I am a ball of light. I am one thousand buzzing bees. I am a school of fish. I am the color of verdigris. I am a plume of smoke. I am a hummingbird, an apple, the sound of small bells. I am the first star in the night sky. I am the night sky. I am a beetle, a child’s laugh, a single note held for a minute and thirty seconds by Natalie Dessay in 2001. I am a fingerprint on a windowpane. I am the smell of garlic and shallots in hot oil.
When I am done being these things I am Justin Valmassoi, and I arrange the atoms and elements of the celestial ether to make it so. I create myself from nothing, and it tickles. Beside me is my wife, Rosario Dawson. The bacon scented breeze is coming in through the window, shifting the gauzy curtains she has purchased this way and that. She (that is to say Rosario Dawson) opens her big brown eyes and blinks, three times, slowly. Then she smiles and I smile and we smile at each other and then we smile wider because we’re beginning to laugh because we’re just smiling at each other like a couple of assholes for no apparent reason and it’s funny but my face is actually starting to tense up, like the precursor to an actual discomfort which will soon occur because I can’t wipe this stupid, shit-eating grin off my face and neither can she and finally she just starts giggling and is all like “What the hell are you staring at?” and I go “Your perfect face, retard,” and then we kiss for twenty minutes and her breath is fresh and clean and minty because angels come while you’re sleeping and use Scope on you very gently so no one wakes up with that morning mouth where it feels like you took your socks off and coated them in beer and then used the material from your socks to line your mouth and teeth and even if it’s just in your head you think that there’s no way it can’t also be just the grossest, nastiest smelling mouth ever and you hate it when your girlfriend or wife tries to kiss you in the morning because you’re convinced she’s going to recoil in horror and be all like “What the hell happened in your gross, freak mouth?” but that doesn’t happen anymore now that I’ve died and gone to Heaven so of course we kiss for twenty minutes and it’s minty and enjoyable and she has such a delightfully full lower lip I just love to tug on with my teeth and we make love in the bacon scented air and The Afghan Whigs are soundchecking in the amphitheatre on the hill and they play a 14 minute version of ‘Faded’ and a cover of ‘Come See About Me’ and ‘then a 12 minute version of Prince’s ‘Purple Rain’ that kind of cuts into ‘Debonair’ the way they do and then Rosario and I are lying sweaty and content in our California king sized bed, her head on my chest and the smell of her hair in my nostrils and I’m all like, “What do you want to do today?” and she goes “You,” and I’m like, “Uh, no duh, doorknob. But what else?” and she says, “I want to watch the Host do their maneuvers over the glowing lake to the east of the silver city and then I thought we could make dinner and invite Mike and Eva (Mendes) and maybe your grandparents over because I have this idea for a braised lamb shank with sunchoke puree that I’ve been meaning to try out and then we could all spend the night in the library,” and I kind of think it over for a minute and I’m like, “Well, we do have those eight sleigh beds we just put in there on the second floor and I’ve been meaning to see how the soundsystem is working out and grandpa just loves how it’s the library from Seven only it’s in our house and Morgan Freeman is always there researching something, plus Mike and I can get a few hands of poker in with the security guards while you and Eva get all giggly off the wine,” and she goes “See? Doesn’t that sound nice?” and I have to admit that yeah, it does.
So we do that, and my grandparents and Morgan Freeman end up going to see The Bells of Saint Mary’s starring Ingrid Bergman (who is there as well because she’s dating Morgan Freeman) at the old-timey thatre in the theatre district and they thank us profusely for dinner and my grandpa won’t quit calling it “that gore-may stuff” and my grandma says “Shush” about a hundred times but he doesn’t because that’s their schtick.
Rosario and Eva go wandering off into the stacks with two bottles of chablis and I know they’re going to end up in the social sciences wing talking about that time they both wore the yellow mini dress to that awards show and who had the better shoes and then it’ll get all serious and Rosario will talk about her parents and New York and Eva will talk about her mom and L.A. and they will cry a little but comfort one another because it is a good thing to have sadness within you and a better thing to have a friend to help share and alleviate it and even in Heaven this is important and right and true so it exists.
Mike and I just go play poker with Julio and Miguel and Steve the security guards and smoke cigarettes (which are good for you now, in Heaven) and we all talk about beers we like and then angels bring them to us, but kind of on the sly so as not to break our poker faces and careful, calculated disinterest and all the other tricks and trappings of a good card shark and then Lady Gaga’s “acoustic” version of ‘Poker Face’ comes on the stereo and my library soundsystem is amazing and everyone waits for 2:11 and we pull up the video feed so we can watch her freak out and shriek like some possessed banshee with burning eyes and everyone giggles like schoolgirls and I take the pot with a boat, aces full, and Miguel is like “You bastard,” and I’m all like, “Sorry, Miguel. Them’s the breaks.”
Later we all go get ice cream and Rosario gets some on her nose and I make her hold still and I kiss it off and it’s gross ‘cause I’m kissing her nose but it’s great because I’m kissing her nose and I give her a piggyback ride all the way home from the ice cream district while she kind of hangs out on my back and tells me all about induction cooking, which I’m way interested in, because she’s been taking a class down in the culinary district and it’s all they use over there.
Then we watch Eagle Eye and I’m like “You are so damned pretty,” and she says, “thank you,” and I’m like, “Why aren’t you with Shia LeBeouf?” and she says, “Because he is better looking than you, but he’s a bit of a dickhead and a real pain to work with and I love you, not Shia LeBeouf,” and I say, “Thank you for your honesty. Are you sure?” and she goes, “You are funny and smart and you make me laugh and you play with my toes when they’re sticking out from under the covers and you look adorable hunkered over your little laptop all the time and most importantly, I know that you love me and you make me feel prettier than a princess and we make some pretty delicious dinners if I do say so myself,” and I think about it and I realize she’s right and I hug her super tight which is easy because she’s kind of half lying in my lap and I’m basically hugging her anyhow and then I go, “You’re the absolute best, Rosario Dawson,” and she says “Don’t you forget it,” and I don’t.
Ever.
Heaven is pretty okay sometimes.
