Here’s a couple of the parts I’d written for Esoterotica’s upcoming Fringe Festival show. They’re from separate parts of the play, but I didn’t want to publish anybody else’s writing and these make a somewhat coherent scene when stitched together. Find our show times right here on the New Orleans Fringe Festival website!
So after taking some internet pickup artist’s advice about “peacocking,” I wound up sitting in Flannagan’s wearing a boater hat for forty-five minutes while the rest of the bar was enthusiastically not talking to me. I was frustrated by that point, I went over and pitched the dumb thing out the window. Shortly after I returned to my seat, you came over.
You told me your friends had said to avoid that weirdo in the 1920s hat. I confessed that I actually was that weirdo. Your eyes flicked upwards and you said, “apparently not anymore.” I offered to buy you a drink if the bartender accepted haypennies.
You smiled. No, more than that, you got it. Both the joke and the drink.
You were clearly no pickup artist. I couldn’t tell if you were naturally charming or just smiled when you were really nervous, but I liked what I saw either way.
We spent a couple hours discovering and discussing mutual interests, one amusing tangent leading to another almost seamlessly, only interrupted when someone put an entire Danzig album on the jukebox. We both made faces at hearing that, and you said there was a patio out back we could escape to. I said that I didn’t smoke. Showing your smile, which was definitely nerves then, you said that you didn’t either. . .
I have a really plush pillowtop mattress at my apartment, the kind where you lay down and feel yourself slowly sinking in for a second or two, and I’ve gotten really used to sleeping on it. So the first night we spent at your place I didn’t want to ruin the evening by sounding really nitpicky but GOOD GOD, it’s like your bed is made out of park benches!
Unlike you, that mattress was not giving at all.
I tried sleeping on my back, how I normally do, but after a couple minutes of laying like that I could feel my spine scoliosing itself trying to escape the discomfort. I’d never really been a side sleeper, but since I did want to be around in the morning, I decided to give it a try.
There’s something to the ratios of our bodies that made it work, I think. With our height difference, my arm fell at just the right angle to lay over the contour if your waist and hips comfortably, moreso than if it were just empty mattress there. You were already asleep by that point, but your hand moved overtop mine unconsciously. I couldn’t have rolled over or tried another position after that, but I didn’t need to. We fit together. I slept through the night.