Magyar

I’ve been learning this language for a while now, but it’s so unlike the one I’ve been learning since I was two, that I’m not so much learning but treading water in foreign baby-talk. I can say yes and no, say tasty, ask for more, thank. And every other word I don’t need every day gets mimed. “I’m going to take a shower” I think as my fingers pretend they’re little drops of water, falling on my head. I look pointedly at my watch to say “I’m running late”, and to say “I’m taking the train to Prague” I say my destination and make preschool train noises while pumping my hands. I learn simple, useful words like oatmeal, shower, jacket, bed, and forget them as soon as I’ve used them once. The next time I need them I dash to the dictionary to look up the word I already know but can’t remember. Or I just go into the pantry and find the bag of oatmeal and point to it. And she speaks in baby-speak to me, pronouncing things slowly, explaining herself in short words, repeating herself, miming things, using her limited English to help me by saying the English word immediately after the foreign every time she can.

First Kiss

I was thinking, what if we were in a room where the walls were made of highly polished spoons? You and I in the center, our faces reflected back to us thousands of times, warped, stretched, exaggerated, pictures of our held hands when you tilt your head a certain way. My face is an inch away from your face. Being this close to someone is as bad as being hundreds of miles away when you don’t know if that last inch is a distance you can travel. I could make the leap, make you uncomfortable, make you turn your head away. Or I could stay here, gradually fall asleep listening to your breaths, wondering what would happen if our lips touched in our sleep. But I do neither. I ask, “can I kiss you?” and my body freezes for a second in the overheated room while I wait for the spoken response that doesn’t come. You nod instead. I jump a thousand miles in a single step and my lips are on yours for what I can already tell will not be the last time. And as we kiss in the small, enclosed space the bright faces of the spoons dull. First those closest to us, on the floor. Their bowls fog over quickly, muting the colors in the reflections, distorting them like I took off my glasses and nothing has distinct edges any more. And we kiss until even the ceiling isn’t shiny any more and it’s you and me kissing in a white room.

Chocolate

Dip me in chocolate. Cover me in sticky cocoa sweetness that will take an entire bar of soap to wash off. Hold my hand as I step into the murky, opaque pool of brown and say sweet things, coax me until I am entirely submerged, up to the roots of my hair. Make me sweet, make me dirty, ruin the clothes I so carefully picked out this morning. Candy and red wine, prepare me like a decadent dessert. But don’t serve me, don’t eat me, don’t enjoy me, don’t savor me. Just leave me covered in calories, let me harden, oxidized like a Hershey bar in the back of the cupboard you bought for a camping trip and never made into a s’more. Let my shell grow rigid and leave me to be found Easter morning, wrapped in brightly colored tinfoil, ready to be devoured, ears first.

Your Music, Not Mine

Shuffle. Random. I hit next, wait for the song to begin. I don’t recognize the intro, don’t recognize any of the words. It’s music you gave me that I never listened to, playcount zero. The notes don’t harmonize with my mood, the tempo isn’t in sync. The thought of you listening to this, enjoying this, humming along, knowing the words makes me a little uncomfortable. A little too voyeuristic to imagine the music seeping into your body, making your legs twitch and head nod. A little too uncomfortable that the song that grabs you, takes hold of you, doesn’t do the same for me. A little daunting that half of my music collection belonged to you first, that it’s alien territory I haven’t had the time to explore. A little sad you’re not the one controlling the music, keeping me from hitting next, telling me what you love about the notes, the rhythm, the lyrics.

Wrap You Around My Neck

I’m going to wrap you around my neck. Wrap you like a scarf, keep my neck warm when it’s cold and there’s wind and rain and snow, protect the white skin from the elements. I’m going to wrap you around my neck. Like the bow she tied around her cat’s neck on Christmas morning with leftover ribbon, discarded from the wrappings of the book her mother gave her, the cat wriggling in protest, pulling it off five minutes later. I’m going to wrap you around my neck. A little too tightly, not enough to hurt just enough to make me uncomfortable, make me want to pull, loosen, shake my head from side to side. I’m going to wrap you around my neck. A little too warmly, the heat making me nauseous, making me crave cool air. A little too scratchy, the material is 100% wool, practical and uncomfortable. I’m going to wrap you around my neck.