Micrograffiti: Ripple Effect by Stacy Muszynski06/10/2010
The pain didn’t register until later.
At first it was a thought. Not even. This thing blooming in my chest, suffocating, electric.
My dry mouth, all that wet—he took me out for a drink.
I had to drive, his situation being what it was.
I give you two weeks before you do it, said Easy E, her mouth a silent “oh” while she painted her eyelashes. I watched her do one eye then the other. I’m no whore, I said.
It took 13 days.
But before that, the drunk swim in the hotel pool. We weren’t drunk. It just felt that way. His underwear looked like a Speedo. Yeah. I know. But they looked real good. And the groundskeeper came out of nowhere like a ghost, shimmering awful white in the dark. Pool waves leftover, from my body to his and back, flickering over the ghost.
He stood there in those underwear, his hair dripping, between me and the ghost, until I finished dressing.
You are so white, he said, at the airport before we left each other for just about the last time. Sickness does that, I said. But it was my heart attack, he said. Ripple effect.
Stacy Muszynski is no stranger to pool-hopping.