The Girl in the Flammable Skirt

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My lover is experiencing reverse evolution. I tell no one. I don’t know how it happened, only that one day he was my lover and the next he was some kind of ape. It’s been a month and now he’s a sea turtle.

I keep him on the counter, in a glass baking pan filled with salt water.

“Ben,” I say to his small protruding head, “can you understand me?” and he stares with eyes like little droplets of tar and I drip tears into the pan, a sea of me.

He is shedding a million years a day. I am no scientist, but this is roughly what I figured out. I went to the old biology teacher at the community college and asked him for an approximate time line of our evolution. He was irritated at first — he wanted money. I told him I’d be happy to pay and then he cheered up quite a bit. I can hardly read his time line — he should’ve typed it — and it turns out to be wrong. According to him, the whole process should take about a year, but from the way things are going, I think we have less than a month left.

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