Fun, Fickle Fiction (for Free!) Fact, Opinion, Essay, & Review Spectacular Features, Calendrical Happenings, Media Gadflies Poetry & Lyric Advice, How To, & Self-Help Listicles Semi-Frequent Columns Correspondence (Letters To and Letters From) Interviews The Book Club Letter from the Editors Disquieting Modern Trends Birthday Cards to Celebrities New & Noteworthy The Y.P.aRt Gallery Et Cetera, Et Cetera, Et Cetera The Y.P.aRchives Submit

 Atøm | Spanish
supportbar.jpg Bea!   Creative Commons License
This journal is licensed under a Creative Commons License and powered by Movable Typo 4.01.
Y.P.R. & Co.

The Journal of Literary Satire | Hastily Written & Slopilly Edited
Tuesday, February 13, 2007

My One and Only

by Dan Klein

Do you remember me, Kara? I remember you. I miss you. I long for you.

Do you remember how we first met, Kara? I do. There I was on the corner of University Place and 11th Street, speaking with my friend Emily who had come to visit. And then you walked into my life, with your Rugby shopping bag and long, blond hair. You shone with the light of 1000 halos, probably because you were standing under a lamppost. But more probably because you were sent from heaven in some kind of heaven spaceship, guided by the wings of love and propelled by the turbo ramjet engines of desire. No one else could pilot a heaven spaceship like you, Kara. God, I miss you.

Do you remember how we came to speak? How could I forget? You so kindly asked in your signature Kara-like way if Emily or I could call your cellphone since you thought you left it at the Rugby store. I knew you were only talking to me, though. Emily was a mere distant memory now. I tried so hard to push her into oncoming traffic to make it a reality, but I could tell you understood that it was only you and me now. Plus, Emily has a low center of gravity. I wouldn’t have that problem with you, though. You have a center of gravity that isn’t too low or too high. It’s just right. I love you.

I dialed your number and no one picked up. At that moment, you knew the phone was still in the store and you left me, standing there, alone. I could hear Emily’s voice saying something, but I knew that was my mind playing tricks on me. She was gone, and now you were too. Thinking I’d never see you again, I vowed vengeance on this forsaken world. I tried to take out my anger on the person standing next to me by pushing her into oncoming traffic, but it was useless. I needed you then, Kara—to kneel behind her so I could push her over—and I need you now.

Instead of hanging up the phone after you left, I let it ring and ring, hoping you’d pick up. Do you remember the voice message I left you? It was so wonderful to hear your voice once again; that recording was the only thing keeping me alive at that point. The rhythm and pitch of your voice exploded with the sound of 1000 halos exploding, probably because my earpiece volume was on maximum, but more probably because you are my everything: You are my Earth. You are my moon. You are my Kuiper Belt. You are my Big Bang theory. You are also my favorite movie: Back to the Future.

Later that evening, you wrote me a text message, thanking me for calling your phone and leaving a kind message. You even apologized again for interrupting my conversation with what’s-her-face. That other girl was gone, though, lost to the ravages of oncoming traffic.

Things were moving so fast, and I grew dizzy. I had never before experienced these feelings I had developed for you. I asked you to meet me for coffee to discuss our future together.

But, alas, you never responded to my text message. I can only assume you died in a fire. R.I.P. Kara, my one and only true love.

Dan Klein works as busser at the Grey Dog's Coffee in New York. This piece was based on a true story. He has written a thing on McSweeney's, contributes to The Onion, studies improvisation at the Magnet Theater, and is a member of Pangea 3000. Currently, Dan Klein is sad that his accomplishments were summed up in one sentence.