What Stuck
This short experimental piece was featured in Seen from here: Writing in the lockdown (2020)
Marcia Farquhar once said to me, ‘You can’t take academic achievement to the dance floor.’
My mother once said, ‘You can’t just fuck up and blame it on me.’
A shaman once told me, ‘It’s not an either-or universe. It’s a both-and universe.’
A persimmon farmer relayed an old saying, ‘When the persimmons get ripe, the doctors get blue.’ Explosions in the background, beyond the perimeter of his orchard, discouraged local monkeys from looting his fruit.
‘Earthquake. Tsunami. Evacuate immediately.’
Signs on lampposts noted the altitude for those seeking high ground.
My sister talked me through a comprehensive procedure to clear the lungs. She developed it because she is on her own in the USA with an asthmatic child, so there’s no guarantee of an ambulance believes in resourcefulness, in the ancient wisdom of local medicine, and treating the body with the gentlest possible intervention. You give the patient an infusion to sip (heated and sweetened with a little honey if this provides extra comfort), and then a pot of oregano and eucalyptus steam to inhale in a bathroom foggy with shower mist and sage smoke. Close the door and keep it closed. Then cup your hands and beat the patient’s lungs firmly: chest, sides and back, all over. I do not think about my niece’s little torso, her ribs, the blades of her shoulders and hips. I do not wonder about the marks left by the procedure, or how long they stain her skin. Soon you’ll hear a popping sound. Lean the patient over the toilet or a bucket at this point. She will cough and heave and the popping will intensify and mucus will liberate in volumes that will disturb you and leave you both relieved. Then hold the patient. Read her favourite story together in your bed. Watch her while she sleeps. Let her have anything she wants for breakfast.
I once heard from a woodcarver, ‘If you make a mistake, turn it into something that is not a mistake.’
An octogenarian pearl-diver told me, a little self-consciously, that she suffers from vertigo.
Her colleague chuckled and said, ‘I do, too.’ I got the impression that vertigo is an open secret in the industry.
An historian said, ‘If you take away the carnival, there could be an uprising.’
A monk I fancied told me I was gorgeous. We swapped numbers but did not keep in touch.
A hip old product designer showed me around the guest house he rents on Airbnb. He ignored all of the usual amenities and acquainted me with the ‘Moss Sarcophagus’ and the ‘Coffin Bath’ – places to meditate on death more happily.
