Antimetabole (an’-ti-me-ta’-bo-lee): Repetition of words, in successive clauses, in reverse grammatical order.
“I love you. You love I.” It wasn’t grammatically perfect, but it clearly conveyed our love. We had been going steady since high school. I wrote the little ditty as a part of Bingo’s birthday. Her real name is Martha. I nicknamed her “Bingo” because that’s what I yelled when I saw her undressing in the girl’s locker room, where I spied from a locker with a peephole drilled in it. It was one of my most successful ventures. I rented the locker for $10,00 per hour. Even Mr. Binge, the shop reacher, rented it out.
Anyhow, when I yelled “Bingo,” Bingo heard me and found me. She yanked open the locker and kissed me. I asked her to go steady, and the rest is history. It was Bingo’s 27th birthday and she was pressuring me to marry her. We still live with our parents and we still go out on dates. We were going on a “walking around” date. We just wander around town holding hands until around 11:00. Sometimes we do “it” in the thick bushes in front of the bank—mostly in summertime.
Her mother greeted me at the front door “Oh god, it’s you again. Martha’s coming right down. Why don’t you just leave her alone?” Bingo’s father was a little more creative. He had installed a fire escape with a ladder outside Bingo’s window hoping some other boys might climb up and visit her and fall in love. It didn’t work. She kept her window locked, and had a “No Trespassing” sign hanging in the window. It was a relief. Love is good and good is love! Nobody was going to steal my girl. Bingo was mine all mine.
I decided to marry her.
I worked in a sliding board factory, testing random slides for speed and smoothness. I had been working there for 15 years and made pretty good wages. Bingo skippered a fishing boat. It was a trawler and they fished for cod, haddock, and flounder. She’d be out for a week at a time with a boatload of men, but I never mistrusted her. Bingo made tons of money. So, we’d be wealthy when we combined our incomes.
We planned for months. Then, one day, in front of the bank, I ran into Mr. Binge the shop teacher who had rented my spy locker. He was bent over a walker and was drooling a little on his hand. He said “I banged her that day, and we’re still goin’ at it. I got these little blue pills. We meet in the bushes over there.” That really hurt. I thought the bushes were our special place. I ripped the walker out of Mr. Binge’s hands and he fell flat on his face yelling “You bastard!” I ran home to hide in my room. I was cleaning my .45 when there was a knock on my bedroom door. I opened the door. It was Bingo.
I was surprised my mother her let her into the house. Bingo was crying. Between sobs, she said “I ran into Mr. Binge in front of the bank today. He told me the lies he told you. Ever since that day in the locker room, he’s wanted to do ‘it’ with me. But, I said no, and I keep saying no, but he has fantasies, even at 82, and he just won’t give up. I’ve reported him for harassment several times to no avail. If you don’t believe me ask the police.”
I was calmed by what she said. I asked the police. Bingo was telling the truth. We went ahead and got married. Every once in a while I would see what looked like walker tracks heading toward the back door. but I knew they were from our son’s baby carriage and I had nothing to worry about. Nevertheless, I installed a tiny security camera and I check it every day. So far, so good.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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