07/10/2010 § Leave a comment
Head down and burrowing into notebooks, she noticed the ink of her pen was running out. The life of a felt-tip is fleeting, she thought.
She flipped through piles of words she had written searching for a pattern.
It was rumoured that at the age of three was when she got a hernia operation. She remembered the hospital smelled green, like mouthwash or formaldehyde, simultaneously sterile and sickening. She remembered not knowing why she was placed inside a cage and wheeled away, screaming “Mama, mama! Don’t let them take me!” Her mother’s sad eyes are still written in her memory. She remembered waking up with a green band-aid on her abdomen, but she didn’t remember falling asleep.
When she was six years old, she fell in love for the first time. It was a boy named Michael in Mrs. Curtis’s class. He was new to the school and she was shy because of a black eye from playing catch with her cousin the night before. During the week, the whole family would get burgers and onion rings from Harvey’s and drive to their parents’ intramural softball games. It was the year that Harvey’s gave away softballs of electric colours with their combos. She chose the green and yellow one to accompany her burger (just ketchup, please!) That night, she was teaching her cousin how to catch pop-flies, lobbing the fluorescent watermelon ball into the air. When it was her turn to catch it, she tried to show off by catching it like they do on TV, waiting until the last second. In the last second, she saw the blue sky and then it was dark.
Twelve was twelve. Amidst sprouting pimples and late blooms, something grew behind her eye. She felt like the hunchback of Notre Dame. She discovered that humility had the low low price of existential reasoning.
Twenty-four came and went without a whisper.
On the table, a dragonfly landed. Like a worm, she inched her nose close to examine its rather ugly body with bulging eyes and red, striated torso. Getting closer, she noticed its green hue catching the light, the twitch from its rear legs, the wholes in its body made for breathing. She got closer and saw the pattern on its wing much like a leaf. Although veined and translucent, it began in one point and pulsed a structure through the flaky wafers. These flakes are what make it fly, she thought. It’s so tiny and its life is so fleeting.
She looked up, left her notebooks and went outside.