If we were on speaking terms, I’d call you to tell you another weird thing.
Writing class just ended, and I came home to try to find my married life. Well, shit. It used to be in a box beneath my bed, beside my Dewalt drill, but it’s not there. I need the journal I kept when I was married to help me remember. “Linus, where is my married life?” I wonder if he can smell it, the married smells of our old apartment trapped in boxes beneath my single bed. Linus ignores my question and turns onto his back in my lap. He looks like a stuffed Cornish hen. It’s just as you’d say. I wish we were on speaking terms. I’d tell you I miss you. No I wouldn’t. I’d let you say it, then I’d smile.
As I search for my old journal filled with pages using phrases like, “He did it, again,” I stumbled upon Schott’s Food & Drink Miscellany. It’s like the generic one on your shelf, but mine is better because we don’t like anything as much as food. Not even each other. You’d be jealous of my book, but you wouldn’t say so. Instead you’d just say, “See, Klein, we’re so alike.” We are alike in many ways, but I take the miscellany in life to mean more than you do. I find detail and meaning in things because it gives me an excuse to say, “see, this is why we should be talking.” If we were on speaking terms, I’d tell you that, and you’d smile.