Read The Orange Eats Creeps Online
Authors: Grace Krilanovich
The Orange Eats Creeps (17 page)
In another dream, she laid her head down under a willow, its branches arcing against the sky, each dipping down across the night sky to net her with great glowing fingers. Her hair fell in among the weeds, wormed its way in among them. Taking root as glassy stalks, spires signaling the coming dawn. All kinds of animals howled around her. The closer the dogs got the quieter they became, falling into whispers as they touched nuzzle to her ear. She could hear hot animal breath in her ears as they sidled up next to her, settling in for the night. The dogs whispered deathly quiet. Not a stir. Hot breath churning her hair as it fell as if some great glowing tree on the top of a hill was speaking to her. Silence all around. Stupefying. Her eyes grew huge and sparkled at night, bigger and bigger as the alpha dog whispered in her ear. Pristine darkness, engulfing shadow, the grass yielded below her weight, tiny blades spared by the contours of her body humming under the tree, truly alive.
Living on boiled eggs from the gas station. Not much coffee… I’m driven by the most pointless things. That bird squawking over my head knows what I’m talking about. He lives with a dozen other parrots somewhere on the edge of town. They’re all escaped pets and by now they have forgotten how to talk human. Instead, when they’re in the air flying a weird gurgle reverberates through the flock, an echo of an echo filtered through a parrot throat. Mocking the mocker. It’s the sound of aliens, just unreal. Those motherfuckers fly upside down!
The 7-Eleven man screamed at me. Wounded, I ran away despite my lame foot, into the forest. Moths descend on me in the middle of the night. In the morning I wake up with tiny white bites over most of my exposed flesh; their poison liquor colors my whole day. Now I don’t know if what I’m doing or saying is for me or for my moths. I knew there was a tiny comfortable place for me at the center of these ruins and it was an intensely comforting thought. I fingered small pieces of wood in my apron pocket as I walked through the forest, counting out the prayers of our shared language. I buried myself deeper, light seemed to vanish completely amid heavy dark clouds of wet bear fur hanging off low branches. Gore collected at the bases of trees. I was a pathetic organism, pressed to the wall of its orgone cabin of mud and tar, insulated at the cold center of the earth. I had a feeling I would be there forever —
I approached a cabin in the dark. I got too close was pulled inside and experienced a horrible dream.
I went looking for a cat among some I found at a shelter in my foster parents’ yard. Brown pelts lay in small stacked chicken coops in the backyard. Cats slept everywhere. I’d stoop down, call out, and one would emerge from under the porch. After my dream cat started freaking me out I stooped down only to see a slithering cat snake (calico fur) uncoiling under the porch. The thing is, in my waking life I wouldn’t have been afraid of the dream cat. I would have had pity for it, of course… Last summer Kim broke away from the gang and left Peetie, Ronnie, and Rick out of the loop completely — and they withered and died. I’m not even sure if they ever existed. They left no trace.
Dust gathered along strands of my hair, I shook it off. Each piece fell like stars down to the swamp below. I may have stared because I hadn’t seen you in a long time but was wrenched from this gaze by muffled cries from outside. At our camp on the edge of a Portland rail yard a pile of shredded sleeping bags sizzled on top of an extinguished campfire. I could hear a bunch of hippies screaming in the distance under a winter sky that was almost brown. Out here it was turning into late morning. Tight ropes of frozen drool hemmed us inside the camp. Icy fields surrounded us, hanging silently at our feet. I looked down and saw marks made in the mud where a naked old stoner covered in blood was dragged sleeping along a trail. There they were cavorting like so many octopi in the midst of this pungent morass, the men here obscure its waters with their tentacles. Only one of them, a big redhead, dared to plant himself naked in front of me, laughing in my face. His huge balls bounced up and down as he laughed. The sight of the red he-devil disgusted me.
Everything has been a waste. Wasted breath. Leaks sprung, flows away. She’s wet around her eyes and around the corners of her mouth. Drafts of air chill her tears and stain her collar, more than usual. She lies alone on a low stage in the rear of a loud, dark room downtown.
Lying there all these years, waiting for me to discover her.
Moping around like a real teen… realizations settle down at the table to take care of the girl who had actually once been one. An alarm went off, she aired out the fireplace, smoky air swishing around on the linoleum, finding residue sticking to the windows she licked at the side of the house, bladders of mineral-rich salt foam in the shiny letters by the front door. Mineral deficiencies made her weak, anemic, sleeping most of the day, scooping up particles of food, tonguing bits of cream out of the palms of her hands. House Mom brought her bits of material to build up her nest. Carpet swatches, rolls of awning material picked clean. She tells her that she will get very sleepy… in a dream she tells herself that her sleep is old and worn and unrolling like a wise scroll. And that if she is able, she should tell her dreaming self to read what’s written on it… Inside I fell asleep and dreamed that I went to select a cat in a Kitten Center. All I wanted was a black and white one that looked like the cat at the top of the ravine, but the only cat that kept coming up to me was freakish and weird. Nauseating. It was small and grey-brown with a weasel head. Probably very sweet if I had given it a chance, but I didn’t want to be close to it at all. This dream cat kept coming up to me, biting my fingers with its toothless mouth and all I felt were cold gums. It was blind with tiny holes on either side of a big wet nose that was black and not at all shiny. I ran away but the cat would follow me everywhere, always underfoot, and just as suddenly I began to notice other cats everywhere, partially decomposed carcasses half-buried in the sawdust. Kicking up tufts of fur and sawdust I knelt down to a low utility vent on the side of the house and saw a huge calico cat-fur snake uncoiling in the darkness. Endlessly unraveling to reveal no end in sight.
Lying there all these years, waiting for me to discover her.
Moping around like a real teen… realizations settle down at the table to take care of the girl who had actually once been one. An alarm went off, she aired out the fireplace, smoky air swishing around on the linoleum, finding residue sticking to the windows she licked at the side of the house, bladders of mineral-rich salt foam in the shiny letters by the front door. Mineral deficiencies made her weak, anemic, sleeping most of the day, scooping up particles of food, tonguing bits of cream out of the palms of her hands. House Mom brought her bits of material to build up her nest. Carpet swatches, rolls of awning material picked clean. She tells her that she will get very sleepy… in a dream she tells herself that her sleep is old and worn and unrolling like a wise scroll. And that if she is able, she should tell her dreaming self to read what’s written on it… Inside I fell asleep and dreamed that I went to select a cat in a Kitten Center. All I wanted was a black and white one that looked like the cat at the top of the ravine, but the only cat that kept coming up to me was freakish and weird. Nauseating. It was small and grey-brown with a weasel head. Probably very sweet if I had given it a chance, but I didn’t want to be close to it at all. This dream cat kept coming up to me, biting my fingers with its toothless mouth and all I felt were cold gums. It was blind with tiny holes on either side of a big wet nose that was black and not at all shiny. I ran away but the cat would follow me everywhere, always underfoot, and just as suddenly I began to notice other cats everywhere, partially decomposed carcasses half-buried in the sawdust. Kicking up tufts of fur and sawdust I knelt down to a low utility vent on the side of the house and saw a huge calico cat-fur snake uncoiling in the darkness. Endlessly unraveling to reveal no end in sight.
Walking through town, there’s no limit to what I want and
take
. I take items from every corner, at every turn there are goods I seize and use up on the spot. I use up men’s bodies. I leave them hollow and sad on the side of the road. I leave them so fucking bummed it’s not even funny. But it’s very very amusing, I’ve come to find.
take
. I take items from every corner, at every turn there are goods I seize and use up on the spot. I use up men’s bodies. I leave them hollow and sad on the side of the road. I leave them so fucking bummed it’s not even funny. But it’s very very amusing, I’ve come to find.
In the morning I arose from lying face down in the sand. I took myself away from where a series of dogs were tied with ropes, baying at seagulls, and where the people were speaking softly to each other on top of thousands of sandmites milling around their large brown reed mats. Only at Oregon hippie beaches were parking lots more like mall foodcourts in the early afternoon dead hour… I grit my teeth as I passed through the cloud of smoke before me, veering off the rural highway, passing various wrecks on the side of the road, passing the rail yard with dogs swirling around in the dark. I made my way into town as the sun began to rise over the brick retaining wall between the Safeway and the alley on the other side. I dug around in their garbage, rifling through some papers stuck in the corners of a big bread rack. Slipping into the back storage room I disappeared into one or more aisles. Pointedly I yanked down displays around me, breaking cardboard staffs over my knee. “Anything you could imagine,” I yelled, pointing at myself… There were a series of moments at the end of an encounter where the guy fell into a soft tone, his hands became massage flaps and he showed a little of his sensitive side in an effort to get the girl to think of him as not all bad, a nice guy y’know, just a soft public radio voice swathed in corduroy —
not gonna hurt anybody, not interested in rape
— a grownup, into the give-and-take of love; in his hands a potential white flower that opened under an adoring attentive sun.
not gonna hurt anybody, not interested in rape
— a grownup, into the give-and-take of love; in his hands a potential white flower that opened under an adoring attentive sun.
I sorted through a box of his mom’s old knick-knacks while he tried to rub my shoulders. If only he could see the expression on my face… but I could see his, in the window (that’s one thing they always forget, say, as you approach a set of automatic glass doors to a business or store: I can still see you, Mr, your reflection, looking at me as I walk away from you.)
I left him after grabbing a few fast food biscuits and a packet of honey butter, two exercise tapes, a bunch of felt appliqués, glass beads, a glow in the dark spider ring, a brown leotard, and some paper flowers.
Love is the new gold
the man had said… Hot breath and stubble wear holes in spots already taxed from stress, where it ached the most.
My pale blue star, my rainbow, how good it feels to know you’re like me
… I felt sad, a confused pang for the small pet I could consume visually in one swig. Me, I went on and on, disappearing down into the covers. Something about seeing both the beginning and end of him, the totality in one gulp, made me feel like I didn’t want to be there when the container became problematic, prone to breakdowns — or worse, died with the liquid contents still sitting inside. He got a kick out of it when I cornered him, pinning his body to the wall with a harness. It was amusing because it was so lacking in risk. He exploded out of the hold in an array of pent up maneuvers…
Mark my body with this moment forever, I can’t stand it, I’m cut so deep.
I know how it is sitting in an old house where horror is magnetically coded on the walls, recorded for all time, how when you walk by the room plays like a cassette tape. Finding a tape as evidence of the crime cannot be denied. Walking through the haunted house my brain operated like a VCR, acting like a remote viewing player as the ghost-show played for me. The organic and mechanical meet here in my body.
Love is the new gold
the man had said… Hot breath and stubble wear holes in spots already taxed from stress, where it ached the most.
My pale blue star, my rainbow, how good it feels to know you’re like me
… I felt sad, a confused pang for the small pet I could consume visually in one swig. Me, I went on and on, disappearing down into the covers. Something about seeing both the beginning and end of him, the totality in one gulp, made me feel like I didn’t want to be there when the container became problematic, prone to breakdowns — or worse, died with the liquid contents still sitting inside. He got a kick out of it when I cornered him, pinning his body to the wall with a harness. It was amusing because it was so lacking in risk. He exploded out of the hold in an array of pent up maneuvers…
Mark my body with this moment forever, I can’t stand it, I’m cut so deep.
I know how it is sitting in an old house where horror is magnetically coded on the walls, recorded for all time, how when you walk by the room plays like a cassette tape. Finding a tape as evidence of the crime cannot be denied. Walking through the haunted house my brain operated like a VCR, acting like a remote viewing player as the ghost-show played for me. The organic and mechanical meet here in my body.
These were antique thoughts, marked by a non-specific dread… My first impulse is to go to sleep. My second impulse is to have sex with it and my third impulse is to eat it. That’s how my mind works. But the three are not quite as fixed as you might think; they’ve been boiled down, chiseled out, and refined, painstakingly handcrafted over three centuries resting at the bottom of my brain. The three are like the finest three-line poem chiseled in gold at the foot of a roaring majestic waterfall and I’m sure as hell not giving them up, not for the world. I need them. They’re mine. I’m sure you’ve seen my three pieces of gold flash across the faces of most of this journey, they flashed across my face as I stood in your doorway. I ate pieces of gold like the Spanish forced their heathen children to do. They fell down and died… And in this strange shack, wedged under the glowering scraps of a prehistoric beach cave, your silhouette hung in the doorway. It was as if you’d stolen all sound from within the confines of this space between us in order to trap me here. I cracked up; flies seethed in a vibrant warlike blanket covering every surface, pressing themselves into folds, taking the shape of what surrounded them. You moaned and tore into me, getting more and more psycho on me. Losing your cool, you begged me. You didn’t care anymore. I turned into a piece of enchanted pulp in your arms, falling into a guise that was achingly familiar. You held my head up with both hands and made me look at you while I wavered on the edge of consciousness, going in and out every second, “stay here with me,” you said. I fought passing out, staring hard in one fixed direction. You held me up while I slumped and my knees buckled. Stay here. I fought, passing out; my face fell from your grasp. All I remember from that strange night: crying coming crying coming crying coming, locked in a horrible embrace.
A warlock had found me!
He was so old. So goddamn big and unwieldy. With eyes bigger than his stomach, a neuroses that fueled a huge appetite. His mouth burned for me and I fell inside. I imagined the old man camping out in the mountains, taming a wild dog, coming to rest on the still-sunny side of a baked earthen pallet of dry land under a redwood tree. He sat and told that tree everything, he figured it deserved it. The wolf-dog stared blankly and the old man thought it to be the typical response of all people — including wolves and dogs. He itched feverishly around his eyes with a fingernail. Out many days and feeling a little crazy because of it, he stumbled down the hill and found a woman there cooking at a diner that was so infrequently visited she had run out of most things some twelve days ago. But she made him something and he ate and after that he had her too, in her little room on top of the restaurant. She took and took — so much it scared him. She was crazy too. They put each other into a deep sleep and it has lasted these long winter weeks… He knew he was among the chosen few. Not many could’ve made it this far. But he had come largely without purpose.
He was cursed with sick thoughts. Confused, he left a sachet of his own trimmings of brittle chest hair with the woman as a token of some vague shared meaning she found unclear and downright gross of him. The man felt resolved to his fate on his last day as fully human, part of society. He had barely escaped being burned alive in his mobile home trailer. He ran into the woods with the scraps of turkey jerky and a roll of copper wire, his only remaining possessions, in a bag. His hair was singed and his eyes hurt. His brain felt compressed under a hot black weight. He trudged up the hill and felt like a different person. He paused at the top and took in the expanse below. It was consumed by a thick petrifying smoke. It was only a couple of minutes before he realized it. The whole world can burn.
I’m burning with desire for your touch.
Aware of lying flat in a cushion of sleep, nothing but birds pecking at specks on either side of my enclosure, aware of there being no sound, I turned and reached for the nearest lung to suck from.
Inject me
…
mmmmm, water tastes good
… My teeth vibrate as I grit them hard against the blackening broth of sky above, evidence that my throat was making noise even though I couldn’t hear it. The trees rain phlegm on me in an abysmal storm that is taking place at the threshold between two dark worlds: the living and the dead. My eyes snapped open and I heard drunks yelling down at the creek. Walking through town I noticed tiny numbers encoded on every surface. Strange dates on bridges and tiny plaques like metal scabs all up and down telephone poles. Cryptic codes I would never know encircling hieroglyphs made for some race of secret vagabond police. As night descended I squinted into the horizon and thought I saw the world as it was 300 years ago.
Aware of lying flat in a cushion of sleep, nothing but birds pecking at specks on either side of my enclosure, aware of there being no sound, I turned and reached for the nearest lung to suck from.
Inject me
…
mmmmm, water tastes good
… My teeth vibrate as I grit them hard against the blackening broth of sky above, evidence that my throat was making noise even though I couldn’t hear it. The trees rain phlegm on me in an abysmal storm that is taking place at the threshold between two dark worlds: the living and the dead. My eyes snapped open and I heard drunks yelling down at the creek. Walking through town I noticed tiny numbers encoded on every surface. Strange dates on bridges and tiny plaques like metal scabs all up and down telephone poles. Cryptic codes I would never know encircling hieroglyphs made for some race of secret vagabond police. As night descended I squinted into the horizon and thought I saw the world as it was 300 years ago.
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