|
By Misti Date: 2001 Aug 18 Comment on this Work [[2001.08.18.14.26.20188]] |
|
Lincoln entered the newspaper office with bloodshot eyes and stubble and tousled hair and bad breath. He was wearing a Manic Street Preachers t-shirt and dirty generic blue jeans. Harold, Lincoln's boss, watched Lincoln from his desk. He was on the phone. "Rough night?" Kenzi asked with a smirk. Kenzi was the receptionist. Lincoln and Kenzi had experienced the fruits of each other's flesh once. They were drunk. It was after the office Christmas party. Lincoln ignored Kenzi and walked toward his desk, which was cluttered with a Rubik's Cube, an antique hourglass, a Pinnochio figurine, a plastic turquoise salamander, a blue cardboard box of tissues and a dish of butterscotch and cinnamon candies. He sank down into his chair and put his head on the desk. "Do I need to frisk you?" Kirby asked. Kirby was Harold's son. He was the star photographer of the Butterfield Gazette. His desk was right in front of Lincoln's. Lincoln looked up at Kirby and belched. "I'll take that as a no," Kirby said. "I had a rough night last night, true. But it didn't necessarily involve illegal substances. Marijuana should be legalized, anyway. Anyone who doesn't think so should be shipped off to Japan." "I don't think it should be legalized," Dotty said from the desk behind Lincoln's. "What do you know? You go to bake sales and teach Sunday school," Lincoln snapped. "Look, we don't want to hear about your hedonism and atheism today. So save it," Kirby said tersely, his jaw clenched. "I'm an important member of this community, Lincoln. I do things that matter," Dotty said. "Stop ganging up on me. I can't afford to move to San Francisco. You people are like robots! My god! I didn't know I lived in Stepford. My god, I should have suspected it. There's a church on every block. And no bookstores! No coffee houses! No theatre! No nudity!" "Oh, poor baby. Wallow in your alcoholic haze. But don't take it out on us," Dotty said. She spat out each word. "He thinks he's superior to us all because he graduated from Rice and used to live in Cincinatti. We're stupid small-town peons. What do we know?" Kirby said. "Enough of this shit," Lincoln muttered. He stood up on shaky legs and made his way over to the coffe pot. Inside, he was raging. But he calmly poured hot coffee into a styrofoam cup and added a tablespoon of sugar and a teaspoon of powdered cream. Lincoln closed his eyes as he blew on the coffee. He was thinking of Orson from last night. It seemed like a distant delicious dream. The way Orson had nuzzled his neck. The silver and onyx anklet Orson wore on his left ankle. The bluebird tattoo on Orson's right calf. The demolition of reason and logic as they made love deep into the cloudy night. For a moment, everything worked. Fell into place. Moved with panther grace. And then the morning and the reality and the bare ass naked truth. Orson belonged to another. "Last night didn't happen, babe," Orson had said with no expression on his finely chiseled face as he slipped into his Pebbles and Bam Bam boxers. "Shirley can't find out about this. Got it?" "Yeah. I got it. Well, thanks for the memory." "Don't get melancholy on me. You knew. I'm sorry. But you knew. We had a great time. File it under too much to drink and too much to smoke." "It will never happen again? But it was so good!" "It will never happen again. I love Shirley. I want to be normal. I want to have a family. I'm not going to crucify my parents and friends with this just because we had some explosive sex. Forget we ever happened. Good-bye, Lincoln." Lincoln's mother had named him after her favorite president. "He always told the truth," she once said. "Aren't you thinking of George Washington?" Lincoln had asked with a laugh. "Well...whatever. Lincoln was good. He rose up from nothing to lead a nation to greatness. You've got to promise me you'll see the Lincoln Memorial before you die." "Yes, Mom. I promise." And that was the last conversation they ever had. She died a couple of hours later from ovarian cancer. "We need to talk," Harold said. "Oooh. Sounds ominous," Lincoln said. "Let's go into the break room," Harold said with a sigh. Ten minutes later Lincoln was putting his clutter in a plastic bag. Kirby and Dotty looked smug. "God bless America," Lincoln said with a chuckle as he walked away, wondering what job listings he'd find in the Butterfield Gazette. |