WALKING ON THIN ICE

“Yoo hoo… I’m waiting… I don’t hear you! I’m going to wait!”

Steve’s at the top of the stairs, listening for the washing machine.

“I’m not coming down until I’m sure,” he calls down the stairs, coyly.

“It doesn’t seem to be that much trouble to go down the stairs and check, though, does it?” I ask. “It’s just a few steps. I wonder why it seems so far away though. To me, too.”

“That’s not the point. The washing machine’s playing with me. It’s trying to trick me. Three times I’ve listened to silence and started down, and it would start up again. Last time I waited and waited and then when I got all the way down there it started up again.”

**

Steve’s standing by the window, next to the floor area I’ve protected with a garbage bag so I can do art.

I go over, looking to do something nasty. A little rubber penis sits on the garbage bag floor. We found the penis on the side of the road between Abeilhan and Servian, France. I start jumping on it.

“What is this hostility?” Steve asks.

“Don’t worry, it’s not yours. It’s my penis.”

“Freud says there’re no jokes. Ah, my little ball busting cock stomper.”

I laugh. “Ah, no. I’m a co-quette.”

Steve mock sighs and walks to his computer. He looks up the life spans of vineyards, something we’ve been curious about because of our currently living in South France.

“Aha, the average lifespan of a vine is 30 to 50 years. After that they’re replaced with vigorous, young vines.”

“Hah?” I gasp.

“What are you,” he says, coyly. “Let’s see. You’re 34? You only got a little while left.”

Steve just had his birthday. He says, “But don’t you worry. Look at me. I’m 61. I’m way too old.”

**

I look at what Steve’s doing with his laptop. “Ah, I see you have your parasite there. Does it feel good?”

“It’s keeping me warm,” he says. I sit down next to him to see what he’s working on. He’s reviewing his blog. He’s posted a new picture up of me. I’m sitting in the garden out back. I have my laptop on my lap in the picture.

“Look at my boobs there. They’re sunken.”

“Maybe I’ll start calling them your sunken treasures!”

I laugh raucously.

I pull my computer to my lap. Most days, We spend time together on the couch this way. I’ve joked that we should log on to SecondLife and explore that virtual world together. I’ve also suggested — not jokingly — that we play chess against each other on a virtual Internet chessboard, sitting next to each other with our laptops on the couch.

I read my writing from this morning over and over until I’m nauseated.

“I’m done licking myself,” I tell Steve. “I’m going to go take a bath.”