing in the way you might imagine. I'm over it. Seriously. I'm seeing someone too, and she comes over every Tuesday and Thursday and spends the night, usually. I try to make it over to her place on Fridays when I can, but in all honesty, she tends to go out more than I do, and after spending a few nights alone in her bed, it seemed a little easier to make plans on my own.
Actually, most of these plans end up being lonely nights in, trying my best to churn something out of the piano. She plays the cello. Not S, that is, but Kaela, my current partner. We actually met at a city-sponsored free opera event, where we were shushed by the teeming ocean of white people indulging in high white culture. We laughed about how we were setting a bad example for our respective stereotypes. It didn't matter what they were, of course, so long as we were browner than the rest of them. She told me to fart behind a particularly stuffy collar as we ditched the concert mid-aria to go throw pebbles at the small sailboats in the harbour. We fooled around on a park bench before she straightened her jacket, looked for the earring that she had just lost, before finally deciding that she didn't have time before her cello lessons.
Last I heard from S, she had made it back to school like she had wanted. She was working on her masters now, if I recall correctly, in child sociology, in particular something to do with the legal system as it applies to minors. And the funny part is that we had always talked about how we hated children, or at least the prospect of creating any. I wonder if K is bringing any children into the relationship. Common sense says no, but I never thought S would go back to school either. I never thought she would give up eating meat again, and I figured it must be K's fault. It always seems to go one direction or another with those kind of dietary relationships. I must have corrupted her for that year and a half, when she reintroduced into her body the disassembled flesh of once living animals. She vomited the first time she ate the sushi we had picked up on a whim. I was caught off guard, and when I realized what had happened, I told her that we could have at least made an event of it, rather than mediocre take-out sushi in front of Star Trek reruns on my living couch. I thought I could handle it, she said, I didn't want to be the girl that orders the salad all the time.
I put the wedding invitation in the top drawer of my filing cabinet. It's where that sort of thing goes these days: invitations, birthday cards, ironic July valentines from Kaela. Below it, I keep folders of various photographs people send me. I think that my diploma might be tucked away in that drawer as well. And finally, the bottom drawer is where all the letters go. I have lost some of the envelopes, and a few of the letters met sloppy fates with saucy meals, but everything, for the most part, is still fully intact.
Frankly, I never even read anything, and hardly even look at the photographs, although I had always promised S I would find a good one to frame. Kaela doesn't seem to really mind, and suggested that I should get the photo inside an elaborate dolphin frame. Do they even make those?
The more I think about it, the more S fills up most of that cabinet, and some days, I really just want to lose the key and throw the whole thing into the ocean, walking away without ever seeing whether or not it sinks sleepily into the murky depths or surfaces for air.
The invitation was pretty, I suppose, if not decorated overzealously with dolphins, which S loved so much when we were together. It looks like some things never really change. She certainly sat in his lap as they stared at the computer monitor, sifting and sieving through images of dolphins, deciding whether or not they should go with a gracefully submerged s-shaped posture, or the exuberance and raw energy of a bottlenose exploding from the water. Jesus, did they actually consider getting those cheesy entangled dolphin rings as well? or matching yin and yang dolphin tattoos? She'd never be that tacky, of course.
Don't get me wrong, here. I don't have the kind of emotional stake in this whole thing in the way you might imagine. I'm over it. Seriously. I'm seeing someone too, and she comes over every Tuesday and Thursday and spends the night, usually. I try to make it over to her place on Fridays when I can, but in all honesty, she tends to go out more than I do, and after spending a few nights alone in her bed, it seemed a little easier to make plans on my own.
Actually, most of these plans end up being lonely nights in, trying my best to churn something out of the piano. She plays the cello. Not S, that is, but Kaela, my current partner. We actually met at a city-sponsored free opera event, where we were shushed by the teeming ocean of white people indulging in high white culture. We laughed about how we were setting a bad example for our respective stereotypes. It didn't matter what they were, of course, so long as we were browner than the rest of them. She told me to fart behind a particularly stuffy collar as we ditched the concert mid-aria to go throw pebbles at the small sailboats in the harbour. We fooled around on a park bench before she straightened her jacket, looked for the earring that she had just lost, before finally deciding that she didn't have time before her cello lessons.
Last I heard from S, she had made it back to school like she had wanted. She was working on her masters now, if I recall correctly, in child sociology, in particular something to do with the legal system as it applies to minors. And the funny part is that we had always talked about how we hated children, or at least the prospect of creating any. I wonder if K is bringing any children into the relationship. Common sense says no, but I never thought S would go back to school either. I never thought she would give up eating meat again, and I figured it must be K's fault. It always seems to go one direction or another with those kind of dietary relationships. I must have corrupted her for that year and a half, when she reintroduced into her body the disassembled flesh of once living animals. She vomited the first time she ate the sushi we had picked up on a whim. I was caught off guard, and when I realized what had happened, I told her that we could have at least made an event of it, rather than mediocre take-out sushi in front of Star Trek reruns on my living couch. I thought I could handle it, she said, I didn't want to be the girl that orders the salad all the time.
I put the wedding invitation in the top drawer of my filing cabinet. It's where that sort of thing goes these days: invitations, birthday cards, ironic July valentines from Kaela. Below it, I keep folders of various photographs people send me. I think that my diploma might be tucked away in that drawer as well. And finally, the bottom drawer is where all the letters go. I have lost some of the envelopes, and a few of the letters met sloppy fates with saucy meals, but everything, for the most part, is still fully intact.
Frankly, I never even read anything, and hardly even look at the photographs, although I had always promised S I would find a good one to frame. Kaela doesn't seem to really mind, and suggested that I should get the photo inside an elaborate dolphin frame. Do they even make those?
The more I think about it, the more S fills up most of that cabinet, and some days, I really just want to lose the key and throw the whole thing into the ocean, walking away without ever seeing whether or not it sinks sleepily into the murky depths or surfaces for air.
