from The Cunt

1

“Sir, it is simple,” I said. When I told people it was simple their ears perked up — we loved solutions that were simple.
“Son, I don’t understand what you are saying to me.” Ah, I knew I would have to practice patience with this man. It was important that he understand me — it was important that everyone understand me.
I restarted, “You know how the world is so overwhelming,” he nodded with vigor, such vigor, I knew he was listening. I had his attention at last and you could never have enough attention. “Well, what if we could close ourselves off? And, by our own hand.
“It wouldn’t cost a dime, just a bit of string and a needle.” He nodded, and not just polite, he sincerely wanted my simple solution. A kind, good, God-fearing man, he had seen enough to know that whatever it was I was about to say might in fact be worth trusting — a good man, yes sir good sir — he was willing to try anything once.
“I will close myself off from the world, one part of my body at a time. Now, we have noses, but all those bad odors; I know to start there. I have a perfectly good mouth that will do all my breathing for me.” He didn’t mind this very much — okay, sure — the nose, whatever about the nose — it was ugly, it jutted, no one had a nice one.
I had him and I was sure I should continue, “Well the nose has two compartments, left nostril and right nostril. God has put them there for us to close them tight.
“I know how much we dislike mouth breathers — all the noise — but, yes sir good sir, I am above the noise.”
“Okay, son,” expressing impatience, “You have my attention. Stop beating around the bush.” It was true. Attention was nice but getting to the point — necessary. I apologized to the man, as the food arrived. He’d got a burger, and I’d got the same burger, medium rare, just how I liked it. Liked it as much as a clear blue sky. We sat at the counter looking out at the clear blue sky.
I wrapped up, “Well, I’ll do a nostril a day. “Then, I’ll do the eyes.
“Then, I’ll do the ears.
“Then, the mouth.
“That’s seven good, God-willing days. At that point, my face will be useless, but I will still have the mind. And, you know — I’m sure I won’t mind.” This got a chuckle. The man was scarfing his burger but still willing to chuckle — grease running down his face God bless him.
“Without the face, the guts stop doing their thing. Well, I’ll have one last good piss. One nice shit too I’m sure.” The man did not like this. His nose crinkled at the word shit, which was natural, but nature was only custom; and all after all, I was tailor-made. “After that last good piss, I’ll take the needle and the string and close up my foreskin. The next day I’ll take the needle and close up my ass too. It will take nine days for me to close all my cunts.
“What do you think?”
This man was extremely kind, a very willing participant in conversation, a truly good man yes sir good sir, he said, “Well, what happens after?”
“After?”

*

I had no string and I had no needle so I went to the appliance store on the other side of town.
I walked under that brightest blue sky I had ever seen.
See, I was stubborn, stubborner than a fighter — or a mule — though I had never seen one of those in real life, but I had seen a fight in real life. And also, if I didn’t have my stubbornness, then I didn’t have a very important part of myself, and I refused to not have all the most important parts of myself. Emotion, grit, assuredness of belief — this was what made a man.
I was saying as much to the cashier, “See this string is for my nose.” My enthusiasm was unkempt but as I was attractive she listened of course. The cashier was also attractive which made me want to talk to her. She had her own piercings, many piercings, septum and nose and ears.
She asked me what I meant.
I went on and on the way that I went on and on with the man with the burger; rather, I would have liked to have gone on and on the way that I went on and on with the man with the burger, but a big man in sweaty clothes arrived just then. Ah, ’twas her responsibility to treat us as equals, so please, she insisted. So please, and rushed me along.

*

When I talked to my friends — that is, when I used to talk to my friends — I would try to infuse them with my energy. That’s what I’d exclaim as they’d yawn, “I’m trying to infuse you with my energy!” They’d laugh, then they’d say, You’re funny, though they never said what was so funny. Didn’t say a thing after they laughed. But anyways then I knew I was funny, and I liked to be funny. This was how it went with my friends.
I had so many. For a while I had lots! I talked until they yawned. I’d always tell them, “I am infusing you with my energy!”
Ah, but I tried to never ever say the same thing. With so much to say, it was easy to do, but I tried not to, well that’s not totally true. I couldn’t help but tell them all about thunder. That there were ions on the grounds and ions in the clouds. That when ions needed a balance there were these tiny parts that went racing to meet each other, maybe billions of these ions of the skies and ions of the grounds. That they had this need that they were made with.
And when they met that need they went boom!
And that was thunder!
I could hardly believe it, I told my friend, every friend in fact, because I didn’t see those small parts, no one could see them, and I didn’t hear those small parts, no one could hear them, I just felt them when they met, a massive hug at the particulate level. I’d tell them I really liked that word, particulate, and they’d suck their face like a fish, then they’d slink and wait for me to stop — I’d take a breath and in that breath they’d say that they just had to get going — okay, yeah, that’s fine, I’d say.
But one more thing — just let me tell you one more thing! I couldn’t know if my friend was listening to me or to their insides, where they had slunk, which I didn’t mind. No, but I did think it was maybe their loss.
What I was saying was so full of life. And friends wouldn’t go to a place that was less full of life. That’d be dumb.
My friends were always doing things that I was no good at, like tossing and catching and flirting. So maybe what’d I know? So it must have been that I and all my talking were not a thing compared to that place inside. This was a big, big part of why I wanted to slink inside. But when I did it, it wouldn’t be a slink. I was so proud to finally do a thing that all my friends liked to do with me, slink. When I got to doing my cunt closing, I couldn’t find a friend to tell.

*

I had always had this lovable quality and I wouldn’t have known it was such a lovable quality if people hadn’t told me all the time how lovable a quality it was — I liked to talk to strangers. It was, apparently, not common. Well, people tried to explain, it was common; but, but it was a bit too complex to explain over dinner.
If only it was as simple as a smile.
Smiling, I simply couldn’t help but talk to everyone on the street who smiled. We all smiled in the same language — I heard that in a song once. Plus, once we got to smiling, people never told me to go away; they adored how supple my skin was and how lush my hair. My teeth were straight, my cheeks sharp and dimpled too. Plus, all these ideas! Ah, I had everyone’s eye.
It was important to have everyone’s eye.
Where we looked was where we went, and I wanted to go inside.
“That is why I will shut my first eye on the third day,” I exclaimed at the woman on the street with a beautiful dress. She had her child close and her child also had on a beautiful dress and she brought her child closer. The child was enchanted by my presence, so the mother brought her closer to warm her ears.
But, “The ears and the eyes I will do in sync. First the left eye, then the left ear. Second the right eye, second the right ear.” The mother, so so polite. She inched away. This frustrated me: conversation’s a single odd dash away from turning to ash.
She inched further — and further, nodding bye-bye — she just had to get on with her day. I waved sweetly goodbye! The child who smelled of a lavender field waved sweetly goodbye in return.

*

I looked in the mirror, and I promised myself I would, I needed, to complete my mission. I had run into money, and people with money came up with the craziest needs. I shooed away the thought that I was crazy. If I was crazy, I would know!
It was time to close my first cunt.
I looked at myself in the mirror — the sky blue string in one hand, the needle in the other, and my phone on the counter — my phone on the counter showed me how to put the string through the needle. It took being nimble but was in fact very simple, like all good things. Just fold the string into two then pull it through. Ah, that felt the same as folding my nose.
Slid the string together; slid the side of the nose together. A bit of pain then eternal bliss. I wanted to begin. I took a deep breath. I looked at myself in the mirror — the blood in my brain beat and the blood in my heart beat — and quickly I slashed the string through. There was no dripping yet. Without a single breath more, I slashed the string the other way through. Great satisfaction! I saw that the cusp of the nose was sealed. Then red slipped toward my mouth and I huffed it away. I pushed my lips like pff.
Pff, ignoring pain like the good monk preached, pff. Pff, I kept going.

2

I said to my dad, “It’s my new look.”
“Looks bad,” my dad said. And it did look bad. Infected, I thought. But infections went away, and — anyways anyways — what did it matter? I was learning.
All my teachers liked to say, learning is infectious. They’d point at the board and droll dully along, no one a’listening at all. So I learned learning was not infectious, no but truth was infectious. And I was living my truth.
Truth was like looks. We all had looks. Looks mattered.
And anyone saying otherwise probably wasn’t too raggedy. Anyone saying otherwise had probably been beaten in too many fights, which would make them right — looks didn’t matter in a fight.
Well I didn’t want to fight with my dad, yes sir good sir, so we stayed silent for the rest of our food. I’d assumed he’d want to hear the next bits of my plan. But when you assume, supposedly, you made an ass out of you and me. But see, I didn’t believe anything could make an ass out of — both — you and me.
My mom stayed silent too. She just looked at her plate and flicked at her food, but I wanted her to look at my face. I wanted her to gleam for me like the crunchy yellow goo on my nose. But to gleam with pride! Her boy, no, her sir yes sir good sir, was doing what he set out to do. And wasn’t that what a mom always wanted? I didn’t want my mom to worry. Worrying got her warts, worrying got her ulcers. To keep the worries away, she learned to plan ahead.
Still, she couldn’t help but worry for me. I have no idea why. She never really said. All of her worrying lied deep, deep in her head. Ah, and what good was that?

*

When I’d closed my first cunt, I thought I’d chosen the color of the string at random — I loved random — “Random, random, random,” I would sometimes say. But, no, no, no. ’Twas not random.
That clear blue sky was what I’d chose. That clear blue sky was above. Then, that clear blue sky was within. Then, I couldn’t stitch any other color whatsoever. I had to stitch the sky which was deep deep deep inside.
I returned to the store, whooshing through the doors automatic as fate, to locate more colors. The girl with the piercings, septum and nose and ears, found me grabbing handfuls and handfuls of string.
I turned to her. Her eyes went big and her shoulders went back.
One eye, I couldn’t track. It buzzed about like a fly.
The other eye slack, “Ahem,” she asked in the form of a say, “This must be your new look.” She understood! Forever rare and forever good to have a person who understood!
I was hooked, “I’m a man on a mission and my mission is clear. A cunt every day for nine days. There’s nothing to fear.”
She nodded polite.
“I’d thought I’d chosen this sky blue at random. Random, random, random, I like to say, yet it wasn’t, yes yes yes, there was a why.
“But you can’t say why the way I say random — why, why, why — sounds like a bug in your ear.
“See, the sky was up over my head. Now, the sky’s here plum through my nose. I have to get every color today to be ready. Ah, after the nose, it’s the eyes and the ears and the ass.
“Then who nose,” I winked and pointed at my nose to show her that I knew that she knew that I knew that my joke was bleh.
She flicked her finger. She motioned me to follow a few aisles down. “Disinfectant for the pus. Finer needles for the sutures. And a book on how to knit.”
“I don’t know,” I moaned, “What good is a book?”
“You can knit blind,” she said.
Real supportive, “And you’ll be blind for three days or so.”
“Ah,” I said in the form of an ask, “So it’s something to do?”
At the register, ding, ding, ding. I continued, “I do what I do to keep away, away my blues. Speaking of which — left nostril, sky blue; right nostril, who knows — maybe the color of your eyeshadow or maybe the color of your nails or maybe the color of your blush?
“Or — maybe, maybe, maybe — the color of your chandelier heart.” She smiled, “Toodaloo.”

*

A smart man said, so my dad liked to say, though he wasn’t the smart man, he just really liked to say — if it cannot be said in three words or less it must not be said!
Always waxing wisdom — spoke like this — my dad did. He said once — purpose is special.
He added — this his trick for speaking in bigger than threes — appreciate what’s special.
So no sir he simply wouldn’t have my long long tale but if he had had my long long tale I think things might have ended differently. Anyway about that!
I was looking hard in the mirror — not to reflect — but to clean up my leaky, creamy nostril. It hurt to the touch. My friend-girl from the store had advised me to only proceed once I had looked up some tips. So wise. She provided me websites where I learned about surgeons stabbing ladies up through the nose till their brains went to slush.
Interrupted! My phone’s ringtone — me sing’a’linging ’a’linging along — sang-a-lang-a-lang a’ring-a-ding-a-ding, a’ring-a-ding-a-dong, until I answered the phone the way I always answered the phone, “Hello hello hello hello hello helloooo.”
The phone person asked if this was me. “Yes,” I said, “This is he.”
They were the local news and asked if I agreed to an interview. They called me a ‘human interest story.’ Ah, not only was I human, but of course, I was also interesting.
“Yee,” I said nicely, “How’s three?”

*

∩

Emiliano Gomez attends the MFA for Poetry at the University of Notre Dame, is a contributing writer at the Cleveland Review of Books, and has received support from the California Arts Council. A chapbook of Townies was a finalist for the DIAGRAM/New Michigan Press chapbook contest. His work has been published in or is forthcoming from Acentos Review, ballast, Barzakh, Breakbread, Broadkill Review, Indolent Books, and mercuryfirs.