Friday, July 21, 2006

This Morning, the Overlook Hotel

THE GRADY GIRLS [in unison]: Come play with us, Shimmy. The Vet says it might be an intestinal parasite. Come play with us.

[I awaken beneath the footstool. The sentimental look on my face says, "The red laser-pointer dot is replaced over and over by its own disappearance. But its memory remains like a damp cloth or a taste of somebody's yogurt left behind in a bowl."]

SHIMMY: [covers eyes]: I just want to go into the closet, on top Shelly's backpack, and think things over. Or under the bed.

THE GRADY GIRLS: You've had your whole life to think things over, Shimmy. What good's a few minutes more going to do you now? Come play with us.

SHIMMY: I'm fine. Leave me alone. You don't know anything. There is no veterinarian anymore. I made Dr. Kolm move to the suburbs.

THE GRADY GIRLS: Come play with us, Shimmy. Forever . . . and ever . . . and ever.


Blogger Kukka-Maria said...

Those chicks have always creeped me out. Forget the backpack in the closet...get the hell out of there!

3:32 PM  

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