epiphanic

So I rolled out dough and peeled apples and waited for the pieces to come together in some sensible order. They didn’t. There was no epiphanic moment in which that man’s shit-eating grin suddenly slid into an appropriate slot in my mind like a puzzle piece. No clarity came. Only a different determination of sorts. Eventually.

40

I was pretty proud to present this material to Mona over dinner. Blood. Guts. Middle fingers. Shit-eating grins. This was the kind of stuff Mona relished, I was pretty sure. We were back in business.

“Is the adjective ‘shit-eating’ in the Samuelson books, you think?” I asked, once she’d finished reading. “How would it be defined?”

“Umm … hmm. Maybe …” Mona squinted in concentration while I collected the dessert dishes. “How about ‘expressing a prurient satisfaction’?”

“Excuse me for arguing with a master, but don’t you think that’s a little pedantic? And it hints at a sexual satisfaction that’s not really quite accurate.”

“Why is it that lexicographical accuracy is most important to you when the word is either sexual or scatological slang?”

I got up from the table and settled on the futon.

“Doesn’t that characterize most of us?” I asked.

“Certainly not me,” said Mona, following me to the futon. “I’m more one for the zeitgeist kinds of words.”

“Like what?”

“Like … ‘mind fuck.’ I’m really hoping that’ll make it into the next edition. I did a NEXIS search for it a couple months ago, found a few cits to add to the pile. We’ll see.”

“Mona,” I gasped in mock surprise. “Stacking the evidence. I’m surprised at you.”

She shrugged. “Some words need a little extra push, to make the older editors take them seriously.”

“But … ‘mind fuck’? You’re trying to tell me that doesn’t have any sexual implications?”

“Sure, a little. But the basic meaning isn’t sexual. The idea is having your mind, you know, fucked over.”

“And you feel this term says a lot about our times?”

“Sure. Equating an experience of mental instability with raw sex. Like it’s somehow desirable and fun. People these days want to have their minds monkeyed with. People are bored. People are sick. When people say something’s a mind fuck, don’t you get the feeling they think it’s something kind of fun? Like dropping acid?”

“I guess. You ever dropped acid?”

“C’mon. Can you see me doing acid?”

“Stranger things have happened. And it was your analogy.”

“You know, I had ‘drop’ for the Supplement. What a pain in the ass. You’d never guess how many variations there are on the use of that one stupid word. ‘Drop acid.’ ‘Drop trou.’ ‘Dropping names.’ ‘Dropping the ball.’ Some phrases get their own definition. Some are probably technically self-explanatory, covered by the definition of ‘drop.’ It’s a fine line. And it seems like things have been added over the years by different editors, some of whom drew the line in a different place than I would.”

“That sucks. I thought only people like Dan and Grace and Needham were supposed to get words like that.”

“Oh. Well …” Mona picked up a pile of cits. “‘Drop’s’ not exactly a ‘make’ or a ‘have.’ It’s pretty much regular editor material.”

“I heard Dan spent three months going over the cits for ‘have’ for the last edition.”

Mona looked down at her pile of cits. “Probably he did,” she said.

“I wonder,” I said, “if either of us will ever be diehards like that. If one of us will ever embrace ‘have’ or ‘put.’ Have that kind of patience, to do it for months, and feel like it’s worth it.”

“Shoot me if I ever do,” Mona said.

We went back to shuffling cits.

“Hey,” she said, after a few minutes. “I meant to ask you about the whole phone thing.”

“The phone thing? What’s that?”

“Ohmigod. You haven’t heard? You’re probably getting a phone at your desk.”

“What’s so great about that?”

“You haven’t noticed that only a few people actually have them? And one of those people is Cliff?”

“And I’m getting one because …?”

“You’re so laid back and polite they’re thinking you should try your hand at appeasing some of the crazies who call. It’ll give Cliff a nice break once in a while.”

“Who told you this?”

“Cliff. He says he and Dan have been chatting about it.”

“No way,” I said.

“Yes! Congratulations, buddy!”

“Don’t call me buddy. You’re far too delighted about this to be my buddy.”

“And I can’t wait to hear all about it. Mail correspondence is, like, the second circle of hell. But those phone calls—that’s the real depths. That’s right in the mouth of the beast—”

“When did you hear about this?” I interrupted.

“Yesterday.”

I went back to my cits in disgust.

“It’s not so bad, actually,” Mona continued. “Did you hear about the time this old lady called, and wanted us to put ‘Lula’ in the dictionary, with the definition ‘an exceptionally personable and unforgettable housecat’? I mean, that shit is classic! Imagine the stories you’ll get to tell your grandchildren.”

“Just what I need.”

“Besides. It’s really a compliment. Dan sees that you’ve got a gentle way with people. I wish he’d pay me that kind of a compliment.”

While Mona was talking, the title Teaglass caught my eye on one of my cits, and I threw it at her without even reading it.

“Another one,” I mumbled. “Interested?”

She dove for it as it fluttered onto the floor. I went to the kitchen to get some sodas.

“Sweet,” I heard her say.

“What is it?” I yelled from the kitchen.

“Really hot stuff. Too bad you didn’t even bother to read it.”

She gave me the cit when I returned with our glasses.