So I Sit... - Part Blog/Part Prose

 And so I sit. Time ticks by and the effects of my treatment seep into my pores, fills my bloodstream and attaches itself to where the pain lies. And so I sit. The sweat drips down my back leisurely making its way down to my pelvis where intermittent pain reminds me of why I am here.

Between the outside world and my room is a set of bars, dividing but protecting. They stop things from getting in (insects excluded) and from me jumping out, though it does not stop my spirit which soars and my mind that floats freely. I dance amongst the smoke of the bonfire and wade across the fields of rice that appear directly outside my window - my destination is the plantations that cover the mountains where fruit grows in abundance and silence is a cacophony of insects looking for their next meal.

And so my body sits, pulling me back from my foray. And it sits a bit longer until it cannot stand the monotony and feels the need to stand, to lie down, to pace the floor, to pretend to dance even though it fails to gain its usual lightness and rhythm - castrated by space, by lack of music but mostly because my body will not allow.

My dancing days seem almost a memory and my mind struggles to understand what my body is saying. Dance with your words, yes! Dance with your dreams, yes! But your body needs to rest, to recuperate, to relax into its own pace. My mind baulks at my body's instruction and has an apparent inability to follow. My mind definitely does not want to be subservient to anyone or thing, certainly nothing so cumbersome as a body.

And so I sit. I watch time drag and then race. I watch birds fly by and hear horns belch in the still humid air. I hear cars grumble, their bellies scraping against the floor, but now my mind is escaping again, drifting - this time it easily jumps over the mountains, across the motherland, traversing continents, cultures, dramas, crimes, births, deaths, rituals; my heart flies way above the clouds, away from all human interaction and moves towards the sun.

And so I sit, but my mind is falling through the atmosphere, guided by my ever present homing instinct. To a certain tower where I have never set my foot upon beside my favourite beach - where the earth sets, where spinach grows and grass crows and the sand has a life of its own.

Every colour of the rainbow, every emotional hue, every step I take, every glimpse at the moon leads me towards my self.

And so I sit - surrounded by traffic, trapped in a cell but gently buffeted by the strumming of a guitar and gentle murmur of conversation. I awake with laughter and sleep with a smile as I traverse the globe of touch and of words. I find universes in a song and dreams in a grain of rice. I find sweetness in chai and in a small Doctor who is willing my body to grow, to be strong and reach out. He will instruct my body so that it obeys my soul's purpose - to find and follow its ever increasing pathways and crossroads.

And I feel the Creator guiding me, protecting and cradling me - calling me to reach my potential through every experience I am given and through every person I meet. Especially, through every conversation created. It introduces me to sights and sounds, to people who will hurt and people who will protect. It shows me love and pain. It helps me to feel the light and the shadow so that I am able to understand all of it, all of who I am.

My hands are my source. They destroy, form and cross bridges - they clarify knowledge and give meaning to my voice which is sometimes weak with hurt, sometimes strong from joy.

And so I sit. Conscious that my eyes are taking everything in - all movement, all expressions - they soak up the longing and intentions, the feelings and thoughts of others.

And so I sit. I feel the heartbeat of every occupant on this floor and as I get up and walk along the corridor I see and feel the movement of each room I pass. I see their energy seep out of the door and gather into a great cloud, mushrooming, growing, making each movement produce a strong musky odour. It's the smell of exile, of isolation, of too many thoughts crowding, pushing, jostling for light and attention. Minds join then separate, crush and then expand in between the mosquitoes and lizards under this Keralan sky.

Now, the sound of slumber reaches my ears. Their minds are set free, in pain but painless. Free from the fetters of the everyday and filled with dream images. Stocking and replenishing.

And so I sit. My body is calling and my body seeks help. It becomes a slave to routine, it calls to the hands of healers but rebels against any instruction. Determined to be strong, afraid to be called weak.

And so I sit. I walk. I lie down. I try to dance and I watch. I watch life dance whilst my body sits. I watch it caress me then pull itself away. I watch it shake its hips and shimmy in the moonlight and strut its stuff. And I watch it play. And so I sit.



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Khao San Sunrise - Short Story

‘Are we in a race?’

  ‘No, this is my natural pace, my Mum taught me to walk fast.’

  ‘Slow down,’ Simon says and then he speeds up in order to get in front of me as if we really were having a race. I speed up but as soon as I do, Simon stops short. He starts riffling through his pockets and comes up with some coins. He drops them into the hands of a beggar I didn’t see, sitting in the shadows.

I start walking again. We end up speed walking, talking and laughing until we reach the junction. ‘Where are we going?’ he asks.

  ‘To the Israeli restaurant,’ I say.

  ‘The Israeli restaurant? Which one?’

  ‘The one around the corner, the girl we are meeting is Israeli,’ I say.

  ‘And I have met her before?’ recalling our conversation in the taxi.

  ‘Yes, you have met both people before, their names are Pete and Eva,’ I repeat for the third time that evening.

  ‘Eva?’

  ‘Yeah, as in Ever,’ I say.

We arrive within minutes of each other and settle down to our orders.

  ‘Don’t ever get married’ Simon says to the couple in front of him.

  ‘Er, Simon, it’s a bit too late for that,’ I say quietly. The couple look at him uneasily and then they look at me: Who is this drunken fool you have brought? I pretend I don’t notice although I am acutely aware of the undercurrent of unease. Simon is distinctly unaware of anything except his own thought processes. He doesn’t miss a beat.

  ‘Ah, then congratulations, may you both be very happy together.’

He carries on nursing his beer whilst we eat our food, he looks up at the male half of the couple, ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Pete,’ he replies

  ‘You don’t talk much.’

  ‘That’s because I have nothing to say.’

We finish our food and then head out into the city, I keep my eye on Simon to make sure he isn’t staggering into people and again he stops. He starts looking at his belongings and then looks at me, ‘Do you have any coins?’ I fish a couple out and give it to the beggar who has a baby beside her. Simon feels sorry for the baby, I think it reminds him of his own baby at home with his wife.

We sit on some seats on the street and order drinks from ‘the 60 baht guy,’ Simon spills his beer all over the table and pavement. He doesn’t seem too bothered by it. His attention wavers and soon he is standing up and wondering into different shops nearby. I ignore his behaviour, I guess I am used to it, and carry on the conversation with Eva and Pete. Soon enough Simon has disappeared, the remnants of his beer still dripping from the table.

My phone rings, I look at the display and Simon’s name is flashing.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello Rachael, this is Coin, is Simon there?’

  ‘No Coin, he has disappeared. I don’t know where he has gone.’ Pause. ‘If I see him again, shall I get him to call you?’

  ‘No, I don’t want to speak to him ever again,’ another pause. ‘Okay Rachael, thanks.’

  ‘Okay Coin, I’m sorry I am not much help’

I feel strange speaking to Simon’s wife, I know she doesn’t like me because Simon and I are friends, I get the feeling she doesn’t like any of his friends.

....

At closing time I walk out of the bar, my arms interlinked with Eva and our other friend, Jay. Pete left us earlier and the three of us are sweaty with excess, a pungent sweet/sour perfume of alcohol, sweat and bodies which rises and mingles with the crowd. Our voices are joyful, our faces flushed and intentions fluid. The euphoria of dancing has not yet worn off.

We weave through impossibly skinny Thai women and men who are selling their wares and bodies to the seekers of carnal and material delights under the polluted neon sky. Everything is for sale on Khao San Road, even at 1am. Baht is thrown about in a football match of commerce – the road reminds me of a hangover of some street festival gone stale.

Just as I am about to hail a taxi, I see him lumber down the pavement. He hunches as he lurches, diminishing his tall lanky frame.

I call out, ‘Simon! Simon!’

He twists his head slightly but his pace continues. I call out again and start running towards him and soon I stand in front of him, challenging him to defy me. He is drunk, still. He takes a minute to focus and then finally recognition settles temporarily.  

  ‘Where have you been? Your wife called me. She wants you to go home,’ I say.

  ‘I’ve been home and now I am out again.’    

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You don’t look fine. Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ he says impatiently. ‘Stop looking at me like that.’

I look at Simon. He has a new mark on his left cheek, whether it’s from a wall he has fallen into or from his wife’s hands I do not know. The previous scratches on his face have almost disappeared. His hair and skin are pale, almost Nordic, his blue and red eyes are awash in alcohol. When he drinks colour fades from him, he becomes a photographic negative of his own existence. The dark rings under his eyes only serve to highlight this image. I am torn between wanting to hug his misery away and shaking him violently so he sees sense. These contradictory feelings within me usually facilitate the sarcastic and flippant aspect of my personality which I display in order to skim the surface edge of something I have no idea about and probably shouldn’t pry into.

I don’t know how but we end up sitting on the step of a doorway. The women whose presence I left abruptly look at me and then at the taxis and I tell them I am going to stay out a bit longer. I walk up to them, hug them and watch them climb into a taxi – to an unconsciousness I desperately long for but is increasingly difficult for me to achieve.

  ‘I didn’t know she was married. You could have told me,’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was important.’

  ‘Someone should tell them they look like lesbians, holding each other like that.’

  ‘You should see the way we dance’ I say, visualising the spectacle of our intertwined bodies in the club down the road.

We huddle as if we were cold in this tropical city and discuss some of the teachers I work with in my school. Simon doesn’t like any of them, I know the feeling is mutual. It is a curse and a blessing of my existence that all of the social circles I move in are unbridgeable. Then we discuss the imminent arrival of the newest resident in our block of apartments, Bill. Our mutual dislike for the boy temporarily binds us in a un-Buddhist like reverie.

A man comes up to us; his hand outstretched and asks for some money. Simon speaks to him in Thai. I notice that Simon hasn’t given him anything so I reach for my bag.

  ‘Don’t give him anything.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Not this guy.’

I stop rooting through my bag and Simon tells him to leave us. He staggers down the road. We watch him.

We talk about the people in our apartments again. ‘Everyone loves you’ he says.

  ‘Good, I love them.’

  ‘I don’t love everyone... Do you remember the time when you first introduced yourself and I just left?’

  ‘No.’ I say, genuinely forgetting that any experience like that had occurred. Normally my memory would hold onto a snub like that, keen to interpret any actions I come into contact with.

Our conversation jumps between the past and present, po-going to a happy tune. Then suddenly he says what has been on his mind throughout.

  ‘Have you ever been in love?’

And the image of Kale appeared so clearly that I was sure Simon could see him too, ‘Yeah’ I say.

I start to feel heavy and old, suddenly aware of my experiences accumulating. In innocence, and to my detriment, I used to believe life was like a tape that could be rewound and taped over and have suffered this misguided notion most of my adult life. I am a drunkard with a selective memory without touching a drop.

 

‘So have I, and I still am seven years later,’ Simon visibly sags. He kisses my shoulder and slides onto the pavement. His head is practically level to mine and he links his arm around one of my calves as if it were a teddy bear he could sleep with at night. My body is unaccustomed to such touch, having been celibate for a time longer than I care to remember. My leg becomes an anchor for his feelings as he dredges up the emailed events that have been happening to him lately. A woman from his past is back again, contacting him and it’s making him question his life. This is the same woman who he has been in love with since she left him at the graveside of their best friend. It is a transgression he can’t forgive or forget which has left him struggling ever since.

  ‘I love you’ he says.

  ‘Oh, I love you too Simon’ I say, ruffling his hair like a mother would.

His eyes look at me as if I really could be his Saviour, he looks at me imploringly, drunkenly, as if I am the rock who will save him from the storms of alcohol.

  ‘You are the most magical person in my life’

I don’t know what to say to such meanderings, I know he habitually forgets what he says. I smile.

  ‘You should go home,’ he says.

  ‘Yes’ I say, thinking about the eight hours of teaching I have the next day.

  ‘Let’s have a drink first’

  ‘Okay,’ we stand up.

As I walk and Simon staggers into a dark alleyway, he asks me, ‘Rachael, do you think I am good looking or devastatingly good looking?’

  ‘Er.... neither’ I say, remembering our repetitive conversation about Simon’s looks, he smiles and laughs to himself.

So we walk to a bar I know from a previous incarnation but the music is heavy, the atmosphere dark and I don’t like it. I dismiss it and favour the all night cafe on the corner of Khao San. Simon is following me, drunkenly speaking to the vendors along the road side. Then he walks through a group of girls, I see him laughing with them – he is like a child with a new toy. He disappears and I enter the cafe alone.

You can read my short stories here: Gracie's short stories




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