Such an uncomfortable couch, all faded grey and calloused, but she sits down. He is so insistent, and the cheap red scarves over the end-table lamps means that for once he left the house with a kind of purpose (and accomplished it) and so to refuse would be hypocritical. He stands before her in the pinkish dim of his living room, the TV behind him covered with a Mexican blanket and unlit candles. He sighs. “I . . . will,” he says. “I can't wait,” she says. Somewhere, his cat is retching out a hairball.
He is wearing one of those carnival sumo-wrestler suits. His pasty face blinking above this dun colored globe of false flesh. He wiggles. Snaps his fingers. Slides the black hair helmet off his head straight up; it hovers above his sweaty bald spot. His fingers dance and the hair helmet floats to the ceiling like a balloon and bounces there and finally sticks. He spins around and knocks some of the candles off the TV.
She thinks: It is so hard to explain things exactly.
He pulls a series of rainbow colored scarves from his belly button. Or the sumo suit belly button. Sweat is running over his skin, over the nylon sumo skin. He throws the scarves into the air and they pop and spark and are gone and smoke and the smell of gunpowder lingers. “Cha-cha!” he says, and thrusts towards her, bumps her face with the sumo ass. Her nose stings for several moments and little tears well up in her eyes as he pivots away from her and the suit deflates. Soon he is draped in sagging flesh, holding a carnation. He throws the carnation at her, it bounces off her fingers. He gets on his knees and crawls over to her, starts to make a growling noise but stops midway and she says, “Are you choking?” and he pulls the moist excess skin up over the back of his head and disappears into it like a turtle into its shell. Soon he has backed out of the gaping sumo asshole and holds out his arms and does a little somersault across the empty suit, which has melted over the floor. Somehow, he lands on his feet, and she's so surprised she blinks rapidly as if she could rewind time and see how it was he didn't fail. Tears run across her cheeks from the blinking. He winks at her. “Oh, yes,” he says.