...ALIVE

"I'm dying."

I'm at a Starbucks. It's deserted. New Years Eve. She sits at a table beside mine. She's beautiful. Like a child's poem.

"Don't take this wrong but you are the most beautiful woman I've ever met who is dying," I say. She moves over to my table.

"Here." She takes my fingers, puts them on her jugular and holds them there.

"Strong pulse."

"No, feel." She moves my fingers slow along her neck.

"Still...you know...strong..."

"Do you feel? I'm dying."

"Keep my fingers on your neck any longer I'll be dying."

She pulls them away, doesn't let go of my hand.

"Will you come with me?"

"Maybe...where?"

"Doesn't matter. Just come. It'll be perfect." For the first time her face brightens.

"You're dying," I say.

She takes my hand and puts it up to my jugular. "What are you?"

"Beatrice, come on. We're all waiting." It's a guy in a sleek, fitted, sharkskin suit.

Beatrice gets up, kisses my forehead, brushes her lips against mine. I feel her breath enter my mouth. I am...

MY NOSE MY SELF

I woke up this morning without a nose. 

Just a blank piece of skin. Not attractive. I have meetings today. If I show up without a nose a producer will notice. They're trained like that. Just so you know, this has never happened before. No part of my body has ever left without my knowledge.

I do a grid search of the apartment. No nose. I check the fridge door magnets. No note. I consult the neighbours. They haven't heard from or seen my nose apart from my face. The thing has vanished.

A tear runs down my cheek. I have to sit. Already I miss my nose. It wasn't perfect. It had a little bump near the front. Maybe it was a bit too wide. I never said anything. Just accepted all that it was in the way that it was. What will I do without it? Besides, it held my face together.

The phone rings. It's Polk, my accountant. Polk doesn't usually call in the mornings.

"I'm being audited." I say.

"Hi to you. Too Alan. You. Are not being audited. No." He says.

"So..." 

"Are you missing. Your nose?" Polk says.

"Uh...maybe," I say.

"It. Is here." He says. 

"You have my nose," I say.

"It. Is here."

Can you put it on?" I say.

"Just. A second," Polk says.

Long pause.

"Your nose does not. Want to. Talk to you," Polk says.

"Oh," This hurts. We've been together for a long time. "Can you tell my nose I miss it very much and...well, just that."

Long pause.

"Your nose misses. You too." Polk says

"So why did it run?"

"It says. You do not. Listen to it," Polk says.

"I listen. I'm listening right now."

"Now. You listen. Out of fear. That you will. Lose it. Not. Out of love. For all it. Gives you," Polk says.

I am knocked back. My nose shows a depth of understanding I had previously not known. But then. Maybe I haven't been listening.

"Your. Nose. Wants me to remind. You of Thai Gardens." Polk says.

"I remember..." I say.

"You. Ordered the ginger chicken. In a cream sauce. With hot red peppers."

"That was what I ordered," I say.

"The dish. Smelled bad. Your nose told you. It told you. The dish would hurt you. If you ate it. For days and. Days. You would be. In pain. You. Did not listen." Polk says.

I got so sick after eating that Ginger Chicken. Took a long time to get over. My nose is right. It smelled bad. I didn't listen.

"I listened." I say.

Long pause.

"Alan. Please." Polk says.

"Okay, I didn't listen. My nose is right. Polk, I want it back. I'll do anything." I say.

Long Pause.

"Here's what your. Nose says. You. Must promise to trust. When it sniffs. You must. Promise to surprise it. Everyday." Polk says.

"Okay, I will," I say.

"It wants to. Hear you say. It." Polk says. I hear a rustling. A sniff. Does my nose miss me? Or is it the allergies?

"Okay, so, I'm sorry for not listening to you about the Ginger Chicken. Really. I mean it. If I had listened to you I wouldn't have gone through all that pain. From now on, I will be attentive. And... surprises. Definitely. Every day." More rustling. Polk gets back on the line.

"Your nose. Is satisfied. But it. Has one last. Request." Polk says.

"Name it." I say.

******************

The meeting goes well. I'm just ecstatic to have my nose back. I guess I hadn't noticed that I was focusing on it. "You're touching your nose like it's your dick," a producer says.

After the meeting I fulfill my nose's request: a three hour facial at a spa in Yorkville. I tell the attendant before she touches my face, "Be gentle with my nose...it knows."

AFTERNOON IN THE PARK

A small dog walks up to me in the park. I'm on a bench cartoon hopping through the latest New Yorker. The early afternoon is cool and cloudy. The dog says,"Listen to me."

"You're a dog talking," I say.

"You're a human stating the obvious. Listen to me." The Dog looks over my shoulder.

"Can't make out the accent."

"It's dog with a hint of dog. What does it matter? Listen to me. Don't look back."

I look back.

"What did I say?" He says.

"Don't look back."

"You look back."

"I look back because you said don't look back. You need to learn more about human behaviour. I didn't see anything."

"You saw enough."

"Really? Like what?" I turn around. "There's a shrub. A tree. A garbage can. It's the shrub, right?" The dog shakes his head and walks away. "Bark once if it's the shrub. Was that a bark?" Out of view.

I return to the New Yorker but thoughts of the shrub distract me. Something about it. I turn around and stare at it. The shrub's maybe four feet high, gangly and unruly, dotted with symmetrical branches of vibrant green. I can't turn away from it like a sexual oddity in a traveling freak show.

My phone rings. It's Jason. "Where the fuck're you?" I tell him I'm in the park. "Everybody's here. We've been waiting for, like, 15 minutes. The producer's not happy," he says.

"Start without me," I say. "I'll be there soon."

"Soon when?" He says.

"Soon."

"Sometime today soon? It's your script. The fuck ya doing at the park?"

"Staring at a shrub," I say.

"Seriously. A shrub?"

"It has properties. Can't look away." 

"You've fuckin' lost it. Producer backs out you are-" he says.

"Jason, gotta get back to the shrub, bye," I say and hang up.

The more I look at the shrub, the more I can't stop looking at the shrub. Each branch makes me think of some past relationship or life incident. I want to both cry and laugh. So I do both. Which makes me come across as a crazy person. I should really get up and walk away. I should. But I'm not able.

"You okay, mister." It's a kid no more than eight with a dog...the talking dog!

"Hey, it's your dog. He speaks in English you know. Say something?" The dog barks. "No, in English." The dog barks again.

"He told me not to look back, I did and now I'm stuck here staring at that shrub."

"Mister, you remind me of my mom before she went to the hospital for a month," the kid says. He leaves. The dog looks back at me with an expression I can't make out. I told you so? Maybe. Anyway I don't have time to figure it out. I've gotta get back to the shrub.

The sun lowers in the sky. Evening creeps up. I'm feeling chilled. My phone rings maybe four times. I don't answer. It'll just take away from my shrub time.

"Alan...Alan..."

"Yes?" I turn and see an unfamiliar woman. "Who are you?"

"I was sent by a mutual friend...a concerned mutual friend." She's in her early forties with light brown hair, big brown eyes and an expression of warmth.

"Jason?" She shakes her head. "Polk, my accountant? Rachel? Emma?"

"None of the above. Here..." She holds out her hand. "We have to go...now...you're in danger."

"I can't leave the shrub. There's too much still...I have to decipher."

"How about this? We walk over to the swings. You'll still be able to see the shrub."

"Well..."

She looks up in the sky. "We have to go." She grabs my hand.

"Is it going to rain?" She yanks me up from the bench. "Ow."

"Lets go...you have to get away from here NOW."

"Okay, fine..." I take her hand.  She leads me over to the swings. I sit down and swing back and forth. "I don't understand why you had to pull me away so quick-.

CRASH! From out of the sky drops what looks like a tank on the park bench totally crushing it.

I'm stunned. I look over at her mouth open. "Lets go home," she says.

I take her hand and we walk away, past the swings, out of the park.

I don't look back.