A Touch of Anne by Jenna Weingarten

Touch. Touch of the hand. Touch of color on young cheeks. Why did he feel for the touch? Skin, heart, mind, and soul: all things he owned that could be touched, felt. Why did he feel for the feel?

He was tucked into white linen. Tucked into security, into obscurity. Trapped in the fabrics of the reality called bed. What was in a bed?
He was in a bed.
As was his wife. Anne. His wife’s name was Anne, but what was in a name?

Thoughts. They touched on every surface of feeling he had. Threading themselves together using names, words and the needle of associations. Touch of the hand. Feelings. Security. His wife’s name was Anne, and she lived with him in a reality of linens.

“Touch her hand,” was the thought on tight lips. “Touch flesh with more flesh and we can live in a world of bedtime skin.” But the touch of color on young cheeks only grew dimmer as the white of white linens seeped in through his pores.

No. He could not touch, for he was lying in a land of soft sheet barriers. A meager substitute for the feel of full flesh. For the sin of soft skin. For that ungodly Touch. Touch of the hand. Touch of color on young cheeks. Why was he thinking of touch?

One little yawn, two little sniffs, and three smacks of the lips. Yawn, sniff, smackity smack: all signs of her trying to catch his ear. And he was all hers so he responded in kind. Sniffity sniff, smakity, yawn yawn. He could play this game ‘til the break of dawn.

Or could he?
No. No he could not. He was tired of waiting. Tired of thoughts growing cold in the night. Tired of small sighs lost in thick sheets. Tired of smackity sniff yawns. And somewhat tired because he was just tired and it was bedtime. But mostly he was tired of only thinking ‘touch’ and not touching it.

He tried to move but the linens held strong.
It was then he realized his body was stuck in white cement. It had finally hardened around what was destined to be his corpse.

“That bitch,” he thought. “She got me! Aaw. The bitch got me.” And then he said it out loud.
“You bitch! How dare you, you stupid cunt!”

Anne stirred on the side of the bed that had real sheets, pretending not to hear. But he felt she was taunting him when she gave a sniffity smack into her pillow, in which he knew she hid a smile.

“You dumb bitch. When I get out of here I’ll – Anne!”
Anne was his wife’s name, but what was in a name? Absolutely nothing if the bitch wouldn’t even respond to it.

“Anne!” he sobbed. He was scared.
“Anne!” he cried. He was crying.

How quickly security can turn to threat, while obscurity takes its final hold. How completely the color left the young cheeks as the white of white linens crept in.

The next morning, when Anne found her husband dead, she wished she had touched him goodnight and goodbye.

photographs by Antonia Colodro

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This entry was posted in Creative Writing, Disconnect Issue # 2 May 2010. Bookmark the permalink.

13 Responses to A Touch of Anne by Jenna Weingarten

  1. anonymous says:

    pretentious piece of shit

  2. Jason says:

    a touch of anne j (funny how the subconscious works) will get you herpes

  3. Jason says:

    also a touch of anne j will make you lose interest in fat chicks

  4. Jason says:

    so my advice to any reader is to not get involved with any fat chicks with herpes named jenna

  5. anonymous says:

    I knew jenna. She was a cunt. I’m glad jason agrees

  6. anonymous says:

    actually on second thought I would describe her more as a cuntface. jenna the cuntface.

  7. Jason says:

    maybe the bitch needs attention. its kind of sick. she probably gets turned on by being called a cuntface even though it was meant to be an insult that points out what her face actually reminds me of

  8. anonymous says:

    well maybe cuntface is a bit too unrealistic. maybe assface. but seriously jenna please lose some weight and stop botoxing your lips. you remind me of the bitch daughter of a hippo and a fat white woman who smoked too much crack. haha im just kidding but the thought is so funny! jason and i are just playing with you i hope you don’t take it too serious. this seems like a nice blog. i knew jenna in high school so we go way back. i knew her as the beauty queen who got pumped with hormones and started turning into a fat cow. i used to tell her moooove over because her fat ass was blocking my view. you hear that, we thought you were great.

  9. anonymous says:

    i know what her friends are probably thinking about when they read this. “guys.. don’t be so mean to jenna we all know she’s a total narcissist so we get your point. umm, do you want to set up a cyberdate we don’t feel so good about ourselves either.” haha jenna & her ugly ass friends

  10. Jason says:

    yeah maybe we shouldn’t call the cunt a cuntface. it might make her conscious of her appearance and we do not want to bring out that low self esteem of hers! who knows what she is going to do next to get that attention she desperately seeks. if it’s possible for her “lips” to be sealed together, there will be less disease, poverty and hate in the world. we need world peace. we need jenna’s lips to be sealed together! also we might solve the problem of collective obesity if we send her off to outer space. hear that jenna, you’re weightless in outer space! you can feel much better about yourself then. that would solve so many of the world’s problems. maybe her fat ass could deflect some harmful sun rays. you can be a hero and get the attention you never got from your daddy! hey editor, please publish us in your next issue, we think we can take jenna’s place since we’re talking about some real stuff that’s affecting our world.

  11. anonymous says:

    jenna’s thighs makes kfc look bad lol. get a liposuction and fix that ugly ass-mouth of yours it seriously looks disfigured you bitch

  12. anonymous says:

    and editor you might want to change the blog name, we seriously don’t want that dimwit eating part of her monitor. bitch you can’t eat everything especially computer parts lol

  13. Anonymous says:

    Whoa there, cowgirl

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