ICKY EXPOSED ROTTING FLESH

They say my name is Modina, but I got names for them too. I was born Elizabeth Teresa Rodgers. I turned 48 this week, and my cats—I got three—all love me. They’re so cuddly and all. Anyway, let me get back to that Modina thing. Don’t call me that, no matter what, because I do take offense. I mean, it sounds like a, you know, like a name a streetwalker would use, at least I think so, so just call me by the name my mama gave me: Elizabeth. It’s a beautiful name. So much better than that other one.

 

*

 

It’s Tuesday, I’m sitting in my kitchen watching my cats play with each other, kind of play fighting like cats are prone to do sometimes. I’ve got my coffee in my pretty blue mug and the lifestyle section of the day’s paper. But the cats have my attention. One’s a little black-and-white number, Snickles, another’s a tabby, 8-Ball, and the last is all white, Snowdude. I guess I like 8-Ball the best, him being a tabby and all, but they’re all three wonderful. Without them I’d be a little lost, I guess.

 

Well, the doorbell rings and I let in my new boyfriend, he’s younger by five years and looks even younger than that. His name’s Edward. He doesn’t like 'Ed for short' so I don’t call him that. Elizabeth and Ed, together forever. Ha. Anyway, he walks in carrying this box, a long red box, and gives it to me. 'Open it,' he says, and I smile and open it as he watches. There’s that familiar boyish grin, that little twinkle thing going on in his eyes. Hey, he’s a 'younger man' so I can say these things and get away with it. Ha. I open the box and there’s a dozen roses. I take them out and do the obligatory sniffing. 'They’re so beautiful,' I say, but then ask, 'What’s the occasion?' Edward just goes from a grin to a soft smile and answers, 'Love.'

 

Now let me tell you that was the best answer I could ever get. I take the roses and find a vase and put in some water and place the roses in the vase. By this time Edward’s got the TV clicker. I go over and kiss him on his balding forehead and he looks up from the TV and kisses me on the mouth. We spend the day doing nothing but TV and the cats.

 

*

 

The roses have died of course, but I hold their memory close. It’s been three months since I saw Edward. I called one of his pool buddies, but he was pretty mute about it. Something kind of tells me something bad’s happened, but then again who knows. I wonder if I should call the police.

 

Actually, as I think him over, Edward, I recall that day he gave me the roses. Sure, it was a nice thing for him to do, but there really was no occasion. Is 'love' an 'occasion'? Can it be? Maybe for Edward, but you got to remember what kind of guy he is, the definitions he has for 'love' in the first place. To him, love can be anything, anybody.

 

He walked in with roses and walked out without me. That’s all it ever was meant to be, nothing more, nothing less. Right?

© 2023 Jeffrey S. Callico