the films that play in my head

There's a film playing. Something smooth and noirish, filled with suave men, serpentine cigarette smoke.

I see you first, at least I think I do. But I'm pretending I didn't see you first so perhaps you're doing the same. A few seconds pass for you to finish off that vodka, and for me to rake my fingers through my hair, en garde.

Then we both force our gazes to slice through the crowd and make metallic contact.

Ba-boom.

Ba-boom.

You smile. (Thrust. Chink.) I smile. (Parry. Clink.) The crowd subconsciously parts as the knife inside my right boot seeks to fulfill the gravitational pull toward your heart, and we silently, swiftly make our way toward each other.

Ba-boom.

Ba-boom.

Ok. I will speak first. Ahem. "My name....... is Inigo Montoya. You killed my resistance to being jaded, and my porcupine named Fred! Prepare to die. Erm... come to think of it, you might have killed my father too."

Ba-boom.

Ba-boom.

That annoying noise? It's your heart beating loud enough for all the queers in this bar to hear. Hell, Liberace can hear it, six feet under.

And then, I carry things out QUENTIN TARANTINO'S KILL BILL style, ensuring ample blood and animalistic noises and gratuitous dueling showcase both of our really hot, really fit bodies at their supreme.

The gay club we're in eats this shit up.

Ah, but the duel must end, (shorter than expected because you haven't had your RedBull tonight,) and one must win, and that one is me. Nothing personal, really. You killed my porcupine named Fred.

*

Simultaneously, another film is playing.

"Hey you," you say, cocking your head to one side. The summer breeze plays with your hair.

"Hi," I say. And I can't think of anything else to say, because nothing else needs to be said.

Except maybe, "Oh come, dear. Let's just forget all of the really bad shit and be kind to each other and be friends for a good long while!"

And you say "Oh, let's!" and I reply "Oh, let's do!" and you continue with "Oh but it shall be jolly good fun!" and I continue with "Such fun indeed!"

By now we're holding hands, skipping through the poppies with a ping pong of banter such as "Whee!" and "Candyland!" and "We did it!" and "We made it through the scary dark relationship forest, and out into the sunlight of friendship!"

Julie Andrews most likely begins to sing in the background.

*

Now let's watch a real film. A documentary, you might call it. It goes like this. I've been replaying these two fictional films in my head. Over, and over, and over. Oscillating back and forth: ...how will I react when I encounter you?

And the reality is, you could probably be the most ambivalent, uncouth motherfucker on the planet, and I'd keep putting doggie treats to your lips. Because that's just how dogs act and I'm used to it. Can't teach an old dog new tricks and all that jazz.

But as soon as you say something sweet, along the lines of "Hey, I heard you're having a bad day. Let me know if I can help," I am going to sprout platinum blonde hair, begin calling myself Beatrix and

cut

you

to pieces.

Because that's just wrong.

Cheese.

*

Blip. Blip. Blip.

Whirrrrrrzzsxfhsssshhhhhhh...

look and see

Coyote was going along and as he came over the brow of a hill he saw a man taking his eyes out of his head and throwing them up into a cottonwood tree. There they would hang until he cried out "Eyes come back!” Then his eyes would return to his head. Coyote wanted very much to learn this trick and begged and begged until the man taught him. “But be careful, Coyote,” the man said. “Don’t do this more than four times in one day.” “Of course not. Why would I do that?” said Coyote.

When the man left, Coyote took his eyes out and threw them into the cottonwood tree. He could see for miles then, see over the low hills, see where the stream went, see the shape of things. When he had done this four times, he thought, “That man’s rule is made for his country. I don’t think it applies here.This is my country.” For a fifth time he threw his eyes into the tree and for a fifth time he cried “Eyes come back!” But they didn’t come back. Poor Coyote stumbled about the grove, bumping into trees and crying. He couldn’t think what to do, and lay down to sleep. Before too long, some mice came by and, thinking Coyote was dead, began to clip his hair to make a nest. Feeling the mice at work, Coyote let his mouth hang open until he caught one by the tail.

“Look up in that tree, Brother Mouse,”said Coyote, talking from the side of his mouth. “Do you see my eyes up there?” “Yes,” said the mouse. “They are all swollen from the sun. They’re oozing a little. Flies have gathered on them.” The mouse offered to retrieve the eyes, but Coyote didn’t trust him. “Give me one of your eyes,” he said. The mouse did so, and Coyote put the little ball into the back of his eye socket. He could see a little now, but had to hold his head at an odd angle to keep the eye in place. He stumbled from the cotton- wood grove and came upon Buffalo Bull. “What’s the matter, Coyote?” asked the Bull. The Buffalo took pity on him when he heard the story, and offered one of his own eyes. Coyote took it and squeezed it into his left eye socket. Part of it hung out. It bent him down to one side. Thus he went on his way.

-from Trickster MakesThis World: Mischief, Myth, and Art, Lewis Hyde