In honor of 18 obsolete words that Carmel Lobello insist should never go out of style...

For my friend,
a lovely mermaid and her bean.


Lunch.
The curglaff after chasing my bookwright wonder-wench into the blue was much too bone chilling and sobering. I had to let her go. And while the ocean is a being of many living things, her currents of resistentialism kept me from reuniting with my aquatic sweetheart.

You see, I had long since seen my love...the many years beyond my days as a soda-squirt in the dry desert of the west. Thirsts quenched but not my own. I watched all around me savor the sweetness of a dual straw Italian creme among everyone from star crossed teenager lovers to California widows and their accomplices. All…but me.

One day, this desert roasted daughter walked into the shop. Despite walking through the desert, she did not appear parched. As a matter of fact, she was perfectly quenched, so my soda-squirting expertise would do nothing to impress her. She wanted something else. Barefooted, dressed in strips of scraps at her waist and long amber dreadlocs framing her face and bosom, the woman spoke a language, an ancient language, my ears had never heard. It was a language deliberately spoken for me because no one else in the room heard her speak.  I did.  Only me…but I didn't understand. I could not follow her tongue. She read my face. She studied my sadness and said, "qezla snoutfair".  I slowly blinked and shrugged my shoulders. She smiled, placed her hands on my face and with a slight nod, repeated, "qezla snoutfair". I felt her compliment and said "thank you." I gently touched her cheek with back of my hand and said "beautiful". She smiled.

Still unable to agree on many words, we resorted to language of the body and all of its parts. I, eagerly zafty for her and all of her needs, did not care that a line was forming for me to squirt soda. I led this fair sand traveller to a seat. She softened her eyes and smiled a "thank you". She whispered "oleshaway" and brought her cupped hand to her mouth. "Oleshaway" made Englishable with her gesture meant "food". She was hungry and need to eat. She was with squirrel and though her bean was sleeping, the sand mother was famished. I manage to gather that she was some type of spermologer and that she was researching people who lived in lands opposite her own. She had gotten lost in the desert and while she is satiated at the time, she needed to eat and return to her shores as not to harm her child.

Now, I had to hurry. She had concluded her research and wanted to fuel up before returning home. I gave her leafy vegetables to maintain her strength and lots of fruit to keep her hydrated. I sat groaking and though it was incredibly rude, I need to sit and savor just as all the lovers did over their Italian cremes.

When her meal was done, she wanted one glass of water to pass down her meal to her bean.  Suddenly the soda squirt was a nervous wreck. She was leaving and I had no way nor reason to keep her. I jirbled the water, making a mess all over the table. It was as though I had become this beef-witted fool, making a mess on this enchanting herbivore.

The line for soda now squirted beyond the doors. Lovers with once flowery language now spoke with hostility and greed. The cries of the crowd called out my boss and his brother, one came lunting about, the other stuffing his face with cheese...reeking of old slavery, gluttony, and tyromancy (:-\) .  I hated them. They had earned their wealth as queerplungers, taking turned diving deep to deceive and pilfer. My beauty stood up straight and screeched out accusations and condemnations. While I couldn't tell you what she said exactly, it was clear she recognized the brothers and with a pussyvan, she ran out the door.

Chasing after her, I called for her to stop but she did not understand. She didn't even look back as she continued to howl out, crying and wailing. I finally caught her at the earth's edge…the place where the great waters met the sands. Just before her feet hit the water, I yelled out, "OLESHAWAY!!" It was the only thing I could remember. It was the only thing I knew to say. For however brief, she was my food. I savored her like a single strawberry and chose not ever to forget. I reached her, gentle touched her face. She sweetly caressed mine. A wave broke upon shore and wrapped around her ankles, transforming her to her first self. She was not a daughter of the sands…she was the mother of the sea. In a second wave, the ocean claimed her home. I ran out…dove in…gasping and sinking…withstanding curglaff and death itself…I searched for her…but never again saw my mermaid.


(Thank you Carmel Lobello for a great article: "18 obsolete words, which never should have gone out of style" and Nitra Wisdom for bringing it to my attention.)