Soft Handed Snide Examination.

She was born on Mother’s Day. It had to be some kind of sign, it had to be. The one day, where among others, that should take the most important person in your life and turn her into exactly what she should be: a god, a infallible, monument of a woman. Uterine walls contracting, life expelling, beautiful miracle creating women, and she was born on this day. But I probably shouldn’t have told her all this on the first date, not even on the first date, while on the way across the park where we were going to catch a show. A light and breezy play, on a light and breezy summer afternoon with out much investment for either person, and I let this, and mind you is an abridged version of what actually fell out of my mouth, enter the situation. But still she let me call her again. More than that she eventually let me put my penis in her. This isn’t a story about that. It’s not really a story about anything more than an afternoon. An escape. Off Jackson lives this little park, verdant and fresh. When the kids aren’t out playing. It’s not so much as the kids ruin the park, the park ruins them. I’m not talking about the nature of kids vs. park I’m just saying it’s where they’ll take their first illegal substance, it’s where they rub their first erections against each other. Ruination really isn’t the right word, but when you need a park, you need one devoid of kids. It’s common physics, objects in motion stay in motion, and with two objects hurdling through this space, this commotion couldn’t be messed with. Oh yeah, my name’s Ester, not a common name these days, but I wear it well. So there I am, in this park off Jackson, living my life, breathing my air and I knew, I KNEW, this is where I was going to make the escape. Was it the newly blooming flowers, fuck what they’re called, they’re yellow and beautiful. No. Was it soft hills that brought this feeling in me? Probably not, they just make me lazy. It was just, just… the need for motion, it’s the same thing as standing in a doorway, pushing with all your might on the door jam, and when you release your arms, they just, they just move. It’s not even fair to call them your arms at that point, you put up the ‘good fight,’ but the doorway wins. Every time. So I’m wearing this silly little hat, sitting on the grass, Jelly Bean style: Knees pulled up, clutched by my still singing limbs and I see her enter the park from across the street and start heading towards me. I then decided to take this moment to roll a cigarette, I hate getting caught unprepared. Well, I’m rolling this smoke as she sits down, silently besides me. This is why I try to be constantly ready: this awkwardness is hers. I try to scrunch my face up, make it look like I’m trying real hard to roll it, trying to get some of my composure back but no dice. “Hey there two shoes, how goes it?” I grunt an answer, but knowing it was a mistake to behave this way I tremble, then clumsily trip over my own words, ‘great, awesome, nice to see you.’ It seems to net a laugh, and clearly I’ve been over thinking this entire situation. I rolled the smoke too hard, and the paper ripped, and I was at this point in my life where I couldn’t even spare a paper. That felt meaningful for a second, and it was something I tried to remember, but I just rolled a new one instead. That was at least fifty a hundred feet ago, we are now currently under this tree. It’s shade is nice, a great gift so I offered it some of my juice and thought about cannibalism. ‘Do you know my name? ’ ‘No,’ I say with out hesitation, no pause, not a single lash batting. ‘But it doesn’t really matter, we’re currently working on each others identities and in the end we’ll figure out what to call each other.’ “But I know your name,” ‘That doesn’t matter,’ I cut her off, I don’t know if there was more coming but that doesn’t really matter either. ‘Your missing the point, we’re forming realities here. Tearing down initial constructs and making our own. This is where you take the initiative to be who ever you want. You ever lied to some one you just met, about your job, your marital status or what not, and to that person that’s your reality.’ Hit that juice, and continue, but about a quarter missed my mouth and is currently rolling down my chin to meet with my shirt, and I can ignore it. ‘You know my name, and I know your birthday. Can we just start here and get to there?’ I made this cute little shrugging gesture, and a coy face, I’m great at these. I know it sounds a little scripted, but when it’s animated it’s all for fun. I still haven’t seen her eyes, we sat side by side for the first while, and I have this problem meeting peoples gaze. Fuck the ‘window to the soul’ shit,’ I feel when you look in someone’s eyes it’s like a promise, or a period, or an ultimatum. Eyes will get you. She also has that Nico thing going on, and I thought once, about trying to meet her eyes, or have hers meet mine but I was just introduced to dark blonde hair. Hopefully soon enough I can sweep it away from her eyes, that’s really romantic right? Sweeping someone’s hair from there eyes? Or do I just really want to touch her hair? I’m still really undecided on this one. From the edge of my consciousness comes a question, and I feel myself answer, but I couldn’t tell you what I said, cause I enraptured wondering if I was really creepy, or a true Don Juan, strike that, I hate Don Juan, a true blue I guess. “That’s so cool your into genetics, but I don’t really approve of your take on end chain telomere’s,” she says as her voice starts raising in pitch and I feel her start to switch into high gear. I thought we we’re going to be talking about fractals and chaos theory, but I roll with it. ‘No, no, you miss understood me, I’m just trying not to get wrapped up in end of life and death, just it all.’ “But I like it all,” shifting weight to the other foot, I’ve finally come to a solution: just do it, push her hair to the side, see her eyes. “We’re predisposed to have this set life, your DNA is constantly cutting off the useless bits of information, every time it replicates, till it hits something vital, can’t copy, we get old and die. That’s my life cycle, and I’m glad to have it.” The acting of moving her hair and looking into her eyes didn’t have the exact effect I wanted, she had just eaten these books and wanted it to get out as hard and fast as possible. But I did see their hazel color, and the little flecks of green that live inside. Little villages on the savannah, forks on the table, mice in the field. They were beautiful, and in turn, so was I. “ Do you want to actively increase your life span? Don’t reproduce until your old. That’s how it’s done. You pass on what keeps you healthy to your children. Even if your supposed to stay healthy late into life, that doesn’t get passed on. Your body will pass on the information needed to fight diseases and effectively beat natural selection. If you’ve stayed healthy into your seventies, then you pass on that information, your amazing little child will have all that stored knowledge in their gene’s. During the Industrial Revolution farming daughters we’re told to start having babies as soon as possible, what was life span then? Sixty, tops. I know hard lives and harder times weighs into that, but can you see what I’m saying? It’s aged controlled eugenics, simply wonderful.” I did a quick hard halt, a left turn and went in for the attack. ‘Why would I want to do that? There’s simply to many people in the world all ready.’ I leaned in an kissed her. We banged out teeth together some, but in was still a great kiss, only about 3 seconds. I licked her lip a little, the inside, the fleshy part right past the red part and took off running. She was shocked and stunned and maybe peeved or maybe in love, but none of that stopped me from running. I tossed my used orange juice container in the recycling and over my shoulder called, ‘you are Ester too.’