he decided that “Caution: Hot” should be stamped on her ass. It
should be required by law.
Just as he was starting to sink into the bitter dregs, she bent
down, picked up her bag and strode back to him.
“Aren’t you coming?” she said.
“Coming where?” he said.
“I want to make you feel better,” she said, “I want to fix
everything.”
“I’m not broken,” he said.
She took his hand. “Everyone’s broken,” she said, “We’re broken
teapot pieces. Cast upon the floor. We’ll have to stick together if we
want to drink some more.”
“That’s a nice poem,” Roy sighed. It sounded like something he
had heard before. Some schoolyard rhyme perhaps. He did
desperately want to drink some more.
She embraced him then, pressing her head against his chest. A
wave passed over him, washing away the vile grounds of his idiot
emotions, his infantile panic. When she kissed him on the lips a ghost
tore up his spine and spun madly about his head like some
tremendous halo in a medieval painting.
“Oh, by the way, I made something for you,” she said, reaching
into her bag. “From a picture in a library book on Ethiopian royalty.”
Roy laughed as she placed the crown on his head, a miniature foil
replica of one worn by an ancient Ethiopian king. For jewels she used
candy jujubes and even fringed it with a lock of her own golden hair.
In his bedroom she pulled her dress over her head and bowed
formally before him. “Your highness,” she said. Her bow was
executed in the opposite direction. Roy drew up behind her and
dubbed her his queen.
ABYSSINIA
140
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