Shape of My Heart

Part 1

Hairy appendages contorting nimble lassos of fine silk wrapped around my body and eventually my soul. The maddening pace of being spun was comforting and warmer than I would have imagined yet smelled of nature after a fresh morning thunderstorm steaming across all surfaces of soil and cement. I wanted to remain here with my new friend who kept me quite snug in its quiet abode, manifested inside the inner carpentry of my garage side window. I was in motion for what felt like an eternity but was merely seconds. Rotating into my mummified body reminded me of how they pour a soft serve ice cream into a cone. You have to start with a wide, fat drop of ice cream and finesse your way to the tip of the top, finishing with a fancy swirl to accent the shape. My shape remained in tact but faceless after the last strand of lacework glossed over my mouth, nose, eyes, and scalp. A tuft of hair poked out glaring at my unfamiliar acquaintance. It seemed displeased with its vision and decided to tear the uncovered skin covering my skull out instead.

The sting of being scalped without having your senses to feel was an unfamiliar sensation probably only felt by those who have been tortured in the blackest corners of the Earth over centuries of time. The pain subsided to become an icy hole where my crown of hair once lay like a weed in your backyard minding its own business to suddenly be unrooted by the careless gardener distracted in a whirlwind of dirt and grass clippings. I felt the cool autumn air displace itself through my broken hair follicles, traveling down my throat and into my heart. It's tiny feet tapped my head and body making sure I was cozy and perfectly fashioned for the long night ahead of us.

If only my wife could see me now. She always fancied that I had a full head of hair, one of my more flattering attributes besides my smile. I guess that isn't the case anymore since I begrudgingly received a cheap haircut. She wouldn't come looking for maybe another few hours. It was getting late as mosquitoes doubled and embraced the nighttime feast of human blood. I know we could use the time apart after I was caught in the backseat of my driveway with Jasmine Novak, our neighbor who gave me the eyes for six months before I gave in. Her accent was a mix of Slovakian or Russian I could never tell. The foreign element was unusual and fresh and I wanted more. I'd find myself doing chores for her like shoveling snow to checking the fuse box after a power outage to hard kissing betwixt the hot leather of my 94' Ford Probe GT.

I lost myself somewhere within the friction of life passing and a mundane spackle of playing house. We never did have any children, a regret my wife and I muddled over the past few years but never let the conversation go past a minute or two. It was awkward as it was depressing. At some point you reach an age where time is irrelevant and you just accept the blur. You accept it because you just don't care anymore about anything or anyone but yourself and how you can make up for lost time. It's in those moments that man makes his gravest mistakes that sometimes are irredeemable to cope with.

These thoughts crept into my subconscious as I hung on a string, dangling in the moonlight. I wondered if I ever loved my wife since all I could think about was Jasmine and whether we should really be together or just pretend it was a one time thing. Man, what I would give to feel her raven hair tangled in my fingers and her sweet breath heating up my lips like the hot roar of an oven after checking to see if the cookies were burnt. She always tasted like a brand- new stick of gum right before the blast of sugar and peppermint faded into a repetitive bland. A toxic blend of saliva mixed in my mouth, captivated in a sensual web of tired guilt and pure ecstasy.