Amanda Filipacchi - Vapor

I was not satisfied with any of these ideas. They were not quite on target and seemed slightly irrelevant to the crime.

Torture. I could do something with bugs. I could try to get my hands on a cockroach and eat it. I could breed cockroaches in my apartment and set them loose. I could eat worms. I could do something horrible with my own excrement. I could sneak into a lion’s cage.

These were not much better. My difficulty in coming up with a suitable sentence made my crime seem all the more serious. The rain was beating down on me, wearing me down. I began feeling fragile in the middle of the lightning.

I could cut myself.

I could bruise myself, break a finger. Punch my fist through a glass window.

Enema.

I could stare at the sun.

Raindrops were running into my eyes as tears were running out. I had a block. I could not think of any more punishments.

Self-criticisms and reproaches, however, I had not run out of, so I indulged in throwing them at myself: How could I have been so pathetically weak? And deceitful? How could I have betrayed myself this way? Part of me suspected that I knew from the start that I was calling him to get invited out. I bet I knew all along I was going to accept. I even bet that if he hadn’t asked me out I would have asked him myself. In fact, that was pretty much what happened. And all that for a pretty face whom I didn’t even know. I was willing to jeopardize my future, my dream, for a pretty face. How shallow could I get? How superficial? While I was at it, why didn’t I just walk up to a total stranger in the street and tell him I wanted to sleep with him, right then and there? That wouldn’t be much worse than what I did. It would have saved time, been easier, more true to my lazy, undisciplined nature. I forced my mind to visualize myself accosting a man in this way. I made myself endure the distress of picturing the man’s reaction, the shock, the embarrassment.

I continued pondering with disgust this hateful little drama, when suddenly, to my horror, I recognized it for what it was: my Punishment. It loomed large and obvious in my mind. I had finally found it.

I immediately tried to reject it. I could never perform such an act. It was impossible, too hard, too awful and sinister.

Which, of course, was why I had to do it. Why I would do it. I already knew it was inevitable, that it was the only solution. And once my initial horror passed, I was awed by the perfection of it and relieved by the dreadfulness of it.

I would do it now.

I got up. The sky had cleared and the rain was letting up, as if handing me the reins of discipline.

I went down to my apartment, got dressed, and went out into the street.

Before I fulfilled my sentence there were a few factors that needed to be determined, a few rules that had to be set. Rules were necessary, or I’d try to get off easy. So as I walked down the street, I established in my mind all the rules of my punishment.

For instance, how, exactly, would I accost the man?

Well, for starters, I would approach him and say something along the line of, “Excuse me. I want you. Badly. Here and now or as soon as possible. I can’t wait.” I would then make an assertive physical pass, such as placing my hand on his backside and squeezing it. I would keep up this act, not forgetting to include some variations, like hugging and sighing.

The next very important point that had to be determined was: How long did this have to go on before I allowed myself to stop? I thought about that for a while and finally came up with: until he started running away. Yes. I would not allow myself to stop harassing him and pressuring him, verbally as well as physically, until he ran away. In fact, I would even begin taking off his clothes, if necessary, to make him run.

We’d see how good an actress I was, how much of a fool I was willing to make of myself. Great actors had to be willing to go to extremes.

But what if — oh horror of horrors — he were to reciprocate or take me up on my offer? Then I’d have to start running. Anyway, whatever trouble it got me into, I deserved.

All that was left for me to do now was to choose a man. The streets were wet and not very crowded. I gazed at every man that crossed my path. I wanted to check out a few before making my selection. There was no point in rushing things. I walked three of four blocks, occasionally stopping in stores along the way to see if I could find some good ones lurking around.

I finally entered a store selling musical instruments and saw a man who was quite appealing, more so than I deserved for my punishment. But after all, I had not specified in the rules that the man had to repel me. And anyway, an attractive victim did not really make the task any easier. On the contrary, in a way — it created its own challenges and barriers.

I had decided not to bother trying to not be myself during my punishment. The act I was about to perform was so unlike anything I would normally do, that I would automatically be acting unlike myself, without even trying.

I stood behind a harp and stared at my prey through the strings of the instrument. He was checking out a piano. While I contemplated him, I was absently plucking at a chord from the harp to seem busy.

“May I help you,” asked a salesman, coming up behind me.

“No, thank you. I was just looking,” I said, leaving the harp and checking out a cello (my favorite instrument) before moving on to the synthesizers.

I pressed a key and it made the sound of thunder. I punched a few buttons and made the sound of a lashing whip.

My prey was still at the piano. I did not want to accost him inside the store, as it might make a scene. So I would have to appear busy until he left.

I continued to mess around with the buttons, and by accident I pressed a key that made loud, consecutive kissing sounds that did not stop. I tried punching various buttons to make them stop. I even tried taking a step back from the instrument, but it didn’t help. My prey glanced at me with an amused expression, so I quickly moved away to another synthesizer and tried to look absorbed.

The kissing sounds went on, embarrassingly loud and persistent. I pressed a key on my new synth, hoping to camouflage them with a more neutral, less suggestive sound.

To my regret, the key I pressed produced a panting sound. It was real, quick, earnest, human panting. And to my horror, it did not stop either. The store was now filled with kissing and panting noises and no one came to stop the racket because the salesmen were all busy.

I looked at my prey. He was smiling, and called out, “You have a way with those!”

I nodded and chuckled politely and edged my way out of the store. I could not accost him now. He practically knew me.

I walked a few blocks, breathing deeply, and entered a sporting goods store. I soon spotted a possible prey. I followed him discreetly. He stopped in the water sports section and examined a floating mattress. I stood a little ways off, and tried to look interested in the diving masks. He poked at the mattress and squeezed it, testing its firmness. I placed a mask on my face, pretending to be testing its suction power, while through the mask I watched him tentatively sit on the mattress. As soon as his whole weight was on it the air plug popped out and the mattress went limp, expiring with a wheezing sound. The man got up and glanced around to see if he had been observed. Since no one was nearby except me, his gaze lingered in my direction. So I made sharp jerking motions with my head, to seem utterly engrossed in the suction power of my mask. He relaxed and walked away, believing his dignity to be intact. I followed him.

He went to a corner of the store and wandered behind a display case. I couldn’t follow him there because the space was too tight and he would have seen me. He stayed there awhile, and I wondered what he was doing. By some unexpected stroke of luck, there happened to be, on the other side of the display case, a minitrampoline, on which I climbed after slight hesitation. I bounced, tentatively at first, and tried to look innocent. I was not bouncing high enough to see over the display case, so I bounced higher and caught glimpses of him examining a jump rope. He unraveled it and began jumping rope in that tight corner, the fool. Over the display case, in midair, our eyes met. And then there was a crash, on his side. He must have knocked some things off a shelf.