RAZOR
He cut them off every chance he got.
Warts. On his face like someone threw a handful of sticky pencil erasers at him and they stuck. Warts on his face that disguised his nose and made his lips protrude and shut his chin off, warts that covered his head. Those Goddamned warts so when he got on that bus warts an’ all and sat down next to her he knew she couldn’t see them, the warts, and no one else could either, except for the band aids that covered the cuts where he cut the warts off. With a one edged razor blade that he always took with him.
Eddy got off four sticks down the line and backspaced, big long strides to the train station. The men’s room there had a mirror. He was tall enough so that the mirror chopped off the top of his head. When the train came he stopped looking and jabbing and put on band aids and got on board for the city. The train door closed and caught his case and he thought about the things he lost. He’d lost a cat in a rubber match once and he was not about to let that happen again. Aunt Gabriella made pies out of Cicadas that only she would eat. Shit like that.
The city was new to him, this big city, and he headed to the restroom at the main train station to find his razor blade and chip at his face but his mouth looked wrong. There was light when he walked out.
Eddy had a box of blue tip matches from Ohio and old shoes from Polsky’s, the old department store, that he wore for special occasions. Big city, Eddy thought, better wear my shoes. He dumped the matches on the train tracks and kept the box because that’s what she told him.
“I gotta get rid of these warts,” Eddy said
“I know,” she said. “Come see me.”
It was that easy, Eddy thought and walked through the beads of a door to a room where she sat and gave Eddy his relief.
“Get a room. Sleep,” she offered when she finished.
Eddy touched his face. She flicked her bony finger at a bit of blemish from his bleeding cheek.
“Perfect!” she exclaimed. Eddy found a room down the road. It cost too much, sixty-eight dollars, so Eddy sat on the bench outside of the Burger Wank and waited for the spell to finish.
“Won’t be all done till tomorra,’” she said. So Eddy sat on his hands and waited. The razor was in his pocket and he took it and threw it away. But the thing is, she said, you gotta put it all some where, so bring a little empty box”
Okay, Eddy said, I’ll dump out the matches. And there was something to be said for Eddy’s resolve. The matches wound up wet and gone and Eddy put the empty box in his pocket. Just like she said to.
“And when that number five shows up you get on it and leave that match box on a seat,” she winced, ”and get off at the next stop—and get the train back home.”
Eddy walked the miles back instead, thinking of a place to stay and thought about his stupid little office, the one where he could sleep all day with his feet up, horns in his hands, cough syrup, and not talk to her. The moon was like milk when he did not. The number five went past, spraying mist and mud. He could go there at least to itch his face and sit in the dark. Ahh, he had an old razor there too.
There’s light at the end of the tunnel, man, this much Eddy knew, toweling off his new face. The mirror in his office was new—
And rusty saw blades under the floor boards, which he found in time to saw himself in two! Eddy was so pencil- skinny anyway and he figured it out, the way to saw himself apart every chance he got. Then he thought again about her and sneezed and remembered his bicycle.
“Quicker,” he said and pedaled off in half with a wet, red, empty match box.
1 comment:
My first thought was, Ick. But then as I read, the raw elegance of the writing really drew me in. What on the surface was abhorrent actually ended up captivating me.
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