An experimental dormitory romance is expressed through open window correspondence. Players: two eighteen-year-old child-women. They are rehearsing for the real love life would eventually bring them. Results: tenderness, rusty nails and six legs.
In studio we were staying up late bending and splitting 1x1 wood to form full body masks. It was a terrible terrible splintery assignment and we weren't allowed to use anything but zip ties to hold our creations together... absolutely no glue or nails or screws. Mistake followed after mistake wore at our belief in ourselves as artists and we began to get silly by pushing each other around in a battered shopping cart that had appeared in studio. The florescent lights of studio and the scent of slivers was getting to us so we ventured outdoors.
Out there the autumn had descended from the sky in preparation of the witching hour which was soon the come. Everything was a thick wet blue and fallen leaves stuck to the bottom of our shoes. Damp as the hill across the way was Rite and I decided to somersault down it.
We both had on those pleated tennis style skirts, mine was purple and hers was green. We looked like cupcakes rolling down that hill. I was very aware of how we must have looked.
And there was someone there at that late hour watching us.
He was leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette, a matted long hair blond in ripped clothes and a gleeful smirk. A twinkle from his eyes pushed through the mist and illuminated the two of us ladies. A lion looking for a girlfriend. I knew individual auditions would be coming soon enough.
Mine came first. In the communal living area on my dorm floor there was a floor to ceiling window that I would draw the view from every night before bed. There I was drawing the big tree and the benches below when he appeared with another cigarette. He was beautiful with his nearly dreaded hair from lack of good personal hygiene, lithe and crouching like a ghoul on a bench. He looked up! He saw me, smiled and waved. And then he disappeared. I could hear the entrance door slam downstairs, he had a way with sneaking into i.d. sensitive doors. Everyone I knew said he was a drifter who slept illegally under a table in the under-utilized dorm gallery. He was geriatric too, like 21 and in his first year of college with us.
I heard the elevator beep and get closer. It opened on my floor and there he was with that mischievous grin of his. He sat down next to me and I don't remember anything he or I said except that I asked him what he thought about reincarnation. I wrongly assumed that reincarnation is the sort of thing you're supposed to ask about to please hungry lions. In fact this lion bent his head and excused himself. He took the stairs down.
Not long after the basket arrived outside my window, dangling a little too low. Inside was this one-legged rubber skeleton and cigarettes. Rite, my true dove knew I unlike her was not a smoker, and I picked them up to see if there was some sort of a trick.
"Those are for Rite! But you can have the skeleton!" Called the lion from below beaming love rays, which I saw for real.
All of a sudden my true Dove above wrote me less and less. She was the lion's girl.
And now they are married, and he is combed and deodorized. They are the parents of a three-legged cat. Life is crazy.