Portrait: Charish Halliburton
She always wanted to do something criminal and dynamic. Robbing a convenient store was on top of that list.
With jerky in her pockets, she’d scream: “Give me the f**king money, motherf**ker!”
That was something she wanted to say.
But she favored misdirection in life and was never good at yelling at folks. Exclamation
points, however, she was not afraid to use.
She always wanted to go to places that were spacious
and smelled funny. Some place far off, a place that required vaccinations and water purification tablets.
She wanted her luggage lost and to be kidnaped by guerillas. Her family could make pleas on the Today Show with Matt Lauer.
But familiarity has a strong hold on her and she hated missing modes of transportation. However, she was a pro at taking the bus to and fro.
She always wanted to talk to insane people, the kind that she could dismiss when she was tired. The sort that knew when Jesus would return
“Could you be a dear and tell me if that man the blue dog is still following me?” “Are you LBJ?”
“I’ve got mashed potatoes in my pocket, want some?”
But voyeurism is more appropriate. She wasn’t
allowed to talk to strangers. She would do them the favor, however, of making them into haunting portraits.
She ignored me and pressed her lips to the sun’s forehead, where the climate is more temperate than I had previously believed. My dog could hear the approaching trot of green. While I couldn’t see it, I could definitely smell it. The olfactory division of my face was on high alert. So were my toes.
Her chortle was like ten infants rolling around in the hay. Nutty and creamy. She gave the sun a bear hug, I’m certain it was uncomfortable by the gesture. Persons of astute wisdom can roll blunts quicker than they can tie their cravats. I’ve stuffed my lasagna full of wisdom. Let’s eat.
When she did a headstand on the sun’s belly I was beside myself. What grace? I usually like my cars organic, but Prius will do. My cup-holders are on the roof, my café au lait is securely tucked away in the glove box with my semi-automatic rifle. I feel jealous and completely rational.
Imagine my demise when I saw her intimately touch the sun’s skin. She’s brash, a rebel, and dangerous. I can’t have her on the force. Hand over the gun and badge. Aww chief! Put the safety on your finger. We don’t want any accidents. Not like last week. She passed the baton to me via the helios star, made millions of years ago to make me colored.
Kiss off. I can’t see the trees for the forest. And they said my detail was blurry. My eyes are only blurry, so suck it. I’m building rapport with the children on my block and I now know why they vandalize Chip Wade’s bushes. I won’t tell you though. Build your own rapport.
I’ve taken the liberty of adding peas to the brisket. It gives the meat a country feeling you lack. She rolled her eyes and fell asleep on the center of my universe. I’ve the distinct feeling that she’s not listening. I was going to have a harmonica interlude, but my lips don’t want to work like they used to. Silly slackers.
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