Wrenched from peace. Foreign, offensive sound assaulting my ears. Eyelids squeeze tight against the light. Confusion and dread combine for an instant. Then comprehension and denial. Rebel. Resist. Legs and arms push against the body next to me. Kick. Shove. Must stop the noise, the attack. Kick again. Anger rises at the injustice, the unfairness. Kick harder. Shove harder. The noise, the noise, the noise won’t stop and it’s torture. Loud, so loud and grating, irritating. The high pitch seems to climb impossibly higher. I want to scream back at it, kill it, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop. Frustration so strong I want to cry. Instead I kick again and again, a tantrum. I cannot control the noise so I lose control of myself.
Then, like a wave of tranquility, silence returns. Anger disappears instantaneously and calm is restored. Relief washed away by the quiet. Tense muscles relax. My only concern, my only adversary is gone and forgotten. The body next to me now a source of comfort, warmth, love. Embrace the warmth. Dissolve back into the peace.
Wrenched from peace. Foreign, offensive sound assaulting my ears. Eyelids squeeze tight against the light. Confusion and dread combine for an instant. Then comprehension and denial. Rebel. Resist. Legs and arms push against the body next to me. Kick. Shove. Must stop the noise, the attack. Kick again. Anger rises at the injustice, the unfairness. Kick harder. Shove harder. The noise, the noise, the noise won’t stop and it’s torture. Loud, so loud and grating, irritating. The high pitch seems to climb impossibly higher. I want to scream back at it, kill it, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop. Frustration so strong I want to cry. Instead I kick again and again, a tantrum. I cannot control the noise so I lose control of myself.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Bloody Good Luck (or, A Case for Flossing)
The woman’s limp body is held in the driver’s seat by her seatbelt. The man stumbles out of the passenger side, staggering, apparently drunk. Blood drips down his chin, creating a crimson bib on the front of his shirt. Pedestrians and passers-by fly into action.
“Someone call 911!”
“Ishokay eye ush ad eye eesh ulld,” the man explains, arms flailing.
He runs to the driver’s side and attempts to bring the woman back to the world of the living. As he slaps her face, she comes around. Blinking, she looks around and tries to make sense of where she is. Her eyes come to rest on the man’s bloody face and she passes out again.
The gathering crowd is confused. “Did you see what happened?” they inquire of one another. “They crossed all four lanes, but didn’t actually hit anything.” “Why is he bleeding? Is she dead?”
A police officer shows up.
The man is desperate to explain, but his words come out like gurgles and he’s spitting blood on everyone. He wobbles. The woman wakes up again. She can’t answer questions. She sits on the sidewalk with her dizzy head between her knees and her eyes looking to the ground. Not at her husband. No, don’t look at him.
Ambulance sirens wail in the distance. “O ahooence,” the man says to the officer. He follows this up with an explanation of the bizarre scene: “Eye ad oo aff eye eesh ulld…”
I had to have my teeth pulled. All of them. I’d be put under, so the dentist told me to have someone with me to drive me home because I would still be groggy when they woke me up…
The bottom half of his face is still frozen as he relays his tale, so it has to be repeated several times before the officer understands.
The dentist packed the man’s mouth with cotton and he and his wife headed home. With no feeling in his mouth or chin, the man was unaware that blood, soaked through the cotton, formed a little red creak down his chin to the front of his shirt. He was oblivious and happy as he floated on the nitric oxide cloud on the way home.
The woman can’t stand the sight of blood. It makes her faint. But there won’t be any blood, so she’s okay. Except when she looks over at her husband, as she drives along the busy, four-lane, downtown street, there is blood. Blood all over his mouth, chin, neck, shirt. Oh no. Good night.
Something is wrong with the man’s happy journey. Are they supposed to be heading into oncoming traffic? They’re heading into oncoming traffic! He reacts slowly and clumsily, but finally gets his foot across the shifter and onto the brake. The car comes to a stop on the sidewalk, just inches from a brick building.
“So no one is hurt?” asks Officer.
“’O,” says my Dad.
Mom is looking away. The police officer sends them on their way, with Dad in the driver’s seat.
Mom dwells on the What Ifs. What if:
someone had been standing on the sidewalk?
there hadn’t been a break in the oncoming traffic?
Dad hadn’t hit the brakes in time?
I think life is bloody funny.
“Someone call 911!”
“Ishokay eye ush ad eye eesh ulld,” the man explains, arms flailing.
He runs to the driver’s side and attempts to bring the woman back to the world of the living. As he slaps her face, she comes around. Blinking, she looks around and tries to make sense of where she is. Her eyes come to rest on the man’s bloody face and she passes out again.
The gathering crowd is confused. “Did you see what happened?” they inquire of one another. “They crossed all four lanes, but didn’t actually hit anything.” “Why is he bleeding? Is she dead?”
A police officer shows up.
The man is desperate to explain, but his words come out like gurgles and he’s spitting blood on everyone. He wobbles. The woman wakes up again. She can’t answer questions. She sits on the sidewalk with her dizzy head between her knees and her eyes looking to the ground. Not at her husband. No, don’t look at him.
Ambulance sirens wail in the distance. “O ahooence,” the man says to the officer. He follows this up with an explanation of the bizarre scene: “Eye ad oo aff eye eesh ulld…”
I had to have my teeth pulled. All of them. I’d be put under, so the dentist told me to have someone with me to drive me home because I would still be groggy when they woke me up…
The bottom half of his face is still frozen as he relays his tale, so it has to be repeated several times before the officer understands.
The dentist packed the man’s mouth with cotton and he and his wife headed home. With no feeling in his mouth or chin, the man was unaware that blood, soaked through the cotton, formed a little red creak down his chin to the front of his shirt. He was oblivious and happy as he floated on the nitric oxide cloud on the way home.
The woman can’t stand the sight of blood. It makes her faint. But there won’t be any blood, so she’s okay. Except when she looks over at her husband, as she drives along the busy, four-lane, downtown street, there is blood. Blood all over his mouth, chin, neck, shirt. Oh no. Good night.
Something is wrong with the man’s happy journey. Are they supposed to be heading into oncoming traffic? They’re heading into oncoming traffic! He reacts slowly and clumsily, but finally gets his foot across the shifter and onto the brake. The car comes to a stop on the sidewalk, just inches from a brick building.
“So no one is hurt?” asks Officer.
“’O,” says my Dad.
Mom is looking away. The police officer sends them on their way, with Dad in the driver’s seat.
Mom dwells on the What Ifs. What if:
someone had been standing on the sidewalk?
there hadn’t been a break in the oncoming traffic?
Dad hadn’t hit the brakes in time?
I think life is bloody funny.
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