The most fun activity in which you don’t smile by Bogdan Dragos

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she’s got this big

lizard

that I don’t

even know the name of

and walks

it around in a

baby stroller

“It needs the sun,” she

says. “And it

needs me as her mother.”

When she’s not at her

dish-washing job

at the two-star restaurant

she’s scouting

the local park,

looking for trees with bird nests

to steal the eggs

or even better,

the chicks

and feed them to the

big lizard

Not exactly the crime

to send one

behind the bars

but she did

get in

some trouble for it

“I never liked the scent

of peeling scales,”

she said, “until I

smelt it on her belly,

between her hind legs.

If you haven’t

seen angels

before,

you are invited to look

upon her

beauty. Please only

look, don’t touch.”

“Yeah,” I said, “she’s pretty

nice. What’s

her name?”

But instead of answering

she said,

“What’s the most fun

activity in

which you don’t smile?”

I shrugged. “I can’t imagine

a fun activity in

which you don’t smile.”

“Then you don’t

love yourself,” she said

“Well, I don’t usually

think about

that.”

“Masturbation,”

she said

And I said, “Okay.”

“Self love is the key

to happiness.”

“Um, okay.”

“I can see you’re not very good

at it.”

“Okay. I mean, yeah, you’re

right.”

“Why do you hate yourself

more than

you love yourself?”

“I don’t know. Why do you

parade a lizard in

a baby stroller around

town?”

She smiled. “Because the

lizard is

blind. She has never seen

itself in a mirror

so I make sure

to tell her how beautiful

she is at least twelve

times a day.

Because I love myself first. And

that gives me

the godlike ability to

love others.

Something you don’t

seem to possess.”

“Shit,” I said, “Okay.”

“Stop making use of

ugly words in

your speech.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“Shit, okay. Sorry. I mean… Okay,

I’ll stop.”

“You’re so lost.”

“Now that I can’t

argue with.”

“What do you do in order to find

yourself?”

“I don’t know. I…

I write stuff. I guess…”

“Do you hurt people?”

“Not intentionally. But

there are people who claim

I’ve hurt them. Mostly through

what I’ve

written.”

“Will you write about

me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You will.”

“I don’t know.”

“Would you like me to hug

you?”

“You don’t have to.

I’m good, thanks.”

“Alright. Well, can you promise

me one thing

then?”

“What is it?”

“When you write about me–”

“I don’t know if I’ll

ever do that.”

“Yeah, but if you do… Can you

promise me one

thing? Promise me that

you’ll put the

following words

in quotation marks

next to my name… Promise me

that you’ll say

that I’ve said

that

people who are good at comforting

others are the people

who’ve been hurt the most

in their past. Okay?”

“…okay.”

“Good. I’m glad. Do you want to

feel my dragon’s tongue

against your face

or eyeball? It’s divine, I’m tellin’

you.”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Oh, I see. Well, one day

surely you’ll

know how to love yourself. I’m

sure.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said.

“Until then

keep writing, okay?”

“Now that I can

totally do,” I said. “It’s a

promise.”

“Don’t let me down,” she said.

“And yourself. Don’t let

any of us down, okay?”

“Okay…”

I gotta admit,

she was the best muse

I’ve worked with

in a long while

-BOGDAN DRAGOS

Bogdan Dragos supervises casinos for a gambling company, working twelve-hour shifts locked in a dark office full of TV monitors. There he mostly daydreams and writes poems and stories. He also manages a poetry blog Daydreaming as a profession.

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