--- C H A N D A J . G L A S S
I knew a woman once whose body couldn't stop talking. All her thoughts winged out through her elbows and the backs of her hands, and because her skin was so eloquent, she seldom pushed noise along the inside of her throat and out of her teeth as most of us do. Magnificent to see. An arch of an eyebrow was a definite "yes," and the droop of an eyelid was a scorching black "no." But it wasn't just simple things her body said. She wasn't binary that way. She could discuss political upheaval in African provinces with a shiver in the small of her spine. A kneecap could tell of her tastes in Renaissance art or favorite brush techniques in the work of Gauguin or her preferences of palates in the work of Monet. She could order lunch with the minor rotation of a shoulder socket. This was her undoing. We'd gone out for fettucini in the late afternoon, and her polite request for garlic bread captivated our waiter. His jaw swung open when she asked for more water. By the time she ordered dessert--triple fudge cheesecake and a large cappuccino--he knew he had to propose. He shoved thesweets on our table and down he went on one knee, flailing his arms like wounded birds, waggling his ears back and forth while his fingers and thumbs yammered frantically about love at first sight. And that ninny said yes. Can you believe it? As if no one else ever spoke with their limbs, as if she'd never again be able to flex her left ankle and have someone read I accept.
© crossconnect 1995-2002
published in association with the |
university of pennsylvania's kelly writers house |