I get bored at home so I take old C.D. cases and snap them into building brick-like pieces the size of lima beans. Tiny shards bounce off walls and into corners where I?ll step on them next week. I?ll have to balance against the wall and rub my sore feet.
Some of the little bricks are big enough to handle but just too small to work. I brush the large ones into a pile next to the ashtray and the small ones drop into a glass of watered down Squirt. This procedure ends up taking about five minutes at which point I pour the soda coated intestine shredders out my window in the hopes they will be swallowed by the cat from the lower floor.
The tube of epoxy found under the sink has been waiting for me to use him for months and I finally comply. Using a wax bean base of plastic for each foot I start gluing slabs together like a crooked stack of dimes, slowly building the little man?s thighs.
Someone buzzes my room from the front door and I press the button to let them in. As I glue L'Homme?s waist in place I hear visitor?s feet pound to the overhead floor. I almost wonder, "How many bells did he press until someone clicked him in the door?"
I take a break before starting on his arms because I imagine they will be the hardest part by far. I lean back smoking a cigarette and stare out the window to the falling snow; white shards glitter and bounce through trees until they rest on the ground where sunshine will pound them tomorrow.
The slivers of plastic and dried epoxy all seem icy, clear, translucent but white. The little headless man is interestingly bland, like a silent night. You feel like you can see right through him yet somehow you can?t. I squint myself, testing him as a kaleidoscope; I?m not sure if the flurry is him or snow visible to most.
He grabs hold of my fingers as I set him back to my desk, still wet with tacky glue.
My phone rings as I?m placing the layer right above his eyes. I jump, confused by its unfamiliar ring; the number is one I can?t believe. The red button silences her call and I finish the gluing on the top of L?Homme?s head, shimmering baldness.
Finally done I sit there and hold him, his edges so ever sharp. He?s the perfect little friend as long as you don?t squeeze him tight or hold him with all of your might. Hopefully he?ll help me learn to keep friends close, but not too close to turn them into snowfall sunshine waterfalls.
rating: 9
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