Happily Ever After
by R L Swihart
Marilyn's ginormous mouth met me above the green door and I thought it'd fall and swallow me whole. I thought I'd never stop loitering through lubricants and flavored condoms and have the guts to ask.
I had rehearsed my lines but in the end I forgot every word. I drew an eroteme in the counter's dust (the point a perfect thumbprint).
I eventually managed an abridgement: I'm lonely. Lonely planet, lonely manatee.
I think I understand.
Then the attendant reached up and pulled down an old box.
It read:
Stargazer 2000
Kilia Type
Made in Anatolia
I scrambled home, wrestled with the plastic, dumped the contents onto my Murphy bed. My doll (idoll) and the simple instructions:
Plant her in your garden
Water for 3 days
Voilá
Ok, so it took her 4 days to grow. And she was still petrified. My stubborn little Galatea.
We couldn't hold hands: large flippers are no better than small flippers. I could only trace with a drunken finger her Bermuda Triangle; kiss her carved nose; whisper into conic ears; nuzzle a fawnlike neck; imagine where eyes had been.
I know what you're thinking. You're wrong.
I can sleep standing. I've warmth enough for two. We've got the stars and the cars and Venus between us. Weave got ewe.
R L Swihart currently lives in Long Beach, CA, and teaches high school mathematics in Los Angeles. Some of his more recent credits include Unloved Mail-Order Bride, Ghoti Magazine, Lily, and The Hamilton Stone Review.