I Wake Up Some Mornings with a Pressing Urgency to Micturate, Yet Remain Bedridden with Lust
Will Berry “Ring,” the phone bitched. “Hello?” “Em, ring?” The sand blurred my view of the screen, but a blink later I could make it out. It was only my alarm, telling me I had to be in class, dodging any retort I’d give if it were anyone calling me. Luckily, that bastard of a device would redeem itself with apps that let me practice German on the toilet. Uns, zwei, drei. Uns, zwei, drei. The lesson reminded me of the last day I saw my friend over the summer. “Guten Abend!” I waved to him as he shuffled in a plié toward his car, like the skinny awkward kid he was—a surprisingly excellent dancer, though. He turned around. “Guten Abend!” His full-arm wave seemed to sway his entire body as he hobbled backwards. I called out to him, “I didn’t know: Sprachen Sie Deutch?” “Sprachen Sie Deutch?” he repeated. Silence. To me, his smile will forever remain innocent. My arm made a final sweep overhead, as if making a curt Tschüss, and he backed his convertible out of the driveway. The kid not going to college has a convertible. Typical. Peanut butter from the shelf; jelly from the fridge; 44