A while back while waiting for a subway train, I watched a pigeon peck around here and there. He (since all pigeons are “he”s, at least to me anyway. And, yes I realize there is a slight flaw in my logic), bumbled around and, flustered by the oncoming train, even fluttered about the platform without any real purpose.
He looked casual as most pigeons do. Casual in the sense of “I am not looking at you,” “I am not looking at you,” but as soon as the coast seems to be clear here I come to rush the crumb of whatever it is that you just dropped. It has to be a tasty morsel! …or…a pebble you say? No matter, I was just casually passing by. I experience this behavior time and time again while having lunch near a small fountain surrounded by steps and various types of birds- none of them quite as casual as the pigeon.
Once the train settled into an indefinite stop, normal for a train hub, the pigeon settled itself back down on the platform. Still roaming looking for a handout, he began hopping in and out of the opened door of the waiting train car. I watched from a distance, this game of chicken he was playing, tempting the doors to close.
When the doors finally did, he, the pigeon was on board. I wonder what thoughts went through his head as the large metal doors slid shut with him on the wrong side of them. Where was he headed?
Maybe this was his plan all along. Him screwing up the courage to take that step, playfully almost so as not to bring on the anxiety of knowing full well that this was going to be a life changer, a journey of a lifetime. I wanted to be on that train, to be an observer of his wondrous train ride, but instead I was left in time on the platform, the pigeon’s train moving into an unknown future.
Am I just personifying my fellow pigeon? (A cardinal(?) sin when observing wildlife- even the life of a pigeon). Or was it a projection of my own dreams- getting on that train and taking the first step toward something new? This is possible as well. I cannot imagine what wondrous things the pigeon experienced, but as the train pulled away, I felt elation, a ray of hope that maybe I too can take that playful leap.
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Friday, January 27, 2012
Friday, July 8, 2011
The Visitor (short story- fiction)
Only parts of me survived being hit by that train- the ugly parts, those previously well hidden behind the mask of beauty. A gentleman walks passed me smiling and I can only garishly flash my teeth at him, unable to conjure up normal social politenesses. They are overrated- that is what Ann says anyway.
In the elevator, I face the corner, like a naughty child, safe in my small space, alone. Thoughts never cease within the quiet times, but instead control me racing me in circles until I am too tired to resist them and my confidence falters. I reach my floor, my door, my prison. I enter willing. I am both the prisoner and the executioner and for this I am thankful as only I know the cruelty within and what can break me.
I am not ready, but time has a way of moving regardless of whether one is ready.
He enters. “What a lovely apartment you have!”
I robotically respond, “Thank you and thank you for coming.”
I mention, no it isn’t rented, but owned. He is surprised. I cannot decide if he is surprised because I own it or because he realizes how little he knows about me.
We fall into a workable silence. It is a silence that crashes over me breaking into pieces only to pierce my brain. I want to scream, say something, anything to break the silence between us. But, I do not. I cannot. There is not enough air in this apartment of cheery walls and photographs that are not mine but someone else’s that never existed.
He senses something, maybe the flat air or my refusal to look at him again for fear of betraying myself. The subject changes to open cafes and the gentrification of the neighborhood. I relax into the evening. Wine and food, comfort I know. He chatters on about this or that, avoiding the recognized forbidden topics. Tip toeing around them like an adept dancer beautifully weaving in and out creating art out of nothing but sensitive words and well placed pauses.
He leaves. And a relief returns calming my nerves knowing that what was left out remains still intact and safe. Curling up on my favorite chair I release myself to my thoughts that bind me, control me.
(J.Smith 2011)
In the elevator, I face the corner, like a naughty child, safe in my small space, alone. Thoughts never cease within the quiet times, but instead control me racing me in circles until I am too tired to resist them and my confidence falters. I reach my floor, my door, my prison. I enter willing. I am both the prisoner and the executioner and for this I am thankful as only I know the cruelty within and what can break me.
I am not ready, but time has a way of moving regardless of whether one is ready.
He enters. “What a lovely apartment you have!”
I robotically respond, “Thank you and thank you for coming.”
I mention, no it isn’t rented, but owned. He is surprised. I cannot decide if he is surprised because I own it or because he realizes how little he knows about me.
We fall into a workable silence. It is a silence that crashes over me breaking into pieces only to pierce my brain. I want to scream, say something, anything to break the silence between us. But, I do not. I cannot. There is not enough air in this apartment of cheery walls and photographs that are not mine but someone else’s that never existed.
He senses something, maybe the flat air or my refusal to look at him again for fear of betraying myself. The subject changes to open cafes and the gentrification of the neighborhood. I relax into the evening. Wine and food, comfort I know. He chatters on about this or that, avoiding the recognized forbidden topics. Tip toeing around them like an adept dancer beautifully weaving in and out creating art out of nothing but sensitive words and well placed pauses.
He leaves. And a relief returns calming my nerves knowing that what was left out remains still intact and safe. Curling up on my favorite chair I release myself to my thoughts that bind me, control me.
(J.Smith 2011)
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Nowhere After A Tuesday (fiction)
“Do you find yourself destructive?”
Why do you keep asking me that? Aren’t we all? Isn’t that human nature? We destroy to create, we destroy to consume- just like you are consuming me now with your questions, your stares. Why did I come here today? To be consumed? Or something else? Oh yes, it was the rash.
“What difference does it make if I am destructive? I came here today so you could look at this rash.”
“Ah, yes, the rash. How long have you been experiencing this rash?”
Can’t you read? Isn’t it in black and white in front you? Why did I bother wasting my time filing out the form and answering the nurse’s questions then?
“Since Tuesday. He left me on a Tuesday. The rash appeared then.”
But did it really? Was I just so concerned with all the goings on before then that I never noticed it? That just cannot be possible. How could I have ignored something looking like that? And the color? Such an angry purple red. I think I can see my heartbeat in it. Why did I wait so long to come here? Maybe I am dying. Maybe this rash will devour me.
“So, Tuesday. Hmmm… Have you consumed any fish?”
Never mind, I remember. It was the stupid battery of questions. They lead to nowhere. But doesn’t everything? Everything leads to nowhere and I am getting there fast. Damn it, read the fucking chart. I am a vegetarian! What do you want from me anyway? Just give me a salve, any salve and I will be on my way. Pills, antihistamines, whatever will do.
“No, no fish. Remember? I am a vegetarian.”
Just keep gritting your teeth it will be over soon. Can’t you see I don’t want to be here any more? I don’t want to be here and he didn’t want to be with me. Since Tuesday. What a mundane day of the week. Not even the garbage is picked up on Tuesday. It is the day of the week that no one remembers. I will remember it now. Tuesday, the day he left.
“I think we will need to do a battery of tests to determine the cause of this rash.”
Really? A battery? I don’t think so. Maybe it is leprosy. So sad, she was devoured by leprosy after he left her, on Tuesday. At least leprosy is an interesting way to die. So few do in the first world these days.
“Sounds great. In the meantime can I have a salve or cream or something to try and make this rash go away?”
Just give me the salve. I need to get out of here. Maybe this is the mark of the devil. Maybe he was the devil leaving on Tuesday and all. Tuesday, such a useless day. I think he was the devil.
“Just wait for the nurse to return. She will bring you a salve.”
What is your salve going to do against the mark of the devil? Are you kidding me? I am not coming back here for tests. To show me what? That I have been marked by the devil? Not me, no, I am leaving now.
“Thanks, but I will just call later to make an appointment for the battery of tests.”
Freedom. Just like a Tuesday.
(J. Smith 2010)
Why do you keep asking me that? Aren’t we all? Isn’t that human nature? We destroy to create, we destroy to consume- just like you are consuming me now with your questions, your stares. Why did I come here today? To be consumed? Or something else? Oh yes, it was the rash.
“What difference does it make if I am destructive? I came here today so you could look at this rash.”
“Ah, yes, the rash. How long have you been experiencing this rash?”
Can’t you read? Isn’t it in black and white in front you? Why did I bother wasting my time filing out the form and answering the nurse’s questions then?
“Since Tuesday. He left me on a Tuesday. The rash appeared then.”
But did it really? Was I just so concerned with all the goings on before then that I never noticed it? That just cannot be possible. How could I have ignored something looking like that? And the color? Such an angry purple red. I think I can see my heartbeat in it. Why did I wait so long to come here? Maybe I am dying. Maybe this rash will devour me.
“So, Tuesday. Hmmm… Have you consumed any fish?”
Never mind, I remember. It was the stupid battery of questions. They lead to nowhere. But doesn’t everything? Everything leads to nowhere and I am getting there fast. Damn it, read the fucking chart. I am a vegetarian! What do you want from me anyway? Just give me a salve, any salve and I will be on my way. Pills, antihistamines, whatever will do.
“No, no fish. Remember? I am a vegetarian.”
Just keep gritting your teeth it will be over soon. Can’t you see I don’t want to be here any more? I don’t want to be here and he didn’t want to be with me. Since Tuesday. What a mundane day of the week. Not even the garbage is picked up on Tuesday. It is the day of the week that no one remembers. I will remember it now. Tuesday, the day he left.
“I think we will need to do a battery of tests to determine the cause of this rash.”
Really? A battery? I don’t think so. Maybe it is leprosy. So sad, she was devoured by leprosy after he left her, on Tuesday. At least leprosy is an interesting way to die. So few do in the first world these days.
“Sounds great. In the meantime can I have a salve or cream or something to try and make this rash go away?”
Just give me the salve. I need to get out of here. Maybe this is the mark of the devil. Maybe he was the devil leaving on Tuesday and all. Tuesday, such a useless day. I think he was the devil.
“Just wait for the nurse to return. She will bring you a salve.”
What is your salve going to do against the mark of the devil? Are you kidding me? I am not coming back here for tests. To show me what? That I have been marked by the devil? Not me, no, I am leaving now.
“Thanks, but I will just call later to make an appointment for the battery of tests.”
Freedom. Just like a Tuesday.
(J. Smith 2010)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)