Wrinkled

“Did Joe desexualize you?” asks Elliott.

“He never could bring himself to let me believe that I was truly attractive.” says Lacey.

“So if you’d asked him to describe your eyes how would he have described them?” asks Elliott.

“Beautiful, brown-“ He pauses.

“Why are you pausing?” asks Elliott.

“I can’t-“

“Why not?” asks Elliott.

“Let’s see. They’re two big, brown, sexy saucers filled with light and hope.” says Michael. “It’s crude. And not particularly perceptive. But it’s clear what I feel. And that’s the point.”

“They’re houses. A place to rest my soul. For eternity. But they possess me with their resplendent beauty.” says Elliott.

“They’re sexy! …And I love them.” says Louis thoughtfully, almost sadly.

“They’re God’s gift to my soul.” says Lem.

“Joe why can’t you describe her eyes in a sexual way?” asks Harold.

“She isn’t my mother!” he says. He scoffs. He rolls his eyes.

“That’s true! But is she more your father’s vibe?” asks a Gen Xer.

“What do you mean?!” he asks.

“Well…there’s Michael and Lem. But aside from them Louis was born in 1902? And Harold was born in the 1800’s.” he says. “And your father was too.”

Silence.

“And Elliott was born in 1910.” he says.

Silence.

“What is it about her beauty you don’t understand?” he wonders. “Or why do you want a…blond bombshell?”

“What about Michael’s determination?” asks Joe.

“It’s not for charity.” says Michael.

“Maybe Michael understands it in a different way than you do.” says a Boomer.

“I see her as art. And art is…about shapes and proportions. And lines. And splendor.” says Lem.

“I see her as sexy. Soft.” says Elliott.

“Joe, did you see her as good?” asks his brother.

Elliott looks worried.

“And she is. But not like a hurt, asexual being.” says Elliott.

“Like a mom?” asks a Boomer.

More in a bit.

…”Like the Virgin Mother.” says Joe.

“Well that’s not quite accurate on many levels.” says Lem.