The Princess Diarist(28)

As I watched him disappear on his flaming pie, I suddenly noticed the rainbow trout smiling at me from the windowsill where the mystical pie man had left him. I started to ask if I could get him something—a drink, or some bait—when he suddenly let out a shrill laugh, as only a fish can do. I politely asked him what was so funny and he said, “You. So you’re Mr. Ed. Old horse face with the dumb jokes. No wonder you got canceled.” Then he laughed again and continued laughing until he fell off the windowsill and into the street below.

He lay in the street the entire night screaming with laughter and then suddenly the laughing stopped. I don’t know what happened to him. Although recently someone was talking about the sequel Don Knotts was doing to The Incredible Mr. Limpet (The Incredible Mr. Limpet Two) and they were describing the fish that had the lead opposite Knotts, and it could only have been my rainbow trout.

Mystical, huh?





There are plenty of fish in the sea And you sure look like a fish to me



As soft as a crayfish with a mouth that opens and closes And like a fish you don’t say pretty things And you don’t send no roses



There are plenty of fish in plenty of seas And like a fish you don’t bring shiny diamonds And fall to your knees



If you’d never gotten close I wouldn’t have noticed when you were far away But you filled up my nights and then emptied my days There are girls who can be helped and there are girls who can be had But you helped me and then had me



And now fish I need help again I need help real bad . . .



But, like the fisherman said, there are plenty of fish in the sea And maybe someday some sweet salmon will come and swim away with me





When we talk it’s not merely idle chatter



We discuss things that really don’t matter



We talk of love and god and pain



To life’s never-ending song



We add yet one more refrain



And as the pace gets more and more frantic



The words get more and more pedantic



We leave no sophistry unturned



As our rhetoric becomes more intense



Using our very large vocabularies



To disguise our very common sense.



The words get longer and the plot gets thinner



Another discourse to discuss at dinner



There is no feeling we can’t analyze



Seizing each chance to intellectualize



Talking in the past and present tense



We’re making a lot more noise



And a lot less sense.





She: I love you.

He: What?

She: Nothing . . . never mind.

[Pause]

He: Is something the matter? I mean, you seem sort of uncomfortable.

She: Me? . . . No, I’m fine . . . I feel like a water lily floating on a Chinese lagoon.

He: You what?

She: I said, I feel like a . . . Oh, never mind! Everything’s fine—I’m fine.

He: You sure?

She: Yes. . . . I’m just a little wired that’s all.

He: You want anything?

She: Anything.

He looks at her for a moment then stares off into space nodding.

She laughs.

He: What?

She: Mmm?

He: You looked like you were about to say something.

She: Did I? I always look like that, I guess. It’s kind of a twitch.

He looks off into space.





Sheila and Hugh Resting in arms





Testing your charms



Repeating a ritualized “I love you”





Sharing a fight



Or a kiss in the night



Shrugging when friends ask “What’s new?”



After the wedding Her hips started spreading His hair line began to recede They remained together





Out of habit now



And not out of any great need He’ll show up from work Showing signs of strain



While her day was spent cleaning Letting the soap operas wash her brain . . .



He reads the evening paper She calls him in to eat



They share their meal silently She’s bored, he’s just beat Then they climb the stairs Multiplying the monotony With each step they take The hours spent sleeping They find more satisfying Than those spent awake



He removes his work clothes She puts on her curlers and cream Hoping the sheets will protect them From the demon of daily routine Then he clicks off the lamp And the darkness holds no noise For in the dark you can be anyone Housewives will be girls And businessmen boys



. . .



“I love you, Sheila”



I love you, Hugh”



But she’s deciding on dishes And his thoughts are all askew And the sheets supply refuge For this perpetual pair



Neither really knowing anymore Why the other one is there