Baatz, Ronald

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CHERRY PIEno sleep two nights in a row or almost no sleep, and now i have to sit next to my supervisor in a diner, listening to her monotonous chatter while we have toast and coffee, and this morning her voice seems extra jarring, if that is at all possible, and what she chooses to talk about holds zero interest for me, or for anyone else in the world, for that matter, her makeup is thick and pasty, and her skin is exhausted, no doubt from the innumerable cigarettes she smokes, i don't know why she asked me to come on this drive, i feel like telling her that the job is killing me, that i cannot stomach the routine anymore, that the people back at the office are incurable nitwits, the lot of them, but, i don't say anything of the sort, instead i just sit quiet, faking listening, studying my reflection in the glass pie cabinet, my noseis situated smack in the middle of a half-eaten cherry pie.THIS WOMANover breakfast she has this habit of wanting to talk about exactly how sex was the night before between us. we spend many mornings during our week just so involved, believe mewhen i say this, not that i'm complaining, hell no. if the truth must be told: such a topic of concern blasts me off into the day in a very solid and confident demeanor, seldom do these private talks hold any criticism directed at me, and i certainly have none to level at her. the one problem we have encountered, at least in my mind, is that now with it being springtime the bedroom window is constantly open, and with two elderly people living right next door i have this fear that they can hear all that is going on between us. i'm afraid that they can hear her moaning and gasping, and frequent screaming from the sheets she is solely responsible for. i feel as though i am not showing proper respect for the ancients in our society, never have i been with such a noisy woman, never, at times it's thoroughly unnerving, and yes, i have voiced this one minor complaint to her, but she merely shrugged it off and suggested that perhaps her sounds of ecstasy might just be like music to the old people's ears, but this does next to nothing when it comes to quieting my fears, and since i am the one who is most often on the top of our pile of lovemaking bodies, i find myself every now and then, even in the wildest throes, peering out the window to see if the neighbors are out on their porch in their rockers, plainly in earshot, fortunately, i have never seen them there, especially when our lovemaking sessions break free after dark, this morning when i was in the upstairs bathroom, brushing my teeth, i happened to spot the woman on the side of her house watering flowers, and i couldn't help noticing just how very old she really is. this caused me some relief, i'm ashamed to say, thinking that it very well could be the case that her hearing is not what it used to be. to test this out i coughed in the window, and just as i suspected she didn't budge her head an inch, and so i coughed again, this time louder, and still nothing, no acknowledgment on her part was evident whatsoever, then i screamed, a horrifying scream meant to curdle the blood, and expressly aimed at old blood, i screamed at her out the bathroom window as though i had just accidentally shaved off a precious piece of my nose, but not even this was capable of eliciting any response, this woman, watering flowers in the timid warmth of an early morning hour, watering so methodically and so lovingly, falling deeper and deeper into her own very heavenly silence—this woman was beginning to interest me.

Cherry Pie

https://ddd.uab.cat/pub/wormwood/wormwood_a1996v36n4i144/wormwood_a1996v36n4i144p171.pdf

Cherry Pie

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