Things that Happen on a Wednesday

I.

You are constantly eating your words. Do they taste good? Is that why you do it so often? Sometimes I feel like you can’t help it. Sometimes that can be better than saying them. You cannot control your words. They come out so rapidly, so many at once, that you have to start chewing them, instead of speaking them. You chew and you choke and you swallow and digest. Your bladder must be full of words. There is probably a new language hiding out there.

But there are times when I wish you would just spit it out. I want to stand over you, reach my arms down your throat and pull those words out of your gut before they get digested. Before they get digested and turned into something new.

I want to hear what you have to say, but sometimes it is hard to understand you with your mouth full.

II.

I went to order my food.

He touched my hand when I handed him your card.

Maybe he didn’t know it was your card.

III.

The chair started out light in my arms. I felt like I was the parade marshal. Behind me was a marching band consisting of stolen utensils, stranger’s keys, sticky bottle caps and a youth’s soda tabs. We marched on. There was no set rhythm, no sheet music to be followed.

The chair grew heavy in my arms. The streets were empty. No one peered out through lit windows. Only the barren trees and their pile of leaves could enjoy the sounds.

No one tried to rain on my parade.