I think I was crying.
But it couldn’t have been, as growing up we weren’t allowed (to). Crying, worse than the crime we committed that brought the punishment, tears held in and reabsorbed by the lung, leading to episodes of pleurisy much later in perfectly calm moments of full sun and salt air, and much, much later stuck in traffic wondering what ever could have possessed you to kick the habit. God, to miss sand burning the soles of your feet, emergence from wading in cold Pacific waters. God, to miss pockets of unintended summer fallen upon the Oregon coast. Newport. Fucking christ.
Home. Yeah, I think it must be chest pain, heart troubles, 8-year old exhaustion.
She looks at me and frowns, not because of the crying but because the solution is so simple.
‘Just spray them with water.’
Nothing dilutes common sense like hair-wrung lacrimation.
She sprays my shoe laces with the atomizer that blows wet kisses upon every snake plant, every dracaena, every begonia, and the great big patch of devil’s ivy that still holds the scorpion carcass, a memory of a scream and a shoe thrown in the yard, cursed memory like Pavlov’s call.
‘They won’t come untied now.’
* * *
Where are the elders in my life? Or is it that I just don’t listen? I’m 33 and I’ve never grown up, not an inch of wisdom, and I’m reminded of endless grade-school lessons how early man never even made it past 30, and I doubt folklore and home remedies, and patience. How could tolerance and grace have ever been imparted if we used to die in the heart of our emotional youth?
I still sneak from room to room, ready to answer questions with deference, ready to be instructed and taught. A sponge for knowledge and legend, an endless capacity to hear old women share folk remedies, read futures in tea leaves, and sit quietly while I turn the torment around and fuck with the demons on my own terms. I may not have wisdom, but I’ve got an awfully goddamned big bottle of water that took 4 full paychecks, a house full of thirsty plants, and a pair of slip-on Italian loafers that I can wear in case of emergency or drought. Or forgetfulness.
* * *
A friend of mine is having a birthday today.