I’m familiar with this field. I’ve been to several baseball games, and know that people are out there, behind the outfield, hidden in the woods. I watch the trees and see something move in the highest branches, which makes a feeling quicken in me. A man slips through and walks in my direction. He’s shaped wrong, like a cone, has messed up teeth, and leaves a trail in the beach sand that’s spread across the field and pooled in front of me. I could fall over, but I don’t want to touch anything. How did he know, I think, how did he know where to find me? Once he’s close, he opens his hands and green lizards, big as mice, run toward and all around me. They’re blind and screaming and running up and down my body. They aren’t screaming in fear or anything like that. It’s heartsick. They had to stop belonging to something else in order to belong to me, and I wish I could give them back. Their sadness is terrible. The man stays to watch, and I think I’m experiencing an annunciation. Eventually, the lizards are too tired to run, but they still scream and cry on the ground at my feet, ripping their arms and legs from their bodies, and I feel responsible for the entire world.
* * *
I meet Christopher’s new girlfriend in glasses and tell her, It’s so good to meet you. I say it again and again and again, until she wants a drink. When I think she can’t hear us, I say, Christopher, I thought you were gay. His girlfriend in glasses returns and cannot make up her mind. Did I or didn’t I do anything? Christopher says, Hmmmmm? He has always been very theatrical. He has a cake but can’t offer it. I go out to the car and put all of the seats down. I cannot remember the girlfriend in glasses’ name. I wouldn’t. Some of the seats I remove completely and leave on the sidewalk. I lie down in the empty car. I need to.
* * *
I’m smoking. Marianna won’t. We watch kids get Barbie cars stuck in the snow. Their coats are pointy and stuffed. They’re playing for us and make sure we can hear. A couple of the kids are blue and massive and can hardly fit their misshapen bodies in the Barbie cars, but the normal-sized kids don’t mention it, and Marianna also seems to not notice. One of the blue kids waves at me, and her face is shaped like a wild cat. Marianna blows into her mouth cup and claps her hands. I want to beg her, but I won’t disturb her or anyone else with what I know. A man I used to love is glad to see me instead of cautious. He also doesn’t mention the kids. Marianna remembers the man I used to love differently. I’ve never seen him in winter. He says, What are you doing here? He has so many memories. Will I pop his life back like I used to? But I’ve never popped it back before. I touch it, his back, and don’t want to continue touching it, but it’s clear that he’s in pain. He instructs me how and describes what I used to do.
* * *
The kids come back having seen another world. It’s very red, they say, which makes me jealous. I ask them to describe it, tell me more, but they keep telling me it’s very red. They work their asses off, they say, and deserve it. But this doesn’t mean a lot to me. The children line up to wash their faces. I’m not taking any chances. I’ve still got a headache. Somebody stole my money. I don’t really know what the big picture is here, or if there is one.
I’m traveling and don’t want to be seen. But nothing can wait. Blonde women interview me for jobs I don’t want. The pay is bad and the responsibilities are insane. I can’t recall when I first felt annoyed. I am dressed in white and have an awkward gait I don’t want them to see. Before I can tell them the truth, I hear the words, Mama, come down from there — who said this? — and there she is, my mother, it turns out, leaning from a second story balcony, dropping food. I jump. The women don’t understand what will happen and how scared I am. The room gets humid and distracted.
* * *
I put a girl on my shoulders and her crotch is cold and wet and smells alcoholic. I flip her off, as a joke, or a game, but she gets chicken winged. She cries out, Ow ow ow. Tumbles down. A mess. She kicks me right in the nose.
* * *
I want to move a boulder. A squirrel is painted on it and a large hole is bored through, so it looks like the hole comes directly out of the squirrel’s asshole. I want to lift the boulder via helicopter and take it to a different location. Because of the way the boulder is positioned, the bottom of the hole is blocked. Something can only go inside, and nothing can come out, which is a problem, because I want to crawl through the hole, top to bottom, so that it looks as if I’m coming out of the squirrel’s asshole. But no one will lift the boulder via helicopter for me. I sit on a hill in dead grass and watch other things get moved via helicopter — houses, trees, etc. — and hope they’ll find time for my boulder.
* * *
I’m a student. During the class, I follow people with a broom and sweep and make sure everyone has supplies. When everyone goes outside, I put the broom down. I startle myself. I don’t have to do that anymore. A girl in a green dress receives a phone call. Her grandfather has died, and her father and sister are there; they rush to hug her. The girl in the green dress crumbles as her father says, But you didn’t like him, no one did. Her father looks small and caged — no bigger than her. The girl in the green dress says that she’s crying for a lot of things. I’m supposed to know about all the paintings on the walls and teach people about them as they enter. It’s a side job. I wish the girl in the green dress would stop crying and feeling sorry for herself. Her dead grandfather is here now, in a box, and in no time, he comes back into his face, and there’s a little rhythm in his shaking hands. I tell someone that one of the portraits was not made with paint, but with bars of different colored soaps. This man in the crowd says to me, while looking at the painting, You don’t like it? But I do.
* * *
There are two houses on the compound. Both are small but have very tall, pointy ceilings. Smoke and smells rise and hover there. I want to leave without being seen, but our window opens to a white stone fence. I know that there are hills beyond it. I’m staying in one house, with a friend but do not recognize her. In fact, I do not look at her once. There is a family on the compound, in the house next to us, and a teenage boy is there. The teenage boy flirts with my friend, and the father is disgusted. We’re loud and drunk for weeks and keep everyone from sleeping. The father refuses to speak to or look at us, and his clothes are the color of stone, so is his skin. He opens his mouth, and it’s the color of hot sauce. I’m afraid he will bite. It’s one more reason why we have to leave in the middle of the night. Even I am annoyed by our patio echoes. I pee in front of the family’s car. The teenage boy watches us from the window. It’s cold but the wind brings my aggravation to happiness. I know that we’ll disappear soon, me and this friend, go off like dogs.
