The More You Ignore Me by Travis Nichols Page B

neighborly intrusion.
    I noted that Corn was quite inebriated, the beer and the clonazepam working together to impede his fine motor skills while at the same time speeding up his speech.
    He slushed his way through the conversation like some deranged snowshoer while his appendages twitched and dragged along independent of his mind.
    It was true, of course, that Corn had been waiting a long time for this, so he had an absurd grin on his face that went beyond mere inebriation, but still managed to not quite be able to grasp the situation fully.
    â€œHow long is time?” he said, one arm shooting out spasmodically into the air. “Dunno, long enough that the duration isn’t, like, a line, it’s an arc, bent, pulling space in with it, long time, that’s what I’m saying, a long time, I’ve wanted this a long time.”
    Things became quite stark for me then.
    My breathing slowed and I felt a profound chill at the back of my skull.
    Could she really be about to sleep with this silly, striving child ?
    Overcome by melancholy, I let my head droop; I could not watch.
    But I knew my case required evidence, so I held my recorder up to the window and, despite the burning muscles in my shoulder, the tingling numbness in my forearms, I recorded the entire event.
    Rather than relive it in the telling, I will simply here provide you with the transcript I’ve kept with me ever since.
    1:28 AM
    (sounds of movement—furniture nudged, walls bumped)
    Corn: “Wait, wait, wait! Why are we, you know, why are we doing it, like, now?”
    Rachil: “Don’t you want to?”
    Corn: “Want to? Want to?”
    (muffled sound of a body sliding headfirst across a bedspread, dull thud)
    Corn: (voice obscured by pillows) “I want to!”
    (a zipper sounds, heels clatter, the wispy thumps of falling clothing)
    Corn: “Special.”
    Rachil: “What?”
    Corn: “Special . . . you’re wearing . . . the special . . . the special . . .”
    Rachil: “Oh my god, Corn. You are so blitzed .”
    Corn: “Undies!”
    Rachil: (giggles) “You like?”
    (sound of the bed creaking)
    Corn: “I love. Looooooooooove looooooooooove the undies!”
    (wet noises)
    Rachil: “Wait. Wait. You’ll be . . oh God this sounds so dumb, but you’ll be gentle?”
    Corn: “Oh yeah. Totally. Gentle Ben. Gentle Giant. Green Giant. Green Bean. Can a corn. You got it.”
    Rachil: “I’m nervous to try again. Last time was . . . weird.”
    Corn: “I flossed!”
    (more wet noises, zippers, thumps)
    Rachil: “What’s wrong?”
    Corn: “Huh?”
    Rachil: “Don’t you want to?”
    Corn: “Rachil. C’mon. I’ve wanted to since, like, the brontosaurus wanted to with the lady brontosaurus, since the protozoa wanted to with the paramecium, since the big wanted to bang, since . . .”
    Rachil: “Yeah but it just doesn’t look like you’re, you know, ready .”
    Corn: “What? I look totally ready! Got my shirt off, got my shoes off, or, one shoe off, anyway, got my pants off, got my . . . oh. Right.”
    (silence)
    Corn: “True. I do not appear to be quite ready.”
    Rachil: (lower register) “Maybe I can help?”
    Corn: “I don’t know, I mean, unless you can give me a blood transfusion or have some Dippity-do or spackle or . . . oh, I see. The mouth. The job we call blow. Yes, by all means.”
    (horrible, horrible wet noises)
    Rachil: “What the hell?”
    (silence)
    (bed creaks)
    (sound of forehead being slapped)
    Corn: “Oh . . . dear.”
    Rachil: “What?”
    Corn: “Well, you see, I think . . . well, here’s the thing. Thingy. Rico gave me some, uh, drugs.”
    Rachil: “Some what?”
    Corn: “Drugs. Clonazepam. I think it’s called clonazepam. It’s a painkiller. I think. Or relaxer. Something. It’s not good for