[lit-ideas] SUNDAY PROEM

My friend, depressed, poured cream into her coffee from the little paper cream-container at the diner.

"It's all shit," she said. "Everything. I should have died the last time. Why the hell did you come when I called you? You should have let me die." Then she crumpled the creamer container and flipped it aside.

"Hey," I said, "you have no right. It took twelve billion years to create that cream-container. Throw yourself away if you want, but that cream-container belongs to human history. Hell, it belongs to the whole structure and evolution of the universe. You have a lot of gall to wad up the universe and toss it aside. I won't stand for it. Every fucking acre of earth has been muddied with the blood of men fighting for trivial, trashy reasons, it's true, but as trivial and trashy as they were, they got us here, to this point in time, to these sets of conditions, these predicaments, these givens, these dreams, these possibilities. I'll be damned if I'm going to stand idly by while you trash the course of all existence as manifest in that cream-container. That cream-container is as sacred as I am."

   "Fuck you," she scowled as she stirred her coffee.

I'd love for you to, I thought, but I don't think that's what she had in mind -- not at that particular time anyway.


Mike Geary
Memphis 

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