If I wanted to be loved I would’ve said something. I would’ve brought it up at dinner. You would’ve known. There would’ve been strategically placed indicators. Now everything is tangled. Wet. Sticky with emotion and damp with, what is that? Desire? Ugh. Can we just not? Just do everything but, you know? It’s not unreasonable. I used to watch you watch me and I never assumed. It’s kind of embarrassing for me. And you, obviously. More so for you.
That’s why I brought you here today. To the gorge. This expanse is a metaphor. For something––not sure if it’s related to our situation, but it’s profound. Look around. See the birds? The shapes they form, carving the sky with a synchronized instinct. That’s also profound. How do they know how to do that? Yeah, shrug your shoulders. I don’t know either, they just do it. I thought we were operating with that, too. Synchronized instinct. Then you went and pulled this. Love. We were flying in a perfect ‘V’ and then you took a hard left and drove your beak right into my side. Sure, we both want to go different directions, but now neither of us can fly.
Move beyond the trees, The Director said. Wait, no. Move out of the trees. Beyond indicates, like, further away. Just come out of there, towards me, so we can see you.
The Model was tired of taking directions. He had been standing in the trees all goddamn morning waiting for their many, tightly spaced branches to divide the sunshine just so, so that it would lay on his pale, naked flesh like he had been lashed by Zeus’ flog of pure electric light. That was what The Director called the sunshine streaming through the trees: a flog of pure electric light. There were small brown ants crawling over The Model’s bare feet and every time they crawled between his toes it tickled and he’d flinch and then The Director would have to reposition him in the sunlight so that the lashes were just so again.
The Director asked The Model to adjust his penis. It wasn’t right. The Model tried but he wasn’t moving it correctly. His penis was all wrong. The Director asked The Assistant to fix The Model’s penis and The Assistant shuffled through the pine needles and grabbed The Model’s penis between his thumb and forefinger and the model grimaced because The Assistant’s fingers were quite cold. After a few moments of uncertainty The Assistant stepped back and looked at The Director who looked at the penis of The Model and nodded. The Director pointed The Photographer at The Model and screamed:
Shoot! Now! We are running out of time. The wounds of light on the body of The Model will not stay still. As night falls, they heal.
The Model could feel his penis begin to unstick from his thigh and he prayed that it wouldn’t flop free and that The Photographer would hurry up and take the goddamn photo so he could put his clothes back on. Then he wondered if praying for two-separate things at once devalued the overall efficacy of both, because asking for two things at once was kind of a selfish thing.
The sun warmed The Model’s penis and The Photographer hesitated as The Director shouted, Go! Go! Go!