:Oo ...an old bit of fiction...
I only wonder if the Laughing Buddha sat on the kitchen surface had reminded her to be joyous, or if she was spontaneously floating to another cloud of smiles, just by fleeting glances at the fat face with a grin.
Cheerfulness takes enormous effort, especially in the mornings. Expending all that energy controlling oneself, taming tendencies; and then expecting the exchange of pleasantries overlooking the cliche of a freshly laid patio, well, it's an awful lot to ask for, I think. On a sticky hangover, reaching for the coffee equipment, swallowing liquids and capsules on an empty stomach, I have nothing to say to the exuberant face by the sink, so I stink and look away. I only wonder why she didn't take it with her.
After all, she had hired a van-and-a-fat-man to leave me. And it really did look like him (which, by the way, is why I haven't taken a hammer to it. I think this is restrained, gentlemanly even. It's not right to destroy somebody else's thing, which is why, afterwards, I took back the van.) The beaming fat-faced-fucker had better stop telling me to chill out, sitting there by the draining board; smug as putrefied stone can be, and before I have even had my first cup of coffee. I fill the kettle. I'm really not in the mood today, either.
I have tried covering him up, but the tea towel would move; it 'tittered' if you like, and became somewhat damp with Laughing Boy's tears running down his swollen cheeks. I tried moving him to other rooms, but the shock of finding him there, grinning from ear to ear, was disquieting to say the least. I prefer to confront all this, only in the kitchen overlooking the patio, since you and your fat man friend came by to pick up your Buddha.
While the kettle boils, I look out of the window. It is quite a central feature now. I always thought it was meant as a water feature, which I would have made for you, if we had decided on the decking for the garden. Your Laughing Buddha, crying real tears on delicate plants. Instead, the fixed grin now sat out on top of the concrete patio can look quite sad, manic even ' but sometimes I still catch a twinkle in its eye when it rains. If it weren't sat cross-legged, perhaps it would dance or run away.
Laughing Boy on the draining board however, stinks, and his smug-stone-hearted-grinning-fat-face reminds me to be joyous. After my first cup of coffee and some attempt at meditation, I only wonder if perhaps he sometimes catches a twinkle in mine.