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Again, another snippet of my life:
I need to work. She walks away downcast, playfully. The game fills me with joy. I know this, and what to do, and what should have been done. It shouldn’t have been said in the first place. I knew this, but most importantly: she knows this. Yet I fill lungs and bate my breath as I chase her the three bounds to the left that she’s achieved, right over left then left in place before sliding my right leg beside her so that I can lasso her with my arms and hold down on her shoulders. At that moment a group of teenagers let out late at the local school feign interest, “Awww.” The cooing member was the girl alone and ahead of the pack, who kept quiet and made me think of an ambush. But I have to admit, I then saw the best of her in there her eyelashes curled, her opal eyes fountaining resplendent over her cheeky mounds, before she turned it sidewards.
“Hmph.” arms crossed.
“Luuu!” in the highest mock pitch.
“Fine and I dressed up for this.” I knew it.
It usually just takes a few pecks to get her chiseling chimpy cheek back around, just like this time. It’s a wonderful breeze that’s caught up to us this time, like a lot of many other things are. I am thinking of a real modest proposal, the travel paying for itself with each recovered millimeter of smile joining mine in return. It does, it does, it does, I think outside Chin Hua under the awning. I have her back, my baby, that I throw into the air, really breathing now.
“Ok let’s go. You can go to your house to study and I’ll go to mine and lay in my bed and cry because baby isn’t with me because baby doesn’t want to be with baby because he’d rather stu-dy,” moving off the sidewalk. I took the plunge, too, my hand massaging her elbow entirely, behind her. She turns around. “Ok bye.”
“Where is you going?”
“You know where.”
I grab her keys. I open her driver’s door.
“I’ll go around—”
“Please.” I proffer her keys back and with my left arm sweep kindly into imaginary view the door. “I can’t leave my car here there are too many hoodlums coming out from school.”
“Luuuu! Just go home.”
“Okay, let’s go. I’ll follow you.” But before she can retake her natural ground I turn and head to my own door and get in. I buckle down then put the key in the ignition. I look over, and can’t see her face. She’s texting, I know it. I’m going to wait and good thing I just checked out the first volume Norton anthology of English literature. I’ve been studying the French Revolution and the Reformation and Marx, impressed with the Penguin Communist Manifesto’s 200 page introduction, and taking cognition pills to better take in books for potential review such as Susan Sontag’s Regarding the Pain of Others, the contents of which I’m finding to be already occidental, and of which I’m expecting a post-structural twist later in. But what I’m really studying is Marxism to better understand capitalism, to accurately diagnose our times, to have something to write about, anything important. She doesn’t look up once. I press on the honk, and still watching her, I see a wave of response move up her body and out from the top of her head like a bunny turning to prospect any threat to her comfort zone.
I point at what’s behind her, to the road. She doesn’t get it and even tilts her head, like bunnies are wont to. So I give her the thumbs up. She lifts up her phone to view and spins it along its X-axis to identify the proper object of her attentions now. I jut my bottom jaw out, lips pursed, and with eyebrows Stoogely raised with enlarged eyeballs. She just looks down. At these junctures, it’s best to give time.
So I continue down the contents and I see—Samuel Butler! As I’m turning to the appropriate page I notice something outside—she’s walking towards me! I unlock the door manually on her side since I’m not sure if any unlock button will actually unlock the whole car. And of course when she opens the door the alarm takes off and, used to the embarrassment, I calmly try each button on the controller, ‘lock,’ ‘unlock,’ ‘alarm,’ and finding them useless I remove the key from the ignition and then work ‘unlock’ how I know it will now, while taking care not to repeat aloud the page number (2155).
Supporting herself on her angled right leg, which is excruciating to think of, and using the car ceiling as a preventive to a balancing act, she removes everything from shotgun: two beanies, a dvd, her UCSC zip-up, all those tossed kindly to the back, and a clipboard with a single blank piece of paper to the ground, before sitting down. We don’t look at each other for about a long while as we hug.
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Also, is this not the dumbest reply you've ever read? Consequently I did not receive any response, to the loss of my wallet and reputation.
"Hi -----,
I actually chose to name my ad's subject "learning aid," and not just "tutor," to not restrict myself to just tutoring for school, since tutoring is usually known as something done "for school" only! With that said, yes I wouldn't mind being a personal tutor for your husband. In fact, I think acting as a conversation partner for language acquisition would be more enjoyable than exclusive school-related essay structuring. Judging by your last name, was I wrong in having already begun brushing up on my Spanish? Do you have any language skills or subjects in mind that I can begin preparing learning material for?
Also, what is your husband's availability? I work part-time at my local library in Fairfield so I'll cross-check his hours against mine. As to the upcoming two weeks, for which I already have my work schedule given by my supervisor, I am completely available Saturday (23rd), Sunday (24th), Monday (25th), and Thursday (28th). I work the mornings of Thursday and Friday, but I'd like some time to prepare so as to deliver an effective tutoring session.
As to the fee per hour, I'm sorry but I would only consider a long-term package type deal if I was local or even lived in Davis. But being from Fairfield, the gas is too much and I honestly need the money. I apologize.
Sincerely,
Arian"
My new office.
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