sidebrow

from Prelude to Air From Water

A man dressed in plaid pajama pants and a yellowed white tee-shirt stands in front of a mirror in a blue tile bathroom. The mirror, dirty with old spatters of toothpaste, reveals the man dressed in plaid pajama pants and a yellowed white tee-shirt. His skin is pinkish. His hair is thinning. His eyes are the color of spring snow. Directly behind the man, a mirror hangs limply from the bathroom door. Rectangular with a plastic white border, the mirror reveals a man dressed in plaid pajama pants and a yellowed white tee-shirt, a man dressed in plaid pajama pants and a yellowed white tee-shirt, a man dressed in plaid pajama pants and a yellowed white tee-shirt.



Someone dreams. It is The Man. In the dream, a woman crouches in the bathtub of the blue tile bathroom. To The Man, the woman is a complete intrusion, an idiosyncrasy, ill-assorted. To the woman, The Man is frank infinity. The mirrors still oppose one another in the blue tile bathroom, but now The Man stops brushing his teeth in front of the mirror.



“What are you doing here?”



“With water?”



“What do you mean with water?”



“I don’t know. Is it good with water?”



Between The Man and the woman there is the hum drum. To each, the other seems a man dressed in plaid pajama pants and a yellowed white tee-shirt. Hence, when The Man proclaims, with toothpaste in his mouth, “I said, what are you doing here?” the woman replies, “With water?”



What Do You Mean?


What Do You Mean, What Do You Mean?


You Will Never.

Not Ever.


Understand.