backforthmenu ANSWERING MACHINE She lays on me, the small of her back on my belly, her right arm nestling my head as I circle her navel with my index finger. Our four feet hang off the end of the small bed. Time is still and we say nothing and I continued to travel the soft plains and hills of her body with my fingers. I think about... something? I fall into sleep I imagine my voice bouncing through a big empty house after exiting a small answering machine in a kitchen. My nasally, non-elequent, mid-western drawl, disembodied and booming around the rooms of a cold mansion miles away from here. I feel it settling into corners, creeping into knooks and sliding through cracks. Maybe even resting on a coffee table beside a huge, expensive picture book. She pulls her arm from around my head and gets up, saying nothing. I watch her from the bed as she slips into jeans and a tanktop. Sandles. I fall again... ©2000 Andy Jenkins