Saturday, September 3, 2011

ConLaw Kid (absorb)

The heavy bench beneath my buttocks keeps me from falling through for a moment. "So this is grounding," I think. "This is what I need." The clouds slowly wade over head into some shape I won't look at. I'm scared of the sight and sights in the sights, the textures in textures. What do I even mean?

A law student walks out of the Law Library, capital L, capital waiting at the end of a few hundred more of these walks he'll take to the dining hall then take to the graduation ceremony. I want to be his shoes. They're moist, because all law shoes are moist. The pressure makes the feet piss themselves, over and over again, until the toes are grandmothers and the shoes become Prada. I think I'll be their shoes one day, but today the bench keeps me grounded, or really, elevated above the ground. I like this state of being.

I wiggle my hat a little as the law student passes. "Spare change for a wealthy law student? Spare change!?" I have money and I always have. In a way I despise these people who want money. They don't know what it's like. They don't know how pathetic it is to be a predator searching for green papers to pay rent or debt, or some other silly concept. The student, in my ConLaw class, five foot seven, about 27 but with gray hairs, looks at me as if unsure as to what I said. He knows what I said. I yelled. it.

"Spare change for a wealthy man? Please suh can I have some moreeeee?!! Put your quarter or fifty in my hat, pleaseee."

"Um do you really need it?" The eyes twitch a bit and he looks back as if hoping to see an exit sign from the situation. None in sight.

"Need? Weird question. Do you not want to help? You see a fellow student asking for your hand to come and rescue them and you ask about need. I need this to happen. Please. Give it to me. Please, please, please, please."

I grab his eyes with mine and clutch them mercilessly, and he cannot look away, slither out of me. Come into this. Oh you're here.  His eyes begin to water a bit and I know those lids wish to close and block me out, let my bench absorb me, the sky collide into me, darkness. Nay say me.

"Okay, fine." He reaches into his wallet that is leather and slightly cracked and full of business cards from all of his prostituting. As he hands me a crisp twenty dollar bill I do my best to give him my most gracious smile: a mild smirk. I get his eyes again, and he backs away, quickly, back into the law library. Hit the books kid.

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