Tuesday, January 12, 2010
she has a bed in a room with windows and walls and in the bed is a boy who is fondling his balls. on the walls, a poster of dawson from dawson's creek. she gazes out the window at the girls in the street. they are dancing and playing and singing. no shoes on their feet.
but she's with him every hour of every night, every day of every week, every minute of every second, every box of every triangle, every freddie of every prinze. his name is pete.
"pete," she says. "peter."
"let's go again," he says.
"we need to talk," she says. her name is fiona, he calls her fee.
"oh fee, i agree," he says. "if by talk you mean fuck."
"i do," she says. "if by fuck you mean talk. and if by talk you mean oh hey guess what i'm pregnant."
"i don't believe in babies," says pete. "i don't believe they're real. like spaceships and jesus, jellyfish and lasers, grizzly bears, robots, 10% raises."
"i don't believe in you," says fee.
"i'm real," says pete. "real ready for you to come over here and sit on my penis."
"if you were dawson you'd help me here," says fee.
"if i was dawson i'd pay for an abortion and fuck your sister in the vagina."
"my sister's three," says fee. "she doesn't have a vagina yet."
"then i'd fuck your mum with my fingers and tongue."
"gross," says fee. "my mum is old. but really, what should i do?"
"how about i beat the tony out of your danza and move to tasmania and you can raise it by yourself."
"it's cold in tasmania," says fee.
"that's true i guess, so what can we do?".
nobody knows now, not even pete. she still has a bed in a room with windows and walls but in the bed there are pillows and dolls. on the walls, a calendar with a countdown to college. she climbs out the window and joins the girls in the street. they all dance and play and sing. no shoes on their feet.