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The Long-Awaited Comeback |
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by Elise Hunter
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I ran into Sinead O’Connor at the hardware store last night. It was ladies’ night, so there was a sale. We both reached for the last aerosol can of Bedbugs Be Gone at the same time, and our hands collided. She whirled around, astonished, embarrassed. Her case of blue eyes was far worse than my case of bed bugs, so I backed down. I shoved my hands in my pockets. My face hot, I muttered concessions. She flitted off like a spooked deer.
I was tempted to follow her out the ersatz saloon doors and trail her down the street. I would have been discreet. Then I thought better of it. I do not want to see Sinead’s hoopty car or her sad bottom-floor apartment with the flickering hallway light. Her head is still shaved, in case you were curious.
Dear Sinead, please don’t spurn your new charge. Soldier on, and when the time comes, shed your martyr tears with ardor. The Pope may not take note, but the besieged and bug-bitten will. When you take the stage, I’ll be reverent, lighter waving in the air, fumigator gun cocked and ready.
Elise Hunter lives in San Francisco. She was born in 1982. Her profession is in the environmental field, but when her bleeding heart can't be satiated there, she writes.
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