Walt Whitman
I am I am I am that’s what Walt Whitman said. I said, shut up. I don’t want to hear
it. I said, shut your pie hole. I said, you seem nice. I didn’t know what to say to him. I
smiled and showed my teeth. I laughed at the wrong moments. I’m not so angry, really.
I covered my teeth. I showed them. I covered my mouth with my hand to be not gross
when I talked with my mouth full. How goofy is that. How goofy is it that that’s not
polite even though nobody can see your food.
I love everyone around me. That’s what I said to Walt Whitman.
By that time he was drunk. I think he loved me right then.
I went into the bathroom and looked into the toilet bowl. I looked for a litter box,
which I didn’t find. I looked at the toothbrushes. There were three toothbrushes.
The first one was white with a blue green grip for the thumb. The second one had a
transparent red handle. The third had a yellow handle and the bristles were pointing all
over the place.
I looked to see if there were three different kinds of toothpaste, so I could match the
toothpastes with the toothbrushes by personality type. The only toothpaste was a tube
of Aim.
I wanted to brush my teeth but I didn’t bring my toothbrush to Walt Whitman’s
house.
Aim is cheap red toothpaste. I like Arm & Hammer With Baking Soda and Whitening
Peroxide. I still didn’t want to go back out to face Walt Whitman yet. I wanted to
pee but I didn’t have to pee. I considered pouring water from a glass into the water in
the toilet bowl to simulate the sound of me peeing. I didn’t do it. I spit in the toilet.
I was conflicted about whether it was better to leave the tiny bubbles the spit made
floating around on the surface of Walt Whitman’s toilet water, or to flush them and
waste water and also let him hear me flush after he heard me definitely not pee.
I didn’t flush, but I swished the spit around with the toilet scrubber a little bit.
I washed my hands and dried them and put lotion on them, because there was a bottle
of Caswell Massey lotion on the sink.
Is it normal to say that there was half a bottle of Caswell Massey lotion on the sink?
That’s a more accurate way to put it.
I went back into the dining room, where Walt was sitting and writing confessional poetry
for some reason. I said, hey. He looked up. I didn’t know what to say so I sat across
from him and said, can I have another drink. I poured another drink for me because
he said I could but I didn’t pour him one because he didn’t ask me to, and besides, he’d
had enough.
I said, what are you working on. He said, I don’t know yet. That’s the kind of thing I’d
say, maybe. I said, I know exactly what you mean, and smiled and showed my teeth. I
wasn’t sure if I really felt like smiling or if I was just being friendly.
He said, you have such a pretty smile.
I said, shut up you old perv, and laughed.
He laughed. His laugh was loud and possibly uncertain.
He said, listen to this.
I am in love with my feet. I look at them now that I lost all the weight and I say, it’s so
good to see you. Your calluses are yellow and friendly.
He stopped and said, I think we have so much to learn from the Japanese.
I ignored him.
I could tell he was being ironic but I don’t know how I could tell.
I just could.
I wanted to hug him, but I also wanted him to never be ironic again.
He smiled. I smiled and though, he’s so nice, like a big cat.
He said, you’re so nice.
-Alexandra Casanave