| ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM |
| ***BIO*** Roberta Lawson is twenty five years old, and lives on the South coast of England. Her work has most recently appeared or is forthcoming in Mung Being, Gloom Cupboard, Gutter Eloquence, Prick Of The Spindle, and The Clockwise Cat. She blogs at Atmospheres Of Perfect Silence. She harbours this suspicion that listing her writing credits doesn't tell you an awful lot about her. |
 |
 |
| © 2009 zygoteinmycoffee Ink. |
| Home |
| Submit |
| I’ll Book That Therapy Appointment Soon |
| by Roberta Lawson |
| I am wearing the black velvet party dress from when I was five years old. It no longer fits around my hips, so I wear it on my arm. It has a net petticoat and it is patterned with giant multi-coloured acid circles.
* * * I am fucking, raucous on my bedroom floor. Too hard? No, sweetie, harder please, harder? Pulling him into me. My thighs clench and I wrap all around him. The My Little Ponies dance jubilant on the wall and my crayon-ed paintings rustle ecstatic. The Swan Lake dancer in the music box is giddy intoxicated teetering as I orgasm. Cheerful jigging midgets warble ‘It’s a small world!’ when he shudders final in me. Post-coital, we crawl into the doll’s house. * * * I pop my first E in our maths long-division lesson. The big friendly teacher mean-mouthed thinks I am copying my best friend’s work. I am not copying. I am made to sit on an all-alone desk isolated at the front right-hand corner of the class. I inhale chalk smell and idle tug the dove-print pill from the desk’s ink-well. I fall in love with Mrs. Beeber, my big-haired teacher, with whom I share an intense connection. I suspect that the mud-haired boy behind me is trying to kill me. He throws paper at my head. I drink a lot of metallic fountain water whilst I’m tripping (no-one tells me not to. I’m six!) I marry Mrs. Beeber when I come of age on my eighth birthday. But I never understand long-division. * * * At twenty seven, I win my first conker fight. Twenty nine, my boyfriend suggests bullwhips, but I am all caught up with playing hopscotch. We compromise and he whips me as I skip pastel coloured chalk squares. My pigtails flog my face as concentrated I bounce for him. MAY I LEAVE TO GO GET MY BREAK TIME APPLE PLEASE? We eat raisins and I give him a wedgie for having whipped so hard. He gives me a wet willy and I giggle fallover. * * * After we have been married twelve years, we go to first base as Obama is inaugurated. I light a languid cigarette and he recites me his alphabet, proudest. We are at ‘F’ when my second best friend invites me over to play ‘Babysitter’s Club.’ I toss joss sticks, knee-socks, and condoms (ribbed especially for her pleasure) in my satchel, and drive over. |
 |
| July 2009 |
| 121 |