Rendezvous
10 November 05 : 12.09 AM
I'm having these exquisite dreams lately, of painful whispers and tears that can break, crying sisters and disarraying tableaux. Like it might actually be telling me something.
I woke up thinking about Rudy. I haven't thought about him, or seen him for ages. He appeared in my dreams I think. And when I checked my phone, I received a message from a number I wasn't familiar with, and found out that it was he who had sent it.
Today I stood with my shirt off, looking into the mirror, trying to feel the words etched on my back, black and permanent. How strange for these words to stay there for so long. It's been 3 years already. I touch it and seem to feel it raised like an emboss. Alecs did it for me, and I'm really thankful it was him, and not anyone else. I still look at it with amazement.
b. brought me to the doctor's on monday. Upon finding out that my lazy mother didn't want to, he came over to my place immediately and took me to the doctor, allowed me to have cake at the dance cafe, and made me drink fish soup for dinner before bringing me home.
I was at a place this afternoon, that reminded me of two phases of my life. Strange how a place I've only been to twice my life can remind me of something, and can remind of me two events so separate. It was an old hawker centre in the vicinity. The first time, was when I met Kenneth during one of his three hour long school break. It reminded me of the time I don't step out my house in the afternoons at all, maybe occasional mornings to go to school or late evenings before the sun fully descends to meet friends.
The second time, was with Christian. I looked at the spot I had vomitted at, and could almost see apparitions of us being there, him bending over to pat my back while I regurgitate the food I had pretended I was craving for. It was on the 21st of June. After that, we returned to my place, where I laid on my bed, and he laid beside me, stroking my back. He had whispered then, because Mom was in the room, "It's over now, it's okay."
The man with the needle who looked embarrassed even that I should not have a guy with me, only a taller, skinnier girl who would hold my hand tightly, the woman with that whitesomething that could induce pain, the cold theatre, the many other women alone, alone, alone.
No I don't think about it anymore.
I've been happy these days actually. Thanks to b., my french poet, who was never high on the prosaic perches to begin with, and laughs at the way I greet him. Thank you for the ten reasons that made me smile even though only about two of them made sense (and I already gave you a mercy point), thank you for allowing me into the territory you hadn't wanted anyone to enter, and most of all, for letting me waste your car petrol by bringing me on long drives.
Even I don't want to see Christian Bale in a G-string.