Dangerous Compassions

grape arbor, honeysuckle, Ming’s secret fear of cows, mosquito fantasies, and finally making it to the next hour

“I feel like it’s been 3 something for a really long time,” I told Ming.

“I wouldn’t trust time,” Ming said. 

“Just here, or anywhere?” I asked.  We were at a strange place.  I fell in love with the grape arbor.

Some cows roam around.  I heard them outside in the night.  One sounded excited about something, mooing a lot.  I wondered what the hell it was emoting about.

Ming went outside in the afternoon to clean out the car.  About 15 cows were around, he reported afterward.  They looked at him.

“Were there babies?” I asked Ming.

“Yes,” Ming said.

“What color were they?” I asked.

I heard a sound that I thought was the fan.  Then I decided it was frogs.  Then crickets.  Then frogs.

We had an idea that Ming should go out by the river in the night.  He said no because he was afraid a cow would be there.

“You’re afraid of cows?” I asked, incredulous.  People are afraid of the weirdest things.  “I’ve known you nine years, and I never knew you were afraid of cows.”

He said something about the horns that I didn’t believe for one second.  I guess cows are normal people, to me.

I asked if he was afraid of mosquitos, and would mosquitos be out in the night, or were they sleeping.  He said mosquitos don’t sleep well because they have nightmares. 

Three second fantasy about cartoon mosquitos in pajamas with matching sleep hats with a little tassel.  All sleeping in this long, long bed, all in a row.  And one wakes up, eyes wide open.

“Yeah, they wake up from a nightmare and go find an animal to bite to comfort themselves,” I said.

This is the final story I’ll tell you for this post.  I was sleeping so wonderfully.  Then I woke up yelling, “Hey hey hey hey!” because Ming was opening a bag of chips, and the crinkly crunchy staticy flailing crumbling popping torturous chip bag mylar rustling sound was killing me.

“Why do you think it’s ok for you to do that!?” I asked him.

“I was being very quiet,” he said, still wearing headphones, as he’d been listening to music and had no idea how loud he was being.

I’m laughing now.  Oh, my love.  “I criticize you!  I criticize you harshly!” I told him.  Later I stuck my tongue out at him and called him poopy.  I really need sleep!

I thought we could get him a little scissors for his keychain, and then he could quietly–nay, silently–cut open chip bags, rather than the terrible loud way.  The thing is the less sleep I have, the more sounds bother me, so it behooves him to let me sleep.

I’m in love with honeysuckle too.  Vines are cool.  Passionflowers, kiwi fruit vines.  Viney roses.  Wisteria–yes, for sure.  I’m a polyflorist.  Polyfloralist.  Polyfloralamorist.  Yeah.

I saw datura yesterday, blooming in the gorge.  That doesn’t count as a story because it’s just an image.  Thank you for coming to my ted talk.  Maybe I should end everything like that now.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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