Opposite Day
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oPPOSITE dAY ____________ A Thesis Presented to The College of Arts and Sciences Ohio University ____________ In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for Graduation with Honors in English – Creative Writing ____________ by Ben Guenther November 2009 This thesis has been approved by the Department of English and the College of Arts and Sciences ________________________________________ Mark Halliday Professor of English ________________________________________ Dr. Benjamin Ogles Dean, College of Arts and Sciences oPPOSITE dAY Ben Guenther CONTENTS 01 An Introduction A. POETRY The Difficulty of Kicking a Habit 04 To Let I. Maybes and the Nice Guy Fallacy 06 The Difficulty of Kicking a Habit 07 Maybes (For the Girl in Seat 18D) 08 Stationary 09 How They Get Along 10 Lebanese Bombshell 11 The Romance of Starving Artists (PB&J) 12 Inscription To Be Written Inside An Overdue Library Book 13 Dating II. Doppelgänger 15 On Blowing It With the Same Girl Twice 16 It Starts a Tropical Depression 17 Another Poet's Woman Once 18 Vagary III. Venus Karma 20 Carpe Diem 21 Lady Predication 22 There Are Days the World is Set Against You 23 The Move-On Cycle 24 Olfactory Memory Has a Minimum 13-Year Shelf Life IV. Fiorella 26 About This Lovely One Night Stand 27 Post-Show Depression 28 Before Waking 29 Glom 31 She Makes Scones for Jane Austen Tea Parties 32 Meeting for Cocktails to Say Goodbye 33 Twenty-First Century Chivalry 34 Musa Italiana V. Hope Less, Romantic 36 Inscription Found Inside a Copy of Neruda’s Twenty at a Library Book Sale 37 Relationship in Eight Moves 39 Novelty 40 Portland, 7pm 41 Purge 43 Chopping Block Epilogue 45 On Kicking This Habit B. NONFICTION 46 I Can Live With The Days I Won’t Die 1 An Introduction In elementary school, there was one game that we played time and again that extended beyond the confines of the playground: “Opposite Day.” There wasn’t much to it, really, both in terms of structure and outcome. One would make a statement to someone else, and after that individual reacted to said statement, the initiator responded with “It’s Opposite Day!” That was it; a silly way for us to pass the time before that long-awaited bus ride home. It was a funny game, especially if the class clown had the guts to involve the teacher. In such an instance, an interaction like this might occur: Ernie: I love math, Miss Vaughn. Miss Vaughn: That’s great, Ernie. I’m glad to hear that. Ernie: It’s Opposite Day! The classroom would erupt in laughter, and a lot of times it included the teacher (depending on his or her mood). However, the game could also be cruel. Kids are mean, and “Opposite Day” could be used more as a prank than a game. The kid who always gets picked on is approached by a group of popular kids; one of them says something like “Hey, we want you to be a part of our club” or “We’re having a sleepover tonight – you should come.” Instantly, an innocent childhood game turns into a heartless joke. At times, life can be quite similar. For example, much of what we are taught is a truth about the world is, in fact, the opposite. We have expectations and hopes about life that end up with opposite results. And we often find ourselves saying and doing the opposite of what we’ve told ourselves we would. But just like the ridiculed child who returns to school the next day to face his tormentors, we shake it off and press on toward whatever positive outcomes we might possibly find. Because, in the end, this is just a game. 2 The Difficulty of Kicking a Habit 3 I was about half in love with her by the time we sat down. That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty ... you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. – J. D. Salinger 4 To Let For some forgive, for some forget, but underneath both understand that love is what you let. In case you’ve not discovered yet – whether a woman or a man – some forgive and some forget. But some cannot permit regret, and some bear guilt they cannot stand, yet love is what you let. Perhaps a beer and cigarette, or bruises from a callous hand; yes, some forgive and some forget. Some mussed up hair and stains from sweat, or dirty dishes, pots, and pans. Oh! Love is what you let. You lost the rent on one last bet, and she was caught with some strange man; well, some forgive and some forget. Yes. Love is what you let. 5 I. Maybes and the Nice Guy Fallacy 6 The Difficulty of Kicking a Habit I swore off girls under the age of 25, complaining that those who lack the experience of the Quarter-Century Freak Out are nothing but trouble. Even 24 1/2 doesn’t get it. I’ve done my research + I’ve tested my hypothesis = I’m successful at being unsuccessful. This morning I had a conversation with myself as I walked by an old flame’s old house on my way down that slippery slope of a street of thinking that she was the one and I blew it by not calling her this weekend when she was in town visiting, but reminded myself: She’s short of 25. So that’s it: I mean it this time: I’m not going to date or pursue or be pursued by any girl yet to cross the threshold of age requirement, no matter how much we have in common, like the same bands and movies and food and seeing life in the same light. It’s not going to happen. Venus must have heard my declaration, and conspired with whomever else is up there and likes fucking with the minds and hearts and souls of the single people trying to turn the tables on love by not looking but rather allowing themselves to be found unexpecting: A beautifully witty young woman not much more than 20 strikes up a conversation with me about music and keeps talking and smiling and mentions her favorite band is The Strokes and I admit I like them but don’t own any albums so she says I should make you a mix CD which is exactly what I would do for her if she was 25 and I were the one making the move, but no – she’s the one who’s all over me verbally and when she finally leaves the coffee shop and I’m barricading my thoughts against love and how great a lazy Sunday on her couch might be the barista puts on a CD by The Strokes that begins with “You Only Live Once.” 7 Maybes (For the Girl in Seat 18D) Imagining her foot tapping in unison, crying out for connection, as if saying Me too. Maybe she’s dreaming of romance. Maybe she’s writing a poem. Maybe she’s thinking about joining The Mile High Club. Maybe during the layover in ATL she’ll tap me on the shoulder. Maybe she’ll buy me a drink. Maybe she’s flying to PBI, too, and will need a ride to Jupiter, and I’ll tell her to hop in the car because I’m headed that way. Maybe I’ll take her to Jetty’s for a top-notch dinner on the water. Maybe I’ll ditch my friends for the week and spend it with her on the beach, in the water, at her hotel. Maybe. Perhaps just fascination, perhaps flattery – legitimate and contrived – Maybe she’s reading this over my shoulder and blushing. 8 Stationary You are selling funnel cakes. I really want a funnel cake. I really want to see you. I’m waiting for mine. I’m waiting for you. We’re going to your friend’s place. I’m excited. I’m with you. We’re standing in her room. Her friend is leaving the country. She wants to get her a gift. Something thoughtful. I suggest nice stationery. You add adding addresses would be nice. She loves our idea. I love that it’s ours. We’re still standing in her room. She’s letting us listen to our laughter and Vampire Weekend. “A-Punk.” I like it. I like you. A lot. The way you like someone on the playground: Easily. I think you like me, too. We’re still standing here. Perhaps it’s time we get moving. 9 How They Get Along Daintily she dangles her indulgence, peering up from its presence. First those sweet lips, then the tip of the tongue, caressing incessantly until… She gives me that giggle I’ve grown to love, her fingers fluttering, her stare suggestive. Maybe she just enjoys her food. 10 Lebanese Bombshell In the ideal of fantasy, this is how I imagine you taking in the Nadine Khouri album I lent you, a favor in return for you turning me on to a book that would surprise and inspire me: You lie on your back atop the covers like clouds on your queen size bed, your tinted skin bare and fresh from the bath, dark hair sprawled across the pillow, brown eyes easing narrow and dancing off into the infinite, plush lips creeping upward at each end, body half-turned at the long curve of your hips, left hand craned above your crown, nibbling at the damp locks, the oscillating fan swaying in the corner, kissing the beads of water on your body farewell, your other hand resting over your heart, fingertips tracing the shallow crease beneath your breast as her first gentle note slips through your vintage stereo speakers.