sitting on the steps of our building. He blew smoke in the direction of the used-book store across the street and looked up at me. “Well.” He stood awkwardly. “You're angry I stayed?”
I had to remember not to displace my anger on the little man: it was Bell who was the fucker. Why had he wanted to have sex with the troll in the room? Did he get off on the fact a stranger was so near? Did the little man masturbate along with us, rubbing his dick, waiting until he heard our breath quicken so we could all come together?
“I feel too stale and stupid to talk right now,” I said. He nodded miserably, knowing something grave had happened. There was that cantaloupe-colored light on the buildings and the digital bank clock across the street beat out the time. I felt like I had dirt in my heart. Irrationally I wanted to confess to the little man. “It doesn't matter you were there while we fucked. An hour ago I fucked someone I don't even know.” Even the idea of telling the truth made my face flush and I pressed my hand over my hair.
“Let's sit down,” he said, “on those steps there.” We sat on the lowest step of a Victorian. He took my hand into his lap. It was like holding the cool hand of a child. We were quiet. He spoke in a deep voice that sounded strange coming from his tiny body. “Let me tell you about yourself. You're a girl from the suburbs. A good girl, not that you haven't done bad things. You've lied to seem interesting, complex, and it's worked, especially combined with your intrinsic charm. You still think of that cheap ranch house, the bedroom with white furniture and the mall you went to on Saturdays, browsing through discount records, drinking Orange Julius and buying plastic earrings at K-mart. You want to be different, not just from your suburban neighbors, but from everyone. It's not really megalomania, you just need to feel special in order to believe you are loved.”
I started to open my mouth, though I had no idea what I would say. But the troll held his hand up. “Just let me finish . . . Your parents are divorced. With a girl you can tell around her eyes, boys have other ways of showing.” My mind went away from the troll's voice. I thought how odd it was my parents were divorced. How one day I had a set of grumpy parents in a home that held the family archives and the next my father had married a younger woman and enthusiastically joined her family. And my mother was so bitterly furious in her little divorcée condo it was hardly possible for her to interact civilly with me at all. The little man talked on.
“Your father cheated before he left your mother. This has made it hard for you to trust men. But you're also suspicious that your mother undermined your father's love by scrutiny and mockery. You have noticed this trend in yourself and it frightens you.”
There was a feeling like I was breaking up, blood seeping out of arteries, exposed veins moving like snapped electric wires. “If you're so good at this,” I said, “what about Bell?”
He was angry I wasn't more appreciative of his magical trollish predictions. Stupid troll. Whether he had guessed or not, I would always think he had heard everything from Bell. I had a sudden vision of Bell in bed, his warm soft skin under the blankets, his head filled with erotic blue dreams. I looked at the little man still talking and thought, What he is saying has nothing to do with me.
I stood abruptly. He stood too, screwed his face up. He was going to have a temper tantrum like trolls do. And he did stamp his little foot and say, “You'll never be happy unless you learn to forgive.” His neck muscles constricting, his little fists tightly at his sides, as if without absolute control they would start punching. I thought, like a wife , and turned, heading quickly down the hill. He grabbed my arm, whispered that I was a fool to hate people who were obviously one thing or another and by not choosing to be something completely I
I had to remember not to displace my anger on the little man: it was Bell who was the fucker. Why had he wanted to have sex with the troll in the room? Did he get off on the fact a stranger was so near? Did the little man masturbate along with us, rubbing his dick, waiting until he heard our breath quicken so we could all come together?
“I feel too stale and stupid to talk right now,” I said. He nodded miserably, knowing something grave had happened. There was that cantaloupe-colored light on the buildings and the digital bank clock across the street beat out the time. I felt like I had dirt in my heart. Irrationally I wanted to confess to the little man. “It doesn't matter you were there while we fucked. An hour ago I fucked someone I don't even know.” Even the idea of telling the truth made my face flush and I pressed my hand over my hair.
“Let's sit down,” he said, “on those steps there.” We sat on the lowest step of a Victorian. He took my hand into his lap. It was like holding the cool hand of a child. We were quiet. He spoke in a deep voice that sounded strange coming from his tiny body. “Let me tell you about yourself. You're a girl from the suburbs. A good girl, not that you haven't done bad things. You've lied to seem interesting, complex, and it's worked, especially combined with your intrinsic charm. You still think of that cheap ranch house, the bedroom with white furniture and the mall you went to on Saturdays, browsing through discount records, drinking Orange Julius and buying plastic earrings at K-mart. You want to be different, not just from your suburban neighbors, but from everyone. It's not really megalomania, you just need to feel special in order to believe you are loved.”
I started to open my mouth, though I had no idea what I would say. But the troll held his hand up. “Just let me finish . . . Your parents are divorced. With a girl you can tell around her eyes, boys have other ways of showing.” My mind went away from the troll's voice. I thought how odd it was my parents were divorced. How one day I had a set of grumpy parents in a home that held the family archives and the next my father had married a younger woman and enthusiastically joined her family. And my mother was so bitterly furious in her little divorcée condo it was hardly possible for her to interact civilly with me at all. The little man talked on.
“Your father cheated before he left your mother. This has made it hard for you to trust men. But you're also suspicious that your mother undermined your father's love by scrutiny and mockery. You have noticed this trend in yourself and it frightens you.”
There was a feeling like I was breaking up, blood seeping out of arteries, exposed veins moving like snapped electric wires. “If you're so good at this,” I said, “what about Bell?”
He was angry I wasn't more appreciative of his magical trollish predictions. Stupid troll. Whether he had guessed or not, I would always think he had heard everything from Bell. I had a sudden vision of Bell in bed, his warm soft skin under the blankets, his head filled with erotic blue dreams. I looked at the little man still talking and thought, What he is saying has nothing to do with me.
I stood abruptly. He stood too, screwed his face up. He was going to have a temper tantrum like trolls do. And he did stamp his little foot and say, “You'll never be happy unless you learn to forgive.” His neck muscles constricting, his little fists tightly at his sides, as if without absolute control they would start punching. I thought, like a wife , and turned, heading quickly down the hill. He grabbed my arm, whispered that I was a fool to hate people who were obviously one thing or another and by not choosing to be something completely I
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