Jose Solis
- The Dinner-
[…]
I wanted to ask him if I could touch his wings (everyone knew he could grow them out from his backbone) and if he said yes I would first look at them and then rub silver wax on them so that they’d shine under the sun and during storms they’d be rain-proof. It was such a wild request that I kept it to myself for fear of making him uncomfortable and to avoid him thinking what a cheap chat-up line I had come up with. He smiled when I thought of this, and he could read my every single thought, and then I realised how young the night was. I’d be more than thrilled to let you touch them, but later on, he said in a smile.
[…]
Can someone please explain why the food has gone missing? Wasn’t there someone who would take care of it? No-one in the kitchen knew what I was talking about. They all looked at each other with blank faces and white eyes while I stormed out from there and went on to think that maybe this dinner would be different, yes, the “difference” that’d make it one of a kind. A dinner without food, with lots of guests and drinks and laughter in between. Words will feed each other, as in a dream.[…]
His short red fur felt so soft that I didn’t want to let him go. He looked at me with his big dark eyes, seemed they were made of glass, how they reflected the light. He fitted in my arms so well I knew he was my child. I hugged him tightly and when I thought of his name, he told me in a look what his name was and that I already knew. He then became a human boy, my son Ego, and stretched his little body and looked everywhere with amazement. There would be no limits for my son Ego, and I felt such a proud father.[…]
She wanted to fill the pool so the guests would jump in and have fun. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but she was already drugged and the sole idea of a fight with her in that state was pointless. She then went into her room, bags under her eyes and a black shawl covering her. She stared at me with empty lifeless eyes. It’d take her some time to finally fall asleep and maybe tomorrow at midday she’d wake up and see that the dinner was finished, all the guests had left and she will invent some memories of the night and she’ll convince herself of what a good hostess she was. Then she’ll walk to the mirror, and no matter how hard her desire to cry will be she won’t cry at all.[…]
The room was full of people, so many and so different I can’t remember them all now. It was the many colours that I remember. Could I see black? Yes. Could I see peppermint rouge? In the left corner. Could I see a blue as the one when the dawn breaks at 5 am in the Amazonian jungle on a clear day of April? Oh, most definitely! Each colour was so out of place and time and yet they all lived in this moment, at this dinner party, strong and vibrant they even made a sound if you closed your eyes and let all the murmurs behind. Then you could listen to it. I did. Several times that night.
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