Electric Lit relies on contributions from our readers to help make literature more exciting, relevant, and inclusive. Please support our work by becoming a member today, or making a one-time donation here.
I’m in love with a shiksa — she’s right over there against the subway doors reading The Book Review — and there’s something between us. And I mean that in the worst way possible. You see I am in love with a shiksa who keeps getting farther and farther away from me. And it’s killing me! I mean it; I’m dying, I can’t breathe. You see there’s this thing between us and it keeps getting bigger and bigger. It’s not what you think. What I mean is, every time I watch her move the bangs from her eyes, or scratch her forearm, or shift her weight from the right foot to the left foot, the space between us grows a little bit larger. Well, to be perfectly honest it’s not the space that grows. Just look at me and you’ll get it; it’s my nose! Every time I so much as glance at the beautiful shiksa-love from my dreams, my already remarkable schnoz grows another five centimeters. I mean it! Mount Zion is growing out of the front of my face! I have to stand ten feet away from this pole before I have anything to hold on to.
Oh, how her brow furrows. I think she’s beginning to notice me. She cares not for looks. A prodigious nose is a handsome nose, she thinks. So accepting of human flaws, yet so perfect! My god, mein Gott!
“My gut,” she coughs. She speaks! But is it just me or does she look a bit pained? And maybe even a bit purple?
“You’re suffocating me,” she manages to sputter. Am I moving too fast? We’re in love for thirty seconds and already she needs her space! She points to her stomach.
“Your nose,” she says, “is poking me in the gut.”
– Molly Auerbach works as an Editorial Assistant for Electric Literature. She is also the bassist and band manager for art-prog sensation, Thrillington.