“Modern Art” by Holly Sheidenberger
Brent was my new boyfriend, an artist. Mysterious and kind of sullen, but probably a genius.
He cooked octopus for dinner at his loft.
Halfway through my second tentacle, he picked up a bucket of ice water that he had hidden under the table. He dumped the whole thing on my head.
Shocked breathless, and drenched from head to toe, I jumped up. Eyes wide, gasping for air, I stared at Brent. He didn’t flinch.
I soggily flagged my own cab to get home.
I still went to his art show on Friday.
The only thing in the gallery was a huge screen. It was playing a video – of me. Ten feet high, black and white, in slow motion, dripping wet, rubbery half-chewed octopus tentacle in my open, gasping mouth.
I hate modern art.
But I love Brent. He’s a genius.