(Guest Post by xTx)
Casey Hannan is a gin and tonic with eyebrow ice. I drink him poolside. He is effervescent. His bubbles cloy my throat and I don’t even care. I take him in. I take him in my throat. I swallow him. Until he is gone. Wedges of lemon and lime yin yang the bottom of my glass; pulpy, citrus abortions.
When Josh is gone, I take over. Casey is my bottom. He doesn’t care. He thinks I’m pretty, even when I’m angry. I make him cook for me which isn’t even really “making” because if someone has an obsession, they would do it anyway. But still, I threaten, because I know he likes it. “BAKE ME A PIE OR I WILL TURN OVER THIS TRASH CAN FULL OF COFFEE GROUNDS!” “MAKE ME A QUICHE OR I WILL PUT THIS GLASS COVERED WITH ICY CONDENSATION ON YOUR NICE COFFEE TABLE WITHOUT THE USE OF A COASTER!” “LASAGNA FROM SCRATCH OR I SPILL NAIL POLISH!” and “CHUTNEY BITCH!” He cowers, scuttles about, yes ma’ams, puts on a show of one abused and scared but I can see his smile reflected in the black gloss of the microwave door when his back is to me. Oh, that Casey Hannan!
You can see what I like about him in the creases of the day. How his beard grows in uneven and patchy. The upward tornado spiral of black pubic hair, the way he hangs his towel over the shower glass, how he hums made up songs while he sifts flour, how he calls out to me from the kitchen just so I will answer, just so he can know he’s not alone, the morning smell of him and how he hugs like I am something keeping him alive. I now know what Josh knows and it’s like we’ve read the same secret book and it’s our favorite.
I put up with the snake. I put up with the ghosts. I am fine with both. One night he takes me to see the Ghost Light. While we wait he talks to me about water. His voice is like waves. We sit in the moonlight like it’s the sun. The night is backwards and our eyes cling the tree line eager to learn how one day we may have to carry the light.
One day, when I am drinking him by the pool, Josh and I will laugh at how imaginary it all is. He’ll tell me how he never thought Casey would bring someone like me home to him. Someone so much older. Someone so motherly and female. Another person to siphon his sugar water, his sweetness. I raise my glass to the word, “sweetness” and wink and sip in tribute. Josh laughs. Does the same. We both drink him. Casey just lets us. More of him in Josh’s glass than mine which is exactly how it should be should always be will always be.
Casey Hannan is a gin and tonic with eyebrow ice. I drink him poolside. He is effervescent. His bubbles cloy my throat and I don’t even care. I take him in. I take him in my throat. I swallow him. Until he is gone. Wedges of lemon and lime yin yang the bottom of my glass; pulpy, citrus abortions.
When Josh is gone, I take over. Casey is my bottom. He doesn’t care. He thinks I’m pretty, even when I’m angry. I make him cook for me which isn’t even really “making” because if someone has an obsession, they would do it anyway. But still, I threaten, because I know he likes it. “BAKE ME A PIE OR I WILL TURN OVER THIS TRASH CAN FULL OF COFFEE GROUNDS!” “MAKE ME A QUICHE OR I WILL PUT THIS GLASS COVERED WITH ICY CONDENSATION ON YOUR NICE COFFEE TABLE WITHOUT THE USE OF A COASTER!” “LASAGNA FROM SCRATCH OR I SPILL NAIL POLISH!” and “CHUTNEY BITCH!” He cowers, scuttles about, yes ma’ams, puts on a show of one abused and scared but I can see his smile reflected in the black gloss of the microwave door when his back is to me. Oh, that Casey Hannan!
You can see what I like about him in the creases of the day. How his beard grows in uneven and patchy. The upward tornado spiral of black pubic hair, the way he hangs his towel over the shower glass, how he hums made up songs while he sifts flour, how he calls out to me from the kitchen just so I will answer, just so he can know he’s not alone, the morning smell of him and how he hugs like I am something keeping him alive. I now know what Josh knows and it’s like we’ve read the same secret book and it’s our favorite.
I put up with the snake. I put up with the ghosts. I am fine with both. One night he takes me to see the Ghost Light. While we wait he talks to me about water. His voice is like waves. We sit in the moonlight like it’s the sun. The night is backwards and our eyes cling the tree line eager to learn how one day we may have to carry the light.
One day, when I am drinking him by the pool, Josh and I will laugh at how imaginary it all is. He’ll tell me how he never thought Casey would bring someone like me home to him. Someone so much older. Someone so motherly and female. Another person to siphon his sugar water, his sweetness. I raise my glass to the word, “sweetness” and wink and sip in tribute. Josh laughs. Does the same. We both drink him. Casey just lets us. More of him in Josh’s glass than mine which is exactly how it should be should always be will always be.