bekah brunstetter
Bekah Brunstetter I care deeply. About a lot of things. Like really, really deep. Ow
playwright in brooklyn, NY

le dammit

July 23rd, 2007 by Bekah Brunstetter

Fiction; Romance. Inspired by overheard , found Words, and assorted sentiments.

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He called her Le Dammit, because he could find no other name to fit her.

His words sat patiently in his head, a diverse group of ancey children on a field trip. ‘With Reckless Abandon’ held hands tight with ‘Fortitude.’ ‘Pretty’ and ‘Lacivious’ sat together, sharing a half-salad sandwich. ‘Dammit’ stepped forward, having been lost in the back, reserved for quiet moments of frustration, longing and joy. He chose this name for her, because it felt purple, like the air around his fingers when he held the phone, tight, wondering what her knees were doing exactly, miles away: whether they were smiling, together, or spread.

Purple? She asked. Really?

Shut up, le Dammit, he said, sweet and coy. The way I feel about you is fucking purple. He stepped in a puddle as he walked, not knowing where he was going, or how the hell he was going to get there.

I like it, she said, and when she did, she sounded to him like Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Little did he know that she sounded exactly like wonderfully nostalgic cereal because at that moment – exactly – she was patiently selecting a name for Him: running through her words to find one that matched her longing, which was pale blue: like water and cartoon stars.

I think there comes a time when people must pair off, she said. He nodded, yes, assuming that by this point in time, she could feel it when he moved his body in affirmation. She continued.

Yeah – I think there comes a time people must find themselves lugging luggage through airports, wearing the same sandals, snuggling to thunderstorms, travelling, following, throwing food. It’s like – wherever they are going – they sure are really going there together. Even their pair luggage loves each other. 

He digested her sentiments. It was at this exact moment that his umbrella died.

Where are you headed, anyways? she asked.

I don’t know, he said. He studied his unfamiliar surroundings, peering through the purple. I think I’m suddenly walking towards you somehow. 

They smiled a simultaneous smile, and then there was a pause.  The fuzz of the phone wrapped their lips in blankets as they listened to the sound of the other breathing as they walked. This pause gave birth to their first child, who grew up ambitiously to start gardens where people gave each other names like ‘le dammit’ and umbrellas never die.

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