Sinister: "If you please--draw me a sheep!"

[Kirsten Kenyon]

  ian never made it to work yesterday.  his mom managed to stop in 
for a few moments, sobbing hysterically and chewing on her bony 
fingers and looking quite like the women who frantically scan lists 
posted on doors in old war movies.  i couldn't bear to look at her, 
so i slid out back into the alley and sat on a milk crate and smoked 
my last cigarette.  
  the wind picked up for a moment, bringing to my feet a black and 
white photograph of two boys looking silly.  i studied it for a few 
seconds.  from what i gathered, i was looking at a photograph of two 
mildly-intoxicated young men who had finally succumbed to the 
exasperating people who had been trying all night to drag them onto 
the dance floor at a friend's wedding reception.  don't you just hate 
people who try to make other people dance?  i would never do 
something like that.  ken chu wouldn't, either.  don't worry.   
anyway.  the photograph was just fantastic, and i started to reach 
for it when i got to thinking.  i thought about how i would feel if 
some strange girl happened upon a photograph of me looking like an 
idiot...dancing...and found it to be so terrifically funny that she 
just had to pick it up and adhere it to the cover of her sketchbook 
with paper cement.  i mean, i would probably never know.  but 
still....just thinking about it...i turned over the photograph with 
my toe and headed back inside.
     there was a phone call later, and apparently ian was safe and 
sound at his grandmother's house.  he'd bumped up his car a bit, but 
that was the extent of it.  so...ian is alive and well.  but his 
death's been bothering me since yesterday morning.  
     it was a strange day, anyway.  craig, who normally hops about 
like a fourth-grader at a slumber party, sulkily retreated to a 
corner table with a latte, a pile of saltine crackers, some honey 
packets and a big bowl of tzaziki sauce. he sat there for a while, 
sighing, looking bored and half-heartedly nibbling at his peculiar 
lunch.  i tried to ignore him...when craig starts up with the blasé 
thing, it's best to keep busy. i must have been giving him a strange 
look, because he got up quite suddenly and grabbed my arm and 
said 'smokey.' and we went outside.  my next last cigarette.  we were 
standing around talking, and he mentioned how he missed his long 
hair.  i said i couldn't picture him with long hair at all, so he ran 
out to his car for his portfolio and sure enough...he looked like 
ricky martin when he was on that soap in the early 90s, and a little 
bit like fabio only not in a scary way.  i was just staring in 
disbelief and craig was looking a little wistful, and said something 
else about missing his hair.  and then i remembered something i had 
overheard...about chemotherapy.  at the time i'd heard it, i wasn't 
sure who....well, i know now.  i knew.  and he knew that i knew, and 
i think he knew i didn't know what to say, and i knew he didn't 
expect me to say a thing.  knew know knew know.  yeah.  i think 
today's his day off.  speaking of which, i should have started 
getting ready for work ten minutes ago. 
   it's not coyness, it's discretion.

   love 
   kirsten   


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