Ann Parker turned 24 a few weeks ago. She seemed utterly disinterested in the event of her own birthday. That made me like her more. After all, no one between the ages of 21 and 65 should be celebrating birthdays anyways. She obviously knew that. I knew that. Nonetheless, her birthday afforded me a great excuse to go all out and plan a big drinking bash. By my terms a "big drinking bash" involves about four people. Ann, Shannan Leigh, Jewell Marceau, and I headed out to George Petrelli's Steakhouse at my behest. We enjoyed a great dinner and consumed a few too many shots of vodka. The bartender summoned a cab and reassured us that we could leave my Buick Skylark in the parking lot overnight. All four of us were chatting exuberantly and giggling as we poured into the cab and directed the driver to Shannan's apartment.When we arrived at her place Shannan fumbled for the keys to the door and I grabbed Ann by her shoulders.
"Ann," I sputtered drunkenly, "I have a special gift for you. It's pretty amazing. It may not last long but it is amazing."
Ann smiled back at me with a mixture of appreciation and embarrassment. She turned a bit red.
"I really want you to see this work of art because its dynamism is.. irrefutable." I continued.
For a few moments I searched my mind for an appropriate follow-up comment because I always have the feeling that I don't describe things well when those particular things have an impact on me. I felt my drunkenness and I felt my inability to articulate what I wanted to say. Ann giggled. I let my thoughts drift off into unreachable obscurity. Shannan finally unlocked the door and we all stumbled into her home.
"Let me get the cake ready!" Shannan exclaimed as she set down her purse and headed towards her refrigerator.
"I'll show you your gift after you've blown out the candles." I told Ann with quiet yet eager anticipation.
Shannan reappeared with the cake and some vodka within a few minutes. Ann made a wish and blew out the burning candles which decorated the cake. We all cheered and then I vanished into the kitchen. Jewell was busy pouring shots of vodka for everyone as I pulled Ann's birthday present out of the cabinet where I had hidden it. I beamed at the masterpiece one last time as I cradled it in my arms. My excitement mounted as I transported this incredible creation into the dining room where the other girls were waiting. I walked in backwards. With a monumental flourish I spun around and presented the unparalleled watermelon sculpture to Ann. I exuded happiness and triumph as I watched Ann's face and waited for her reaction.
Ann gazed at the physiognomy of the Viking who stared back at her from the bulk of the carved watermelon. His imperious expression commanded respect despite the bananas in his head that functioned as decorative horns. The Viking stared at Ann. Ann stared at the Viking. The Viking clearly disturbed her. Raw power emanated from the Viking's head, specifically from his brow, and of course the spectacle defied normal comprehension. The Viking overwhelmed the room with his majesty and the sheer scare factor of his realism. He neither sought nor required validation. Ann seemed frozen. The Viking remained resolute and unwavering; his banana-adorned head regarded Ann with unmistakable ferocity.
I found myself beginning to cringe after more than a silent minute went by. Obviously Ann could not accept the Viking for who he was. She did not want to see him at all. She did not really want to see anything. The night was ruined. She knew it. I knew it.
"What the fuck is your problem?!" Ann finally screamed at me.
I could not explain since I was just now comprehending that Ann did not want to move past her current acceptance of what defined art. Or what comprised inspiration. I continued to hold the Viking in my arms. Within these same troubled moments I also realized that everyone present would eventually write off the evening as just another example of drunken debauchery if they remembered it at all. Still, the tension hung in the air. Ann threw herself at me. I tried to protect the Viking by depositing him on a side table as I simultaneously stripped off my clothes and engaged myself in battle.
"I guess you need a glowing review from an art critic before you see anything, don't you?" I hissed in Ann's ear as she threw me to the ground and tried to smother the life out of me with her substantial breasts.
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