A 3-way in my room
I left the house today for a trip to the city to commission a special work of art. It’s an odd thing when fortune blesses you, buying the metaphorical becomes that much easier. Because of who I am, the Madame insisted to oversee it herself. At first, I didn’t comprehend the depths she was looking for. I’ve spent months finding and presenting what she asked of me. She wanted tangible things, each of every three:
Scarfs, soap, perfume, a pair of their favorite underwear, a locket of hair (vacuum sealed for her alone to open of course), a stolen piece of the most worn jewelry, their favorite poem from me, a picture of the back of their neck, a picture of them looking into my eyes, a screenshot of the funniest thing they ever said to me, a list of all their passwords with annotated meaning, their phone records (yes conversations especially the deleted ones)(Hey, I thank my fortune and the NSA), a recording of them being scared to death as I jump out at them, a recording of them snoring and farting, a recording of their fake and real laughs, a recording of them comforting and loving my sons and one yelling at them, their favorite fresh fruit (I’m picking that up today), a drop of their tears (I had to cause so much needless pain for that), a recording of their breath while I was holding them, the one picture they keep hidden in a box or drawer or behind the dresser behind the cracked wallboard, their favorite shoe….HA! for every fucking venue, a print of their hand and a picture of what it looks like slapped across my face, their favorite chocolate but for some reason 12 of each, a pair of their most comfortable nighttime attire which I said was me, she laughed “nice try”, the little trinket they keep of their kids, the perfect Benjamin Moore paint chip match for their eyes, the word they call me most when they are making love and fucking, the word they call me most when I have hurt them or made them cry, their favorite flower, their favorite tree, their favorite scent by season, a picture of their nail marks on my chest, and finally some of their chewed gum which I always take half when I need it or all of it if they want to spit it out.
So was it a banana, an apple, and a pear??? Fuck it, they won’t know.
When I got to the gallery, the Madame was waiting for me. She said the room was ready. Wait, here’s the fruit. “Yes, those are my favorite and thank you for lunch”.
I was so afraid to open the door. The Madame held my hand and walked me in. There they were, three perfect wax figures, my first, my second, and last. I started to cry. You have captured everything that I know of them. How is that possible? “Yes”, she said, “Because they have no souls, and nothing for you to have beyond this room. I will leave you with them for as long as you need to decide.” I looked at her, smiled, and said thank you. She smiled back, oddly…
I stood there for a moment and drew upon myself to get as close as I could to each. There was nothing that I left unexposed. I could see all of the tangible items in each of them. Even the scents were tiny lines in the skin and the recording’s vibrations were buried in their faces. What did the Madame mean?
Then I noticed it, she had made a mistake, right there on the inside of her lip. They must have used it to finely shave the sides of the teeth, and from the looks of it, spaced a bit too far. A tiny thread, and barely a string at all, was waxed over red. I don’t think anybody, except me, in all of eternity would notice that.
But just to be safe,
I should grab it and run.
I’m late for my hygienist