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fyn gula
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"it was in adolescence that rain fell in what seemed to him an endless downpour," the old woman said, talking to copello on the stone steps of her gingerbread house. she was thinking back on a conversation she had with maylay at the libbey bowl in ojai, california, in which they discussed the events that led up to his reception of a heart that could love. "if he was the tin man, that's when he rusted, his junior and senior year of high school. his dad was in a mental institution, his brother was away at college, his mum was an anxious wreck, and he, with axe lowered and inactive, was frozen in the position of apathy, lethargy, and indolence.
"when did he ask for the oil can?" copello asked, remembering when the tin man's silver lips didn't open as he murmured the immortal words, "oil can!"
"it was always there on the ground but no one was available to use it," she said watching the siamese cats run off towards helin and the old man. copello noticed he had also changed his clothes, just t-shirts. instead of it saying "weezer," there was a flaming "w."
"was it sky who oiled him?" copello asked, and he knew he was correct, because sky was the girl he met when he was eighteen and eventually married.
"absolutely," the old woman said, clapping her hands. "you are not so stupid after all." copello was beginning to become irritated with her ribald tendacies. "he fell head over heels for the doe-eyed, chestnut browne-haired girl who shared his affinity for sylvan surroundings. they hiked in the melting snow and hide & seek fog. she let him fuck her on a bed of wild flowers, and they told stories to each other beside a fire of twigs they pulled from the woods."
"what did you say? she let him fuck her?
isn't that a little disrespectful?" copello asked, wondering if this lady was someone's gram and if she was, he doubted if she was the type who served rye bread with butter and tea or made nut rolls from scratch.
"were they married yet?" she asked, and her eyes were beads of demand.
"no." copello said, his head sinking into his shoulders.
"alighty then," she sighed, crossing her chubby arms. "she let him."
copello ran his hands up his face and into his hair. the humidity turned it into snake-like, shoulder length curls.
the shutter high was winding down. the old woman seemed to notice and gave him another piece. in seconds he was buzzing right back where he was previously.
"and when they woke to the sound of curious deer," she said continuing her story of maylay and sky. "he knew this would be the woman he would marry, for he was given a heart, and he knew the only way to keep it would be to give it to her."
and she was quiet for a long time. so long that the sun set on the sea and copello swore he could hear it sizzle. and that's when the old woman began to sing...
"your love is like holy wine, it tastes so bitter and so sweet. oh i could drink a case of you and i would still be on my feet."
maylay listened and the singing was the most beautiful thing he ever heard and he realized she was singing in reference to maylay and sky now, even after 21 years of marriage and the raising of three daughters.
"maylay is always begiining the world," he said, and the old woman nodded her approval. "he crushes hours to dust."
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010904
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