Jacob Lawrence, "The Party," 1935
Jacob Lawrence, The Party (1935)
Can a Game Be Literature?

Mark's Pages

Slips in the shower, hurts her wrist, spills her bowl of Indian takeout upside down onto the bathmat. Staggers into the kitchen looking for more, falls to her knees, moans, dips her fingers into the pools and puddles of takeout she threw or spilled or dropped in the hour before. Looks up long enough to murmur insults, falls face first into the curry, moans, leaps to both feet, lands naked on her computer chair, spilling Rock Star into her open purse, soaking her cell phone and checks and an opened jar of pomade, smashing the pile of CDs she'd left on the floor. Runs back to the shower, soaks for a few minutes, calling your name insistently much of the while, demanding your presence for a round of the usual insults. "You're ridiculous," being her recent favorite. Slips and sloshes back to the computer, writes two or three barefaced lies to her Croatian penpal on addictiontribe, picks up a half empty bottle of club soda, throws it into the window pane, screaming. Sobs, whimpers, slips from the chair while trying to stand, lands on her back amid CDs and purses and shoes, sobs, sends stray kicks in your direction when you offer to help. Returns to the shower, soaks, sobs, screams. Runs to the computer, types, sobs, screams. Runs to the kitchen, leaves the refrigerator door open, throws the remaining plate of Indian takeout at your back, where it decorates your work shirt and the living room rug. Screams, runs outside, smokes, sobs, searches for the telephone: "Operator, how do I call Croatia?" Leaves the front door open in the twenty degree night. Falls into the computer chair, moans, looks for something new to throw. Falls toward the fridge, finds a pound of cheese, bites into it, spits the entire mouthful into the sink, takes a second bite, spits that one at you. Takes the cheese into the shower with her, where it clogs the drain until you finally clean it up a week later. Outside for a smoke, back to the computer, back to the shower, back outside for another smoke, back to the shower, back to the computer. On and on, punctuated by ten minute naps on the floor or the couch or at her computer table, late into the night, night after night, the Devil take anyone who has to work the next morning.