Cephalopod Ghost
Lately I am plagued by cephalopods. They frequent my dreams, appear in the literature I am reading, and pursue me on the Web. I feel myself being wrapped in their tentacles and sucked toward their beak-like mouths. But we can talk about that another time. Right now I’d like you to picture a seawall on an island in the Pacific — call the island Okinawa. It is a long gray day, and the sky, ocean and seawall are all the color of brushed aluminum.
Two boys, one 14 and one 16 years old, are perched on the wall, passing a hand-rolled cigarette of questionable origin back and forth, drawing smoke into their lungs and exhaling aluminum-colored clouds as they stare out at the ocean. The younger of the two is the taller, a thin, gangly boy with dark eyes and a mop of hair the color of wheat; the elder is lower to the ground, but sturdier, a hatchet-jawed, blue-eyed, dark-haired dynamo. His name is Dave. The younger boy idolizes him and believes he understands all the arcane secrets of the universe. If Dave says something, it must be true, because Dave, like the Pope, speaks infallibly.
The younger boy is me. Dave and I are stoned as only two boys sitting on a seawall on a lonely stretch of Okinawan beach can be. We could be poured off the wall into a cake pan and baked without ever lighting an oven.
Out of the blue (or in this case, out of the brushed aluminum), Dave says, “Girls who wear braces or have worn braces are the best kissers.”
“What?” I say, thinking I have misheard him.
“Braces,” says Dave. “Orthodontia. Girls who have it are the best kissers.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
Dave nods emphatically: “Yes. Sure. Without a doubt. They have octopus tongues.”
I am hopelessly stoned, and the sudden image of a girl opening her mouth and spilling out a load of suckered octopus tentacles is dreadful; I am taken aback by it. The thought of putting my tongue into such a mouth is repulsive and I tell Dave so.
“No, man,” he says. “It isn’t like that. It’s more like being drawn into the heart of a mystery.”
“By tentacles.”
“Yes,” Dave says. “But tentacles you’ll crave for the rest of your life.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I tell him, but I am still horrified by the notion, though I think it would make a great premise for a creep movie. Attack of the Octopus-Tongued Nymphettes! In Cinemascope! And Technicolor!
:::
Over the years I’ve kept track of the orthodontic histories of women I have kissed; and for the record, while Dave might have been mistaken about a great many other things, in my experience he was on the money concerning the wearing of braces and the quality of a kiss. Women who have worn them really are the best. Why this is true I cannot say. Maybe it has something to do with oral obsession. These days I don’t hesitate: I ask about it right away. No sense wasting time.
He was also right about the octopus tongue. But so was I. Because once you’ve romanced a woman who has one, you’ll be haunted by the ghost of her kisses for the rest of your life. Tentacles or no tentacles.
Cephalopod Ghost has 2 responses
cousin tammy says:
26 July 2008 at 6:51 pm
Well as a (newly single) 43 year old with braces I can only hope that rumor gets around!
Any chance you still have Dave’s phone number?
Harry Haller says:
26 July 2008 at 6:57 pm
Eww. Does this mean you have tentacles hanging out of your mouth?
Sadly, I lost track of Dave when I was 18. I’d love to know where he and our friend Karl are today.