About Face

The Appointment

28 The Appointment “Set yourself here. Yes.” “Your arms—should go back there. That’s right. Do you feel the handle? Do you feel that thing sticking out? There are four holes for your fingers, and your thumb wraps around—Yes, that’s right. Good. How does it feel? Not too tight? Not too uncomfortable? Now, let’s go to the feet—no, maybe we should do the hips first—you might need to use your legs to push up. O.K. I want you to slide up to here—no, a bit higher. Hmm, let me see here—if I can lift—Now you. O.K. we got it. Are you all right? This whole thing should slide back and forth—see if you can get it to move—yes. I’m not sure, try a combination of your arms and hips. Your legs won’t move—so I think you’ll have to use your arms. Yes, that’s it. O.K. let’s tie the feet down. This one is simple. You don’t have to do anything. Now I’m going to go out and turn down the lights and come back though the other door. You won’t be able to see me, but you’ll hear me, I’m sure. O.K. Last check. Hands, back, bottom, feet—good. —be back soon!” Door. He said door. Wait for the sound of it. Blanketed with the idiocy of agreeing to stage directions—to specific cues. Door click: a needle-fine pop. Self-conscious effort enters. Eyes open staring at that self-conscious approach. Sweating right at the small of the back, at the crease between thigh and groin, at the temples, the forehead, back of head, the corner of eyes. I don’t really know what it is, regardless. Irregardless, it’s a color and in the color is a stalker (with feet, legs). Feet that slap the floor, and then more, muted, the stage—poked, pressed, un-met and untouchable . He’s pulling up and the piece slides in its track bringing the appointed closer to a large mouth. Tools like fingers peel open the blunt cap’s growing fruit. An already wet mouth licks the juices. Cart falls back: knees knock together. Again, pulled back up, still 29 on track. Knees fall apart. Flaps around the hole rolled back open— licked—liked—sweaty bottom slides a bit. Errant grunt. Errant muscle lengthened. Tendency stretched into pointed tent. Here come the grunting elephants! I don’t like it! Slide and wriggle. Disgust wriggles in. Disgust incorporated. Disgust celebrated! Elephants shrink behind paired tent flaps. Through double grunt. Collapse and retreat behind double grunt. Speaking easier now: talking to the voided stage of willed movement. Who cares that it works. Its force immense? No. My recoil, successful ? No. The piece slid in its tracks. The room was focused. c Settled in the armchair. Come sit in my lap. The woman who sits in the lap abdicates her own throne of dissent , of argumentation, of proposition. She has followed the lead to reposition and repeat: to repeat herself, otherwise. Then, however, there is the open book posture. “Read me,” she says. “What am I that sits spine in hold, frontally splayed?” ...