I Mean You No Harm
I wanted to tell her it'd be all right. I wanted to tell her it would all work itself out in the end. I wanted to tell her about that time I went to baseball tryouts with a mitten on underneath my baseball glove, fingers jammed very uncomfortably into the fingers of the glove, straining at the limits of the wool strings, but I had to do it, because it was so damn cold out. Tell her that she was my sunshine, my only sunshine, she made happy when skies were gray.
But I didn't. Couldn't. This was, in part, due to the fact that she was a mannequin, and this wasn't one of those films from the 80s.
Okay, sure, you could argue that I, as a mannequin, myself, should be able to communicate with other mannequins, whether they be of the opposite sex or not. You could also challenge the authenticity of a story about going to baseball tryouts in the freezing cold early spring coming from a mannequin. I'm not here to talk about that, though. But here's the rub: I was in one glass case, overlooking Faneuil Hall Marketplace, and she was... well, overlooking Faneuil Hall Marketplace, as well, but on the other side of the glass wall. You see, I was in this display, like a mime in an invisible box, only my box was visible from all the grimy kids who put their fingers up on the window every day, and I stood in my goofy, arms raised pose for the Red Auerbach statue to see. I was also tasked with wearing a very French looking stripy shirt and black beret, and one of the spotty staff members who was earning his philosophy degree at BU by smoking copious amounts of substances and working at Urban Outfitter by day and night thought it would be funny to deface me, deface me, by drawing a Sharpee-thin mustache on my upper lip three hours into my stay in the front window in this ridiculous getup.
All these things I wanted to tell her, but I figured maybe it would be best if I waited until winter fashions went up again in August or so. And I think you could understand my reasoning behind not telling her any sooner.
disclaimer:
Now, we're going to lay low on Further Fenway Fiction (which now has a publish date, you may have heard) for a couple of weeks, now, to gear up for our truly big push come spring time. Which may involve voluntary tattooing and head shaving of Sane Magazine readers, should you choose to participate in the program.
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