Somewhere else a heart shaped zeppelin floats on the horizon, a string of infants dangling from its tail, but right here there's just me and Fred, arguing outside Grand Central.
The way Fred talks you'd think there wasn't any magic in the world
- Jake. We can't afford it. The dollar is down again today.
He shakes his head, not wanting my dreams to catch on. He shakes his head and bites into his apple.
With Fred it's all markets and eat right and sensible shoes. His friends say we compliment each other, that he grounds me. My friends just talk about something else. These days when Fred talks about stuff like this I drift off. (These days when Fred talks I drift off.)
He tells me of redundancies at work and I look past him, imagine bouncing round this vast space like a rubber ball. Tourists and business men scream as I head straight for them, a human sphere shouting, It's okay! You aren't in any danger!
He must notice I'm not listening because he starts pulling on my ear lobes in a way that means affection. His handsome eyes lock onto mine and I can't say they don't have an effect.
- I just want things to work out for us. We can't run off to Japan just because you like sushi. We have responsibilities.
I scoff by mistake and he lets go of my earlobes.
When we get home Fred prints out our joint bank statement. Look, he says, like I could be unaware of our finances.
At dinner I present him with a pile of credit card offers and Hello Kitty! rubbers, enjoying this creative communication.
It makes him angry.
- Why do you collect this shit?
While he shows me his anger I imagine we're on Win, Lose or Draw with Burt Convy cheering us on. Fred holds up a picture of a fist and I hold up a picture of a man cringing. An explosion. The titles run.
Later when Fred apologises I smile. Tomorrow I'll board a plane to Kyoto with a thousand dollars from the joint account. That's a hundred and six thousand yen, give or take.
And somewhere else the last unicorn might be running, hounded, into the forest, hunters hot on its tail, but tomorrow I get on a plane.
Comments
Dynamaso | July 24, 2008 - 01:34
I believe in the magic too. And there certainly is some in this piece of yours. I particularly liked the part about being a red ball bouncing around Grand Central. What an imaginative image that is.
tcook | July 25, 2008 - 10:04
I don't know. I'm all for magic realism, and this fits very neatly into that genre, but I'm not sure that this one really works. The characters are too universally opposed to have been together for any time - and they both come out of it as pretty unlikeable.
Oh dear, am I being anal about magic realism?
chelseyflood | July 26, 2008 - 21:28
Thanks Dynasmo. I quite like the idea of it too.
I think this is probably speculative fiction rather than magic realism as it's just the narrator's imaginings rather than actual magic in the world. He just wants the magic.
I don't think your being anal, Tony, this just isn't for you. You're entitled to your opinion as sure as eggs are eggs.
I see what you mean about the two being universally opposed. The way I picture it though, they USED to get on so well they didn't notice the VAST differences in their personalities. They were so busy cooking for each other and canoodling that they ignored the things they didn't want to see in each other. It took them a long time to really see each other, for Jake to realise that he actually isn't benefitting from this relationship with Fred at all.
Interesting that neither seemed likeable to you, Tony, I quite like Jake. Does anyone else like Jake? I am very interested to know... All comments greatly appreciated.
jlb | August 11, 2008 - 11:17
I kind of like Jake a little, even at the end, although I do feel a sort of secondary sympathy for Fred, as though this isn't the first time they have had such a conversation. I really liked the line "...enjoying this creative communication" as if Jake is blind to the point of naiveté about the relationship.