CHALK TEETH, BALD EYES by Erin Cooper
HIM:
She’s sitting on the bar with that stupid grin she always gets when she’s drunk, and I get the urge to slap her. Instead, I down the rest of my cheap beer, grab her by the neck and stick my tongue down her throat. “Lets go home” I growl, and she jumps down from the scarred wood, her tits almost spilling out of her too small shirt. In the car, she sticks her little white feet on the dashboard and lights yet another cigarette, the smoke caressing her fat smeared red lips and twirling out the cracked window. The night is completely dark, the moon hiding behind a rough dark cloud, purple with sleep and too lazy and fat to slither forward. The car’s dim lights barely show the way ahead but we’ve made this drive many times before and no matter how drunk I may (right now very), I won’t fuck up. We get home and push forward through the piles of clothing and empty cans to our room. I push her against the cedar chest of drawers, and bury my face in the nape of her neck, her dark curling hair sighing against my nose.
HER:
Look at this old fucker in front of me. His beard is unruly, and his green eyes are turning a mean yellow in this dim bar light. It’s always the same thing, always the same night. We drive to the same crap bar, full of smoke and friends and strangers, fat thin bald hairy, all vying for a fucking drink. Sometimes if we have quarters left over from laundry we’ll play pool, but usually we just drink until these stupid fucking lights don’t matter, until its time to go home and fuck ( I don’t call it making love anymore) and sleep. The same damn thing almost every night. I thought moving away from the city to this little hick down would be a sweet deal. Get back to my roots with the locals and all that bullshit. I found this place about two hours out of the city, but I feel like I’m on a whole different planet. I met him at the filling station. I was stuffing my purse full of mints and chocolate, and he was quietly drinking a beer in the corner. Our eyes met, and I thought he’d be different. His eyes had an alert, sharp look, his jaw was strong through the scruff covering it, and he looked good. I took him home with me, and he never left. Like a fucking stray dog. I love him, Lord knows I do, but all the excitement and tender feelings I once felt are gone. After only a year and a few months, he’s become way too comfortable for my taste, thinking the past attraction is enough to hold me. His eyes are still sharp, but they’re becoming blurred around the edges, the domesticated eyes of a house cat who doesn’t have to catch mice anymore. I’m leaving soon and he won’t talk about it, but he knows. He probably thought we’d get married, and produce little hooligans that would just continue the same dumb cycle were going through. Thinking about that makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time. He interrupts my train of thought, grabs my neck and kisses me hard, like a punch to the mouth, a razor blade to the tongue, the silvery grit taste of a rusty tin can. It’s time to go.
HIM:
The moonlight has come back and brought with it rain. She’s opening the windows in the room, her body giving off a hazy rose glow. She’s still so young, fifteen years my junior, but she knows and feels so much more than I do. I can’t understand why she can’t be happy with this life, our only concerns food and alcohol and sex. Our rent is cheap, I will be promoted to site manager soon, and she has a knack for pulling money out of thin air. When I came tonight her looking glass eyes were open, and I had to close mine so she couldn’t see the pure hatred and devotion I feel for her. I hate her for trying to use this town, and me, as an escape. I ain’t no vacation, I’m a good man god damn it. I know I’m not the smartest, but I’m still skin and bone and blood and guts all the same. I work hard and I treat her good. I sing her every song I know, listen to all her stories, and buy her all the smokes and whiskey she wants. Shes an odd bird but I love her, I do, and I swear to god the moment she leaves me I got a rifle in the lock box in my truck, with a bullet waiting to eat my brain. I’d rather die than pick up the pieces of me she’ll leave behind. She’s the red hot devil in woman form, walkin among us like it ‘taint nothin, but at least I got licked by fire once in my life. I fall asleep nuzzled up against her chest, while hot tears as hard as diamonds fall through my squeezed shut lids, trailing down her lovely body. I love her.
HER:
Once we’re home he fucks me doing all the same moves as before. He’s becoming lazy, he’s becoming one of them, stupid and content in the entirety of his life. He forgets I’m not from here, that I’ve slept naked on volcanic beaches, drank peyote tea in the dusty red hills of Mexico, pulled bugs as big as his hands off my body in tropical forests. I love him, but not enough to stay here and let my brain run out through my nose, until I forget who I was, who I am, who I will become. He thinks I’m cheap, but I only wear these synthetic bargain finds to fit in and to lessen his anger at me for not being born into this white trash life he and the rest of the town glorifies. The women all talk, and the men all stare. No matter how hard I try, I can’t swallow my accent, and can’t cook taters just like his mama used to. I can’t pretend like I don’t miss my freedom. He’s a wonderful man, and deserves a woman with child bearing hips and bread making hands. Tomorrow, while he’s at work building yet another identical house that will be filled with identical memories, I’ll burn these ugly clothes. My bags, the few that I have, are packed and ready to go in my car’s trunk. I’m starting to feel a bile-like hate for him, and I feel a wetness on my stomach before drifting off to a dreamless sleep.
//ww
She’s sitting on the bar with that stupid grin she always gets when she’s drunk, and I get the urge to slap her. Instead, I down the rest of my cheap beer, grab her by the neck and stick my tongue down her throat. “Lets go home” I growl, and she jumps down from the scarred wood, her tits almost spilling out of her too small shirt. In the car, she sticks her little white feet on the dashboard and lights yet another cigarette, the smoke caressing her fat smeared red lips and twirling out the cracked window. The night is completely dark, the moon hiding behind a rough dark cloud, purple with sleep and too lazy and fat to slither forward. The car’s dim lights barely show the way ahead but we’ve made this drive many times before and no matter how drunk I may (right now very), I won’t fuck up. We get home and push forward through the piles of clothing and empty cans to our room. I push her against the cedar chest of drawers, and bury my face in the nape of her neck, her dark curling hair sighing against my nose.
HER:
Look at this old fucker in front of me. His beard is unruly, and his green eyes are turning a mean yellow in this dim bar light. It’s always the same thing, always the same night. We drive to the same crap bar, full of smoke and friends and strangers, fat thin bald hairy, all vying for a fucking drink. Sometimes if we have quarters left over from laundry we’ll play pool, but usually we just drink until these stupid fucking lights don’t matter, until its time to go home and fuck ( I don’t call it making love anymore) and sleep. The same damn thing almost every night. I thought moving away from the city to this little hick down would be a sweet deal. Get back to my roots with the locals and all that bullshit. I found this place about two hours out of the city, but I feel like I’m on a whole different planet. I met him at the filling station. I was stuffing my purse full of mints and chocolate, and he was quietly drinking a beer in the corner. Our eyes met, and I thought he’d be different. His eyes had an alert, sharp look, his jaw was strong through the scruff covering it, and he looked good. I took him home with me, and he never left. Like a fucking stray dog. I love him, Lord knows I do, but all the excitement and tender feelings I once felt are gone. After only a year and a few months, he’s become way too comfortable for my taste, thinking the past attraction is enough to hold me. His eyes are still sharp, but they’re becoming blurred around the edges, the domesticated eyes of a house cat who doesn’t have to catch mice anymore. I’m leaving soon and he won’t talk about it, but he knows. He probably thought we’d get married, and produce little hooligans that would just continue the same dumb cycle were going through. Thinking about that makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time. He interrupts my train of thought, grabs my neck and kisses me hard, like a punch to the mouth, a razor blade to the tongue, the silvery grit taste of a rusty tin can. It’s time to go.
HIM:
The moonlight has come back and brought with it rain. She’s opening the windows in the room, her body giving off a hazy rose glow. She’s still so young, fifteen years my junior, but she knows and feels so much more than I do. I can’t understand why she can’t be happy with this life, our only concerns food and alcohol and sex. Our rent is cheap, I will be promoted to site manager soon, and she has a knack for pulling money out of thin air. When I came tonight her looking glass eyes were open, and I had to close mine so she couldn’t see the pure hatred and devotion I feel for her. I hate her for trying to use this town, and me, as an escape. I ain’t no vacation, I’m a good man god damn it. I know I’m not the smartest, but I’m still skin and bone and blood and guts all the same. I work hard and I treat her good. I sing her every song I know, listen to all her stories, and buy her all the smokes and whiskey she wants. Shes an odd bird but I love her, I do, and I swear to god the moment she leaves me I got a rifle in the lock box in my truck, with a bullet waiting to eat my brain. I’d rather die than pick up the pieces of me she’ll leave behind. She’s the red hot devil in woman form, walkin among us like it ‘taint nothin, but at least I got licked by fire once in my life. I fall asleep nuzzled up against her chest, while hot tears as hard as diamonds fall through my squeezed shut lids, trailing down her lovely body. I love her.
HER:
Once we’re home he fucks me doing all the same moves as before. He’s becoming lazy, he’s becoming one of them, stupid and content in the entirety of his life. He forgets I’m not from here, that I’ve slept naked on volcanic beaches, drank peyote tea in the dusty red hills of Mexico, pulled bugs as big as his hands off my body in tropical forests. I love him, but not enough to stay here and let my brain run out through my nose, until I forget who I was, who I am, who I will become. He thinks I’m cheap, but I only wear these synthetic bargain finds to fit in and to lessen his anger at me for not being born into this white trash life he and the rest of the town glorifies. The women all talk, and the men all stare. No matter how hard I try, I can’t swallow my accent, and can’t cook taters just like his mama used to. I can’t pretend like I don’t miss my freedom. He’s a wonderful man, and deserves a woman with child bearing hips and bread making hands. Tomorrow, while he’s at work building yet another identical house that will be filled with identical memories, I’ll burn these ugly clothes. My bags, the few that I have, are packed and ready to go in my car’s trunk. I’m starting to feel a bile-like hate for him, and I feel a wetness on my stomach before drifting off to a dreamless sleep.
//ww