Fall and Rise by Stephen Dixon

with gates and also relate to it. Sates. Straits. Grates and greats, the last with an e-a-t because of Yeats, and even that e-a-t now I see relates to the ate in plates and pates if you want to pronounce and spell pâté that way, besides the past tense of eat and so on. But yes, let’s. No, you won’t allow me to allow you to, though I’ll have some more.” I hold a knife over the brie and my expression says “Would you, despite your not wanting to, like me to slice you a piece?” She shakes her head, squeezes what doesn’t seem like a lot of flab on her waist.
    â€œMay I ask your name?” she says.
    â€œIt’s one I’d like to forget tonight.”
    â€œMy, you’re feeling sorry for yourself. That the reason you’re acting the bizarre way you are? The wordplay gibberish? The Helene gate business ridiculousness? If it’s the drink, you shouldn’t. Not my affair and far be it from me to try to stop you when you didn’t my nervous eating, but you really shouldn’t drink anymore tonight even if it isn’t the drink. It can’t make you better. I know. You’re looking at a former walking bottle of alcohol. Walking? Hah. And I like a slight amount of seriousness with those I speak, so if…”
    â€œTen thousand years,” and I clink her soda glass on the table with my glass and drink down my drink. “That’s banzai in Greek.”
    â€œThat’s not funny in any language.” She takes her glass, breaks off a couple of blue-cheese crumbs and puts them in her mouth and says “Really, at a party I love nothing more than to schmooze around, so it’s no shun if I say I’ll see ya?”
    â€œWait, you’re right. I am feeling sorry for myself tonight and I didn’t just say that to agree with you. I’ve been going on also. Running. The mouth. I’m not always like this. Rarely. Sometimes I’m even self-effacing, deferential and shy. I’ve made potential enemies here. I must be self-destructive. Just using the word ‘made’ instead of ‘encouraged’ and ‘enemies’ instead of ‘adversaries’—or more accurately have said, since the examples I gave make little sense, ‘I caused or prodded people to be hostile to me’—maybe illustrates that fact. Someone once said that about me. About being self-destructive. Someone? I can be a liar too. Meaning that that’s what I can also be—I didn’t mean you. Several said it. All women I was very attached to, though I doubt it was ever as evident as now, and not my attachment to them but my self-destruction. Look. I think I felt I had nothing to say before so wanted to make up clever and controversial things to say so I’d seem interesting. That sound true? I might have just said it to seem interesting, but I don’t think I did and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. Excuse me. Still running. That I wasn’t even able to give my name to you? Saying and doing all those socially asinine things I don’t feel proud of I can tell you. Even what I’ve just been saying: this uncappable self-spill. At my age, coupled with my inferior income and no security, to be such a schmo sometimes is hard sometimes for me to believe and take. Oh fuck. I acted and am still acting the way I did because I don’t relate, or for those or additional self-destructive reasons think I don’t, to anyone here except maybe the host. So I’m provoking and annoying people and saying ridiculous and wretched things just to what? Don’t go yet. That can’t-relate feeling-sorry-for-myself outcast and -classed self-destructive argument I guess, though ‘argument’ not used in any contentious sense but in the manner of reasons induced and concluded I think, wouldn’t you say, or am I now being self-destructively unclear?”
    She’s been doing other things but looking at me most of