Love and Will by Stephen Dixon

nods, closes her eyes, dies.
    I go off, but it’s never the same with anyone else after that.

Guests
    Come in. Over here. Sit down. Make yourself at home. Are you comfortable? Like something to drink? To eat? I want to tell you something. How about another cushion? Different seat? Try the couch. It’s much more comfortable. The other side—that one has bad springs. Push away the cat. Then I’ll get him away. Rosy, get off. I said to get off. There. You’re allergic to cat hair? By the way you sneezed. Maybe you don’t know you are. Rosy, get out of the room. He never listens. Off the chair yes but not out of the room. And she I mean. To me all cats are hes, isn’t that ridiculous? Particularly if you caught two copulating. Because to most people cats are shes. Which would be just as ridiculous if you caught them in the act. But not to me. I mean to me all dogs are shes. But I’ll get her out of the room just in case you are allergic. Some people only become that way to cats later in life. When they’re adults like you and I. Or like you and me. I can almost never get those two straight too. Rosy, come here. Thataboy. To me she’ll always be a boy. I’ll throw him out of the room and close the door. There. Now watch. You probably won’t sneeze again or at least not for the time you’re here.
    Now about what I have to tell you. I haven’t forgotten. But you sure you don’t need more cushions? One more then. It’s only on the other chair. I’ll get it. No bother. Put it behind your back. Then in top of the couch where your head or neck can rest. How does it feel? Much better I bet. And notice you’re not sneezing anymore. I told you it was the cat. What’s that? Another sneeze? It could be from the newspaper ink. So you’ve never sneezed from it that you know. Though I always say it’s what you don’t know that counts. I don’t always say it but have thought of it often and occasionally said it I believe. At least a few times. Maybe only once. Could be I only just thought of it before and once. But I’ll take the newspaper away and throw it into the other room with the cat. Let’s see if he sneezes from the ink. If you sneeze again with both of them out of the room, I’ll almost believe you’re allergic to me.
    So what I want to talk to you about. It’s quite important. Very. Though like some music on first? Simple for me to do. Mozart or Bach? To me they’re the only true composers. Plus a couple of others—Beethoven of course. And Handel and Haydn, Vivaldi and Bartok. Which would you like? Also Stravinsky, Gabrieli, Mahler and Pärt. Let me also get you that drink. It doesn’t have to be stronger than iced tea. Or any mix you want that goes with gin except grapefruit juice I’ve got. Okay, one coming up. I’ll also select what music to play if you won’t. Now what do you think? About the drink and this piece. His number twenty-four. For piano and orchestra. Guess which composer. Wrong. Guess again. Again wrong. I hate guessing games and often the people who participate in them. It’s not, though, Mozart.
    Where was I again? What I wanted to tell you. Have to. Important. Extremely. Almost more than I can say. We’re both comfortable though, correct? Drink. Music. Volume not too loud or low. Reasonably soft couch on that side and mine a relatively easy seat. Air. How’s the air? I can turn the air conditioner down or off. I’ll leave it at medium. I only had it at high to quickly cool the room, not that it’s that muggy out or hot. But you get used to these things. I do, I don’t know about you. Maybe you don’t even own one. I almost keep it on steadily till people tell me there’s a cold wave out. Almost not true. A minor exaggeration. But I think I do overabuse this machine and help create a minor energy crisis with it all by myself. At least for this city.