E-mail: A Love Story

Flora,

You are a persistent thing, aren’t you?  This is what you said to me:

“Hi, I saw you on classmates.com, how have you been?”

You said it every day, or every other day, for a long stretch of weeks.  For a while you pretended not to be you – sometimes you were Myra, or Jennifer, or Paul (Paul?) – but I always knew it was you, Flora.  I was just waiting for the mask to come off.  Finally you admitted it.  My heart leaped into my throat like a BK Texas Double Whopper fired out of an air cannon.

“Hi, I saw you on classmates.com, how have you been?”

I’ve been fine, Flora.  And getting better all the time.

But how have YOU been?  Or more importantly… WHO have you been?  For you see, Flora, we do not know each other.  I didn’t attend high school with anyone named Flora.  A quick mental flip through the Smalltown, Indiana phone book (yes, I attained a photographic memory in junior high – the result of being bitten by a radioactive elephant!  A lesson I swiftly learned from my sweetly lecherous Uncle Karl was this: “with great power comes great winnings on ‘Jeopardy!'”) reveals that no one was listed in town under the name of Flora, either.  Although I suppose there were a good many F. _____s at that time, and also, you would have been a teenager.  But no matter, Flora.  The lie has been exposed.  You don’t need to go on pretending.  You haven’t been thinking of me or looking for me all these years.  You didn’t just run into a familiar old face on classmates.com.  The truth, darling, is much more complicated – and sexy! – than that.

This is the truth:

I have no face… at all!

That’s right, Flora: my face was decimated in a horrific Whopper-firing incident.  Lo these many years I have been afraid to venture back to classmates.com – afraid to seek out my once-peers and nether-friends.  No reunionist I, Flora.  Nevermore shall I seek the gilded solace of companionship from people I never really liked when I knew them, and now barely remember.  I massage salve into my exposed facial tissues and pick at my two remaining teeth with my forked tongue (it was split by an improbably sharp sandwich pickle) and hurl epithets at their happiness, at their manufactured joy.  They think they’re so clever, don’t they, these classmates of mine?!?  They think being alive and having a face is somehow a grand triumph over life’s design!!!

But now, dearest one – I share the truth with you.  My anger calms, my schlong unfurls.  I have no need of hatred.  And you have no need of clever deceptions. 

I draw you closer, and I whisper in your ear:

“Bring to me something that will enlarge my penis.”

And god love ya, Flora, you do.  You do every time.

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