This afternoon I was attached to the wall in the entryway like a nude statue in a museum.
By late morning Amanda had gone into a distant head space. Three of four Zoom meetings canceled on her by eleven am and changed her whole day. She went into a funk, finding a distant planet somewhere to park her consciousness.
I knew her angst wasn’t directed at me. I waited silently. Sometimes you have to find the galaxy your mistress is in and go there with her.
I said nothing. Soon she understood I had found her planet, was with her in this, and expected nothing. We sat for a while. I was her puppy, her Irish Setter bitch, sitting beside her, faithful and quiet.
Later, she had me strip in the entryway, make myself naked, and line myself up against the wail. There she attached me, and I transformed from faithful puppy to art nude.
All day she wanted me to be a mindless thing. An object. And I was. She didn’t want language or thinking, but a statue. I became what she wanted. I sacrificed myself to the quiet objectification of her vibe.
Amanda left me there, went to the couch to read, then returned to look at me. I said nothing and made no sounds. She did this over and over. It was a dance of a different intimacy.
Later she unshackled me from the wall and had me sit on the floor by the couch. She said nothing. She played with my hair.
Some might say it was a wasted day.