I call this piece, composed as it is of three entirely unrelated but biographical ideas, "Three True Stories."
-1-
...note to self, re: grooming
Dear Future Dave,
I know that when you don't have someone to impress with your good looks and charm, you tend to basically let yourself go, grooming-wise. You don't comb or trim your hair, and you go in excess of a week without shaving or even using clippers on your beard area. This last is what I mean to address.
-A-
I noticed a woman today. I've seen her and noticed and (though I try to lie to myself about it) admired her before, but this time I found myself really LOOKING. Studying the contours of her face and the shape of her body. She's tall and long-limbed, evoking slenderness without actually being so slender. Her long, dark hair is always as straight as nails. But this time, what I took the most time in noticing was her eyes...
-2-
...the problem, Dave, is that when all you do is give your face a quick scrubbing in the shower and then fail to shave or clip your cheeks and throat areas, you're failing to thoroughly exfoliate the skin there. All kinds of horrible things can happen to skin that gets treated to a cursory scrubbing with a soapy hand and an unceremonious rinse, you know.
-B-
Her eyes are dark and downturned at the outside corners. She smiles so brightly and so widely, her voice carrying for whole city blocks as she laughs and jokes and smiles and projects her lively intellect onto the world. It's really a beautiful thing to listen to her speak and evoke such joy. But I get so distracted by those eyes. They're so dark and distant, the shape of them evoking such sadness...
-3-
...the upshot of all this? Your skin is basically shit. You really should know that. You're doing it no favors, and I'll tell you WHY, Future Dave. Myself and Past Dave ask you to recall the two giant zits on your neck. You know, the ones you found today when you finally decided, "hmm, maybe I'm looking a little prickly"!
-C-
I hate that I might be right about her. That, like me, her wide-mouthed laughter is belying some deep sadness that she won't tell people about. Maybe, like me, she's full of anger and trying desperately to be rid of it. I know she went through a rough time, at least when last I spoke to her. I look at her wide smile and sad, sad eyes and wonder... is it over now? Have you forgiven the person who did you wrong?...
-4-
...well, when you finally picked your lazy butt off the couch and decided to ACT on that little inkling, guess what! Through your negligence of skin care, you sluiced the caps right off of THOSE little Coke bottles full of filth, and now I, Present Dave, have a neck that looks like I just escaped a vampire attack. Two perfectly-spaced little geysers of blood are the pus-filled, well-packaged gifts that Past Dave left me -- and make no mistake, THAT guy's not off the hook either.
-D-
I found myself too shy to talk to her. I could have done, easily, but I was too worried that she was like me. Still angry about past wrongs. Still too injured to trust anyone, even for the kind of light conversation I’d have made with her. And maybe, just maybe, too keen on imposing her own misery onto other people, with a sincere and ugly hope, borne of some pitiful and desperate desire not to be alone, that other people are hurting the way she is. Maybe even hurting worse…
-5-
...so in conclusion, Future Dave, I am of a mind to leap forward in time, looking like a victim of a Twilight sparkle-vamp, to squeeze these gross neck zits and shoot you with pus and blood. Why have I not done this to Past Dave? I have already beaten the shit out of him. This is acceptable to me. But wear this two-pronged badge of honor warily, my friend. Wear it as a reminder that you need to take care of yourself. Because seriously, it looks like Edward Cullen failed to fully puncture your fleshy neck-snood and now you’re doing the sparklepire walk of shame, looking for band-aids. You slob.
-E-
I am so angry at myself...
-6-
Sincerely, wishing you worms in your head,
Present Dave.
-?!-
Today, a little bluebird alighted on the tree near where I usually sit down to write. It felt good to see the creature -- some people would call it a bluebird of happiness. I don’t believe in that sort of thing, good luck and signs and all that, but it was still pleasing to see a little bit of nature settling down and taking a break.
That’s when an awkward, hulking blackbird wheeled in from completely out of nowhere and collided with the bluebird. With a startled tweet, the caromed bluebird used the momentum of being belted off its perch to spread its likely bruised wings to bolt off into the air. Likewise, with a frustrated caw, the blackbird rolled and yawed in the air until it finally got its bearings again, swooping in a low arc that came dangerously close to a head-over-heels ground collision, then wheeling off in another direction.
I had never seen any creature in nature be so clumsy. I was stunned for a moment, amazed that both birds seemed to actually be unharmed despite undergoing the aviary equivalent of getting hit by a bus and running off the road. A few moments also passed with my wondering what someone who believes in luck and signs might have to say about it.
When my surprise wore off, however, and noting that both birds were flapping their wings like they were mostly unhurt but for bruised egos, I chuckled.
“Huh," I said aloud, "black and blue. Ouch.”
Stupid birds.
