Slide - Kyle Beachy [30]
I parked the van in the Hurst cul de sac and followed the walkway into the backyard. Stuart sat on the pool's deck with one foot pulled up against the other leg's thigh. A girl lay facedown on a lounger near the diving board, the strings of her bikini top untied and hanging on either side. Leaves, everywhere, did not rustle in summer's complete stillness.
“If you figure a way to run cars on sweat, my undercarriage alone would bring in a small fortune.”
“Nice, Poot.”
I went inside for a beer, then sat at the deck table and watched my friend stretch. He switched legs and leaned.
“I realized that in order for me to get the most out of my mentation, which is after all my whole purpose for waking up every day, I should maximize harmony between my mind and body.”
“I rely on you to not be fruity” I said.
“Read your Putnam,” he said. “The mind is nothing without the body. Read your Searle.”
“Different mind-body issue,” I said.
“Questions for you. One. Would you, if times and ennui were to get bad enough, would you further consider the option of attending law school?”
“Law school is the escape hatch,” I said. “The rip cord. I will absolutely not go to law school.”
“Good. Considering, next, all of the options you have in the morning, how do you decide which shoes to wear for the day?”
“It's interesting. I find myself caring more about shoes than any other item of clothing. But why? They're so far away from my head, everything about them is base. My shoes are either white, black, or brown. I keep my options limited to minimize the stress of decision.”
Stuart stood and waved his arms in circles. His interest in limbering up made me suddenly aware of my own inflexibility, compounded by repeated heavy and awkward lifting.
“Three. When you think of the transition from day to night, do you see the day giving way to night as if exhausted? As if the sun's main job, to provide light for this world, at some point becomes a responsibility too burdensome for the day to bear? And so each evening the sun and its daytime grant themselves respite and yield to night?”
“I do, actually.” This was in fact remarkably accurate.
And Audrey, is her perception of night, unlike yours, one in which night penetrates day like ink drops in water, a gentle but thorough dissolution of darkness spreading itself across the day? Wherein night is the aggressor, the force to overtake and erase the day?”
“I don't know.”
“Of course not,” he said. “This has been helpful. I am going to stretch my hamstrings now. If you think of anything to add, please speak directly into my asshole.”
I stood and began a walk around the pool. I slowed as I neared the girl. Her hair was brown and straight, pulled to one side of her neck. The undersides of her feet were white with prune and pool-deck dust. She was that nice middle weight, slim but still curved, the sort of body they were beginning to show more frequently on television so we'd all think how refreshing it is to see someone normal for once. Stuart sat at the deck table, sprinkling bits of Relaxation onto two overlapping papers.
“Who's the young lady?”
“Late last night I went shopping for cake mix and found her wandering the aisles in bare feet with the most pleasantly detached look in her eyes. I felt a profound obligation toward meeting her. I said good evening, how are you tonight. She said nothing. I didn't take it personally. Then, when I'm outside getting into my car, she climbs in the passenger door and fastens her seat belt. Hi there. Her name is Marianne and she's from Cuba, Missouri.” He ran his tongue lightly across the joint and set it on the table. “She left town three months ago to come to the big city I get the feeling she's come to find a man. She admitted up front that her mother never taught her to cook.