I LOVE GIRL - Story from The Last Girlfriend on Earth

I Love Girl

I am Oog. I love Girl. Girl loves Boog.

It is bad situation.

Boog and I are very different people. For example, we have different jobs.

My job is Rock Thrower. I will explain what that is. There are many rocks all over the place and people are always tripping over them. So when I became a man at age eleven, the Old Person said to me: “Get rid of all the rocks.” Since that day, I have worked very hard at this. Whenever it is light outside, I am either gather­ing rocks, carrying them up the hill, or throwing them off the cliff. In the past ten years, I have cleared many rocks from the ground. People still trip on rocks, but they trip less than before.

Boog’s job is Artist. I will explain what that is. When he became a man, the Old Person said to him: “Cut down the trees so we have space to live.” But Boog did not want to do this, so now he smears paints on caves. He calls his smears “pictures.” Everybody likes to look at them. But the person who likes to look at them most is Girl.

I love Girl. I will explain what that is. When I look at her, I feel sick like I am going to die. I have never had the Great Disease (obviously, because I am still alive). But my Uncle described it to me. He said there is a tightness in your chest, you cannot breathe, and you have anger toward the Gods because they are hurting you for no reason. I was going to ask him to explain more, but then he died. (He had been sick a long time, almost two days.) My point is: Girl makes me feel this way, like I am going to die. There are many women in the world. By last count, seven. But she is the only one I ever loved.

Girl lives on Black Mountain. It is called Black Mountain because (1) it is mountain and (2) it is covered in black rocks. Every day, Girl has to climb over the rocks to get to the River. It is too hard.

She has small legs and she is often getting stuck. So one day I decided: “I will clear a path from Girl’s cave to the River.”

I have been working on Girl’s path for many years, pick­ ing up the black rocks and carrying them away. I never throw her rocks off the cliff like normal rocks. Instead, I put them in a pile next to my cave. I like to look at the pile, because it reminds me of how I am helping Girl. The pile is black and shiny and very big. My mother, who I live with, says it “has to go.” She does not understand that it is important to me. (I worry that she will move the pile, but it is unlikely. After all, she is an elderly, thirty-two­-year­-old woman.)

I have made good progress on Girl’s path, but there are still many rocks left to clear. The job would go faster, but I am building the path in secret by the light of the moon. The rea­son is—and this is a hard thing to admit—I am afraid to talk to Girl. If she found out it was me clearing all the rocks, I’m sure she would say something to me like “Hello” or “Hi there.” And then I would be in trouble. Because the truth is: I am not so good at making words.

Boog is very good at making words. For example, last week he showed off his new picture at the Main Cave. Every­ one was expecting it to be a horse or a bear (all his pictures so far have been horses, bears, or a mix of horses and bears). But this picture was not of any animal. It was just a bunch of red streaks. People were angry.

“I wanted animals,” the Old Person said. “Where are the animals?”

It was a bad situation. I thought that Boog would lose his job or maybe be killed by stones. But then Boog stood on a rock and spoke.

“My art is smart,” he said. “And anyone who does not get it is stupid.”

Everyone was quiet. We looked at the Old Person to see what he would say.