'Octopus-Hearted' by Jude Potts

I wonder what would happen if I stopped wrapping myself in tentacles, protecting my solitary, sucker-scarred heart. What might we share, beyond stealthy cigarettes on a fire escape, smoke swirling skyward, ash dropping on my sneaks?

‘How’s tricks?’ I ask.

‘Tricky,’ your reply.

Sometimes that’s all we say, and it’s almost enough. My mouth fills with octopuses, I can’t get the right words out without tentacles tangling my tongue. 

‘Did you know, octopuses have three hearts?’ I keep my eyes on the spiralling smoke. If I were octopus-hearted, I’d risk saying so much more.

I watch your lips tighten around your cigarette, sending smoke signals I can’t quite read. Did your hand linger on mine as you passed me your lighter? Did you feel a spark as your fingers brushed my arm?  

Cigarette clasped in one hand, my other arm wrapped around my waist, I console myself I don’t have six more arms longing to reach out, brush ash from your chest, letting fingers linger on the top button of your checked shirt.

Tomorrow, I might ask you for a coffee. On the one hand, you could say yes and later break two of my octopus’ hearts with lies. On another hand, you might say no and immediately break them all. But octopus hearts allow octopus choices, so on one more hand, we’re sipping coffee in bed, a tangled knot of lazy limbs, your body as familiar as my own, our six octopus hearts full.

Love’s tricky with just one heart. Two hands leave me with binary choices. Ask, don’t ask. Yes. No. Love. Heartbreak. I bubble-wrap my lonely heart with tentacles.  I cling to cigarettes and sideways glances, watching smoke dance away, never catching fire. 

 

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Jude is bimbling through life, sometimes dabbling in flash fiction, focusing on wry, dry and sly looks at human failings (usually her own). She believes in the magical capacity of shared joy and humour to change the world and tries to contribute.