a picture of lulu

It took a lot to do this -
what she was doing now. But, if anything, she was ready. Dusk was perfect, and settling in for the night. A freshly fallen snow heightened the light, turning everything up a few notches. Usually it was dark at this time, too dark. She took this postponement of night as some sort of selfish sign as if tonight would be different.
As if tonight was 'special'.
'Special', a word young lovers tossed around way too carelessly, everything - a rainstorm, a lost dog, an economic recession, the extra fries at the bottom of the bag, was 'special'. Leaving lost lovers cursed to cry ridiculously at the sight of extra fries greasy in the paper, sobbing something like 'those were OUR extra fries'. Flinging you somewhere deliriously nostalgic. Love is always wasted on lovers.
She was going to do this. She had known him far too long not to. A proposition, a project - he had often brought it up in conversation. Enough talk.
Everything was in place, it was to be the most calculated surprise she had ever pulled off. Two glasses of cheap red wine poured half full ( anything over six dollars and he would've thrown a fit). Something 'special' set on the stereo - a mix tape 'Lucinda Williams vs. Moby'. The sketchpad was one of hers left over from college. She knew better than to uses one of his for this 'special' gesture. In those he kept his designs, his soul, and he rarely revealed them to her, unless he was one hundred percent ready. The sketchpad she had placed conspicuously on the coffeetable, several art pencils falling to its side.
That just left her to one last thing - the subject matter. The still life that was herself, more like the still life of life's biological effect on her. It began to come clear to her as she placed herself naked on the living room couch, trying to strike the most flattering pose.
And one by one these blemishes began to peak out at her with each clicking minute. The once cute 'pooch' just below her belly button beginning to sag like an unstoppable grin - the not so fine hairs that sprouted around her thighs and traced the brail surface of her aureoles that used to keep constant eye contact with her now drifting their gaze about the room (first to the coffeetable, now down to the floor)- numerous moles here and there reminding her of cancer and the deterioration of health- the thickening crust around the pads of her feet from a lifetime of standing upright - the red ring of acne that formed around her asscheeks during times of prolonged stress - it was true that they had been at each other's throats and suspicions were rising but .....her oblong nostrils stuffed up - her square cornered lips - the slowly appearing union of her two eyebrows - skin beginning to hang - the luggage under her eyes - the fact that the bridge of her nose resembled an uncooked hotdog...and...and...the off-whitening of her teeth would be too prominent in this light.
She began to sweat, shifting against the grain of the couch. Her whole life became uncomfortable. Were things really working between the two of them? Was this gesture just plain futile? Was she falling apart? The spiral of self-doubt began to spin. It began to pick up speed. She kicked a leg up on the back of the sofa to try and gain a foothold. With herself spread wide open the imperfections multiplied. They poured out of every reddened pore, every browned fold of skin. She would of cried had it not been for the aesthetic importance she had brought down upon the whole damn thing.
Yes, yes, she would do this. She would brave everything; insecurity, doubt, unwanted body hair, to rekindle this thing. Whatever it was the two of them shared. One last shot at it, and if it failed? She would make her blemishes her own and cherish them. She would draw power from them. She would embrace how imperfect this world was.
Lulu waited...
her body posed at awkward right angles, limbs wrapped around failing cushions. A crab on its back getting fucked by the air.
The colors began to darken. The clarity of the room began to fade.
The light was leaving her.

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