Recreating the Snow Child part 2
This is the second part of the exercise.
(Giggle – I love her giggle, that semi-squeaky sound when my fingers tickle her right here; love it love it love it, know I’m going to remember it. Can’t forget it no matter how far my waves take me.)
(He smells like he always should, smells strong, but he isn’t and it fools my nose every time, then I feel his fingers tickle me right here and I can’t help but giggle at it all, and mostly his smell; I know I’ll remember it.)
- Gary, stop it…
- You’re saying you want me to stop?
- Gary, you’re a bastard. Come on, stop it, stop it!
- Oh – oh, you want me to – sorry, I don’t – no, I don’t fully get what you want – what is it you want me to stop?
- Gary! Come on, just – right, I’ll bite –
- Oh – oh, is that what’s happening now? Threats of – violence, is it?
- Yeah, it is, so stop it or-
- Or what? Bring it. Come on. Bring it.
- Gay sailor.
- Art student.
- Shut up.
- You shut up.
(You close my eyes with your lips. I – it’s honestly an involuntary reaction. They just close when you lean in to kiss me. I’ve never ever kissed you with open eyes. Don’t think I want to, but it’s – it’s just odd. Or is it, I don’t – never mind.)
- When are you going to be back?
- You’ve asked me this…
- I know. But when are you going to be back?
(Sigh and he leans back, theatrical, looks up at the ceiling, rolls his eyes. Arms still round me. Warm.)
- What’s wrong with May?
- It’s – ages away, that’s what’s wrong with May.
- It’s not that long.
- Yes it is! It’s five fucking months, how is that not long?
- We’re in Winter. It’s Spring. Next season. That’s not long.
- Shut up. Spring’s rubbish anyway. It’s just there to get you excited for Summer and Summer here’s just like Winter anyway so it’s useless. Don’t like it.
- What’s not to like?
- I just told you, you stupid sailor.
- Art student. Shut up. Seriously, Spring’s awesome.
- No it isn’t.
- Yes it is.
- No it isn’t.
- So is.
- It so is? Do you even speak English?
- Me speak good England words.
- Ha ha ha. Shut up.
- Alright. What if I told you that Spring is the month of love?
- I’d say go away, you gay sailor. Or I’d say, get a real job, you fucking hippy.
- Chill out, man. Come on, don’t harsh out.
- Your impressions are rubbish.
- I know. That’s why I need to practice them.
- Do it in front of a mirror.
- No. But yeah, Spring – really, it’s the month of love.
- Oh yeah?
- Yeah. Spring – right, Summer’s like – Summer’s post-coital. It’s so lazy, the evenings are like, like the air and the earth just lying down and sleeping. You know? And when it’s really hot, they’ve just had an argument and the air’s pissed off and – and then in the Autumn, the air starts to get bored because the earth’s getting tired, all the leaves are turning, it’s like an old man, no stamina…
- Sounds familiar.
- Please, don’t interrupt my story with your petty vulgarities. This is art. Where was I… yeah, Autumn, earth’s tired, still sleepy, air’s getting bored so she leaves and goes looking for greener pastures – which is a bit unfair, if you ask me, but – I digress – so they’re apart, they’re split and there’s this chill between them, this cold – but then, in Spring, air remembers that she loves earth and she comes back and they have make-up sex and all the babies are born, the fertility’s in the air, everything comes around. Spring is when the earth and the air remember they love each other, and show it.
- What’s that mean?
- It means that’s a load of bullshit.
(Fall over laughing. Really fall over – but not because we’re laughing, just because we’re happy; I’m happy, you’re happy, I know you’re happy, I can feel your heart beating more than I can feel mine, and – we’re both so happy. I love you. Love you. We will, we will be back together, in May. May. Spring. The month of love, I – I believe that. I know you do too. Know you do. Love you.)
- Yes, Jennifer my darling, my love, light of my life, my most dear of all… something?
- I don’t want you to leave.
- I know.