Page 134 of Rhymes with Metaphor
Reg deposited the Christmas cake on the kitchen table amidst a forest of opened wine bottles.One of Ramsay’s housemates, with hair the colour of butterscotch and a perfect Cupid’s bow mouth painted in royal blue lipstick, pulled a handful of wild cherry White Claws out of the fridge.She offered one to Reg.
“Raelynne, isn’t it?”said Reg, taking the can.
“You’re Reginald Fieldfare,” said Raelynne.“You’re the guy who beat out Ramsay for best thesis.”
“She’s forgiven me, I hope,” said Reg.
Raelynne regarded Joel appraisingly.
“You’re not going to card my plus-one, are you?”said Reg.
Raelynne smiled.“Nope.He looks legal to me.”She handed Joel a can, then gave his belly a familiar rub and a pat and left the kitchen down the basement stairs.Joel tugged his T-shirt down self-consciously.
“She fancies you,” said Reg casually.
“She does?”
“Why are you surprised?”said Reg.
“I’m not used to people looking at me that way.They never did before you.”
“You’ve changed, cariad.You’re more at ease with yourself, and it suits you.”
Joel drained his White Claw and put it in the recycle bin by the door, then he got another one out of the fridge.
“Pace yourself,” said Reg.“We’ve got all night.Come on.I’ll introduce you round.”
Joel was considerably more at ease here than at Silas’s, and people were curious, asking him about himself and what program he was in.When Joel took Reg’s hand, it was a gesture of affinity rather than an appeal for support.In the hallway, they ran into someone Joel had narrated a book for, who sang his praises to three other guests, one of whom was also looking for someone to narrate their poetry chapbook.
In the dining room, a group of poets were playing the Clock Game.
Ramsay brought two more chairs in for them.“The more, the merrier.”
“I don’t know how to play,” said Joel.
“You’ll pick it up as we go,” said Reg to Joel, seating Joel to his left.“Joel’s an actor,” Reg explained to the group.
“This should hone your improvisational skills, then,” said Ramsay.
Ramsay set a metronome in the centre of the table.
“Now, we go round the circle clockwise,” said Ramsay.“And each of us takes a turn to say a word that’s a riff off the word the person before you said.When we get back to the top of the table, it becomes two words, round the table again, then three words.We keep going round with three words until someone gets stuck.Anyone who can’t get their words out before the next tick of the metronome, is eliminated.Then we start over and set the metronome going faster.And we record it.Last year, we sold our composition to theKingsland Review.Ready?Three, two, one, go!”
Ramsay released the metronome, which began ticking slowly, and they went round the circle, each contributing one word.
“Procreation,” said Ramsay.
“Recreation,” said the man to Reg’s right.
“Inebriation,” said Reg.
“Deviation,” said Joel.
And so it went round the circle, and no one was eliminated.
During the second round, someone made up a word.
“Neologism!”said the woman to Ramsay’s right.
