January 5, 1995
When we woke up this morning the view from the window was of bright sun lighting up the trees and buildings and off to one side dark, black clouds. You could see the wind in the trees.
Teresa has a sore throat. She told me that it hurt a lot last night, so she drank some cough medicine, and now she thinks that gave her a headache because it turns out it has alcohol in it. She’s pretty sure now that she won’t go back to drinking, but she told me once that if I ever see her with a drink in her hand to turn around and go away and never, never come back.
Teresa and I wear the same size shoe, though by looking at our feet you would never know that we belong to the same species. Mine are very wide, like loaves, and hers are long and thin. When I told her that my feet are like loaves, she said, “They are not!”
“They are too, and yours are like breadsticks.”
Once I was looking at her feet and said, “They’re so long, especially your toes.”
“They’re like giant hands,” she said.
Teresa just got home from work, and when I went over to kiss her she drew back.
“What’s wrong? Do I have a pimple?”
“No. I thought your lips were a little chapped. Lean back so I can see you.”
“I can’t focus my eyes up close.”
“What do you see when you kiss me?”
“Well, you have three eyes and two noses. Actually there are two of you.”
“With three eyes each?”
“No. Three eyes total, several lips and lots of teeth.”
“Do I look pretty?”