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December 27, 2004 10:29 AM- bluepoppy is sleeping

(With apologies to Sarah Shun-lien Bynum)

Bluepoppy is sleeping. Keep still, says T to the boys who are whining. Go lay down. She?s had a long year and needs her rest.

Her dark hair fans across the pale blue linens. Crumpled, snotty tissues are held tight in one fist. Shhhh. The wind outside blows snow from the roof but bluepoppy does not stir. Henry sneaks over to one corner of the bed where her bare foot is exposed. He licks at her sole.

In her sleep bluepoppy smiles.

In the giant anthill people are working. It is Monday. They gather around the slab of oak veneer. Where is bluepoppy, they ask. This is her meeting. They sit and stare at the conference phone that doesn?t ring.

Mr. Bulbous climbs on top of the conference table. Hard, black hairs sprout from between his knuckles. Antenna spiral out from his waxy ears. His lips begin to shake and buzz. Mr. Bulbous lifts up from the table and flies around the room banging into walls. What?s he doing, asks Mr. Fidget. I read about this once, says the intern on break from his MBA program. Let?s open the door and see if he flies outside, says Buddy.

Down the hall behind closed doors there is a hush-hush meeting. Everyone waits for the other to speak. It is very hush-hush. Finally someone scribbles a question on a yellow post-it. Is she sick? Heads shake, no. Is she on a beach somewhere? Shrugs. Nobody knows for sure.

In her bed, bluepoppy rolls onto her back. Ollie jumps up and curls next to her, his chin rests on her belly. T walks by and glances in. Shhh, he says to Ollie. Don?t wake her up.

Tuesday morning has sun. Yesterday's bleak shawl of low clouds has been burned away and the branches of the dark green fir trees are outlined crisply against the blue sky.

Bluepoppy's face is plowed into her soft pillow, drool collects in a pool by her chin. Below her window, T and the boys are outside in the cold, cold air. They bark and shout and stomp about in the crusty snow, but upstairs in her warm bed, bluepoppy hears only footsteps on the sidewalk, the hot press of an espresso machine from behind the zinc bar.

Le garcon sets the white demitasse in front of her with the tab tucked underneath. She doesn't look up. She is scribbling in her notebook. It is late and she shouldn't be drinking coffee. She'll never get to sleep. Jean-luc slides into the seat across from hers. He smells of sweat and tobacco. Come for a walk, he says. Your fingers need a rest. He pulls one hand to him and kisses her fingertips. Bluepoppy smiles. Her pen rolls across the sheaf of papers. No, no sleep tonight.

Wednesday's child is full of woe. Her blue wool coat is long and has thick black cuffs of Russian velvet at the neck, sleeves and all along the swinging hem. She comes to the edge of the lake and stops. It is not quite frozen, but the wolves are thrashing through the woods behind her. She has no choice.

Her bare feet are numb and do not feel the cuts and gouges from the ice as she hurries across the snowy surface. The wolves have an easy trail of blood to follow. She feels the vibration of fissures under her feet as the ice shifts and groans. She stops. Her breath is choked with fear.

T strokes her forehead with the palm of his warm, strong hand. Shhh. He whispers to bluepoppy. Her breathing is tight and panicked. Shhh. He says again and pulls her close. You are safe. You are safe.

A great wind lifts bluepoppy up from the lake. She watches as the wolves reach her last spot and howl in frustration. The lake splits and swallows them whole. Only a few futile thrashes of paws and they are gone.

The gentle wind carries her easily away from the cold bleak mountains. Far below she sees one city after the next-- busy busy busy. The air shifts and she undoes the buttons at her throat. It's warm now and shafts of sunlight are layered through the clouds. She can hear children playing on the beach.

Down down down. Her bare feet sink into warm white sand. She shields her eyes to look up at the wind to say thank you but the wind is gone. The sky stretches across the ocean, cloudless. Her coat is a perfect blanket as she shakes it out onto the beach. Her calves and shins are unshaven, but no one seems to notice.

It's Ladies Night on Thursdays at The Naked Oyster. Steel drums are ting-ting-tinging and women with bare legs tap their stilettos across the floor. Bluepoppy sits at the bar. Her pink and white pareo is short and splits to reveal a tanned thigh when she crosses her legs.

She laughs with her head tossed back when the tennis pro juggles peanuts. From the other side of the bar T watches bluepoppy and laughs at her flirting with a boy who doesn't know the difference between The Kinks and The Clash.

In her bed bluepoppy throws off the covers. She is too hot.

Friday dawns in a Japanese garden, wet and gray. Bluepoppy sits on a square orange pillow in the center of a white portico. Her back is straight and her hands rest on her knees. A thick mist has settled over the perfectly manicured garden. Pale pink blossoms on the magnolia tree are the only bit of color in this silvery tapestry.

No, says her master coming up behind her and placing his hands on the crown of her head. Your imagination is lacking. Close your eyes, he tells her.

Bluepoppy closes her eyes and she sees that the creeping vine is tinged with yellow and the shrubs are not black but dark, woodsy green.

Now, visualize what you want most, says the master. Set your imagination free. Bluepoppy opens her eyes and looks down at her hands. He will be so disappointed, she thinks. All I really want is an ice cream sundae with hot fudge and nuts and lots of whipped cream.

T comes over to her bed and loosens the white pillow from her grip. No darling, he says, don't eat the pillow. He straightens the covers over her and glances at his watch. Will she ever wake up?

got 2 cents?



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lizardek says:
Oh, sleep well, sleep sweet, with dreams about your head! *tiptoes out and gently shuts the door*
posted on: December 27

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Margaret says:
Dors bien, repose-toi; j'espere que tu auras de tres bons reves!
posted on: December 27

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Erica says:
Don't let the bedbugs bite!
posted on: December 27

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violetismycolor says:
poor bluepoppy...same thing has been going around here and my hubby has been suffering from it...no New Year's Eve romping for us this year... hope you are better soon... PS blogging cures colds!
posted on: December 27

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gatsby says:
there's something soulful and calming in knowing that the world has drowsy fabulists.
posted on: December 28

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otter says:
You never cease to amaze me, you fabulous creature...
posted on: December 28

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Sheryl says:
My internet it is down so I am at the library reading your blog, now that's dedication. Also because you recommended it I'm checking out Don't Let's Go To The Dogs Tonight. Sleep well, my pretty.
posted on: December 29

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amber says:
Sover godt og vi ses i morgen! (Sleep well and see you tomorrow!)
posted on: December 29

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stephanie says:
Oh dear. I had this last week. Right before the grinchy holidays. "Drink lots of hot tea with lemon and honey!" (imagine that with my mothers, or yours for that matter, voice)
posted on: December 29

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samantha says:
I love how you are tricking us by adding a little more, day by day -
posted on: December 30

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gatsby says:
"she laughs with her head tossed back when the tennis pro juggles peanuts" - i just wanted to feel that come off my own keyboard... also, nice metaphor, mixing sexual sophistication with musical knowledge... you're cool. i love dorrie from stardust memories" (woody allen film you should see if you haven't) in her openning dialogue she suggests that rather than go out, they stay in and "cook"- her reading is clearly sinister, and the names of the dishes she wants to prepare intimate her exotic european prowess- "i could do my mother's recipe for filet de boeuf fourre perigourdine. i could do sweet-potato rum casserole." later on woody returns the favor and cooks for her- "your spaghetti could have used another twenty minutes," she tells him.
posted on: December 30

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lizardek says:
HEY! You cheater!! :D
posted on: December 30

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wee says:
wow. You are hot!
posted on: December 30

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wee says:
even whilst unshaven
posted on: December 30

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katherine says:
rmmmmmmmmmmmmm rmmmmmmmmmmm heyayaheyahyeyahhaye!!!! They are now under your spell and you may do with them what you wish :)
posted on: December 30

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wee says:
Mmmm... sundaes. how about Banana splits? With butterscotch boyz on the side. slobbering. endlessly.Well, darling BP, 2005 is scant hours away and I just had to swing by to wish you the very best new year imaginable. This is gonna be the year the real magic happens. It will. Just watch and see! So delighted to have found you!
posted on: December 31

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