push

PUSH BACK, step back. Moving backwards as if through water. So many things had happened before I wound up downstairs. What even was this place? A cellar? A dungeon? A Venetian vault? All of the walls were blue-tiled mosaics. The air as cold and as holy as a saint’s crypt. Can’t you feel that cool, holy air? There were dark and shady characters there. From this little crowd she emerged with a hungry, incandescent glow in her eyes. “You,” she said. “You!” She pushed me back and I floated back, and with every push back I became only more excited. I liked her. I liked how she pushed me. I liked the way her tiger-happy face curled up as she did it, with all of its grotesque freckles. I liked her blue shirt, loose and open at the top, the way she flowed out of it all hot white. I liked to be pushed around by her. I had no more sincere desire. “Oh, I have been wanting to do this to you forever,” she said. “Then do it,” I said. “Show me your ego.” That was my own trick. The more she pushed me, the more I surrendered up to her, the stronger I became. The more she devoured me, the more I dissolved. Until there was nothing left but water. And there’s nothing lovelier than water. Just go ask Jacques Cousteau.