Black trash bags were waving out of the open windows as very morbid looking curtains. The house stood on blocks, like shacks built a hundred years ago often do. I could almost hear the groan of that old house. It would have preferred to be bulldozed and put out of its misery, rather than standing firm still.
On the wide porch situated at the front of the house sat a man. Tattoos were scribbled all over his chest and upper arms in an uncomfortable sort of way, hanging on him like they were desperately grasping at what was left of him—just skin and bones. He sat there perfectly still like he might be dead, but he wasn’t. Red scabs were scattered about his face.
He is docile looking, isn't he?
I shook the recollection from my head as a sudden jerk sent me stumbling forward over my own feet. The old man had his nose pressed to the ground, walking forward at a rapid pace as something irresistible called to him. I squinted my eyes at him, wondering if maybe I should change his name from Old Man Dog to something more virile sounding.
“Mind, stop trying to sabotage me,” I said internally as we walked onward.
A Few Minutes Earlier
“Tell me a story!” The tot chanted, hopping up and down in way quite appropriate for someone wearing shoes with bunny ears and a cotton tail attached to them—the sparkly bunny shoes.
So we meandered on down the street, with Old Man Dog periodically showing us he was still the boss despite his old man status. The sun was streaking through the trees in dagger-like points, but landing softly against us in a flood of gold light. And so I began the story.
“Chapter 22,” I began, clearing my throat. As a quick recap: a little girl finds a magic dress, and when she puts it on and twirls around three times while wishing to become a princess, she is magically transported to a castle. All sorts of problems await there, and mysteriously they are always things that are going on in the tot’s life as well. Today there was an issue with falling into the creek, poor princess, as the tot stood precariously at the edge of the ditch.
I finished, and the tot promptly wanted to take story telling into her own hands. She began warbling on about what she felt ought to happen to the princess with the magic dress. As tots are not exactly the best orators known to man, naturally the mind began to wonder.
What would be the grown woman version of this story? Let’s just strap on this dress and see where it takes me. Following this was an imaginary twirling three times, and then I thought I wish that I was the princess of…
A Meth House
No! Damn it, that is not what I wish! Mind, stop trying to sabotage me! I said internally as we walked onward.
I have a tendency to do that. My mind likes to leap to the worst case scenario, or otherwise thwart me briefly with the opposite of the intended thought. The psychological process goes a little something like this: I am really invested in being a functional adult, and therefore I care a lot about it, so much so that I fear the opposite, which results in thinking about the opposite…which results in a sabotaged wish.
Docile? That's just what he wants you to think.
I am starting this over. I wish that I was the princess of…
A Timucuan Village
I mentally congratulated myself on a much better wish as I visualized stretching out one long beige colored leg, bare, like the rest of me. Free. Well, freely naked except for that thick necklace of Spanish moss those ladies seemed to be always wearing like some sort of make-shift shirt.
The smell of salt was heavy in the air and stiffening my long black hair. My toes were sinking just a tad into the soft sand at the edge of the waterway. Dolphins leaped about; oysters were freshly collected in my hand woven basket; the only sound was the soft scrape of my dug-out canoe being washed against the shells at the edge of the shore. Perfection…
…until I spotted that ship on the horizon. Those short little Europeans would be coming with their ridiculous metal hats and tights on their legs. Tights are like tighty-whites…only worse. Ick. Suddenly I was feeling the thick Spanish moss around my neck and beginning to itch. That stuff is full of red bugs, and red bugs itch like hell. I had to get out of hell, so I quickly did that mental twirl three times and I wished to be…
Standing in a Pastry Shop
Being a princess is hugely overrated. If making a wish to be something else is supposed to give us happiness, and one logical source of happiness is from pleasure, then clearly I ought to be seeking the ultimate pleasure source—food.
The sort of food that flakes in your fingers, dropping particles of buttery crust all over your pants. It disintegrates on your tongue, leaving you wondering if it ever really existed, and therefore you must take another bite. And another. Smooth, elegant chocolate turns your fingertips into vulgar things as it smears itself across them. Cream fillings, sticky coatings, crumbling croissants galore.
There I stood, just after midnight. Alone in a pastry shop. Just me, and the pastries. Pastries, with one bite out of each. God that sounds good, doesn’t it?
But what happens immediately after eating one bite of every pastry known to a respectable French bakery?
Indigestion. As the nausea was beginning to set in I hurried away, sprinkling bits of sugar and flaky crust from my clothes as I ran. Quickly I performed my three twirl ritual, and I felt it hit me…
The Winning Choice
If one reliable source of happiness is pleasure, then I should still be seeking it, just not from food. I immediately had a better idea. I could almost feel the impact on my skin as it was so very close. I kept my eyes closed for the effect of hypersensitivity. It was as though I could feel the approach, closer and closer, as goosebumps rose on all my extremities.
I sucked in a swift breath of humid air as I felt the impact. It was as though I felt every nerve fire off on its run down that hypersensitive skin. I felt my body lurch forward, and a rush of heat.
A hot, slow, skin tingling, life-renewing, stress relieving, happiness inducing…shower.
Perfume scented soap filling up the air, the gentle beating of hot water down the back, the steam soothing the sinus passages—yes, that's what I want.
Docile, when he is sleeping. But that is quite often these days.
Suddenly the Tot Spoke, Drawing Me Back to Reality
“And then the elephants stomped all over the floor,” the tot said, giving me a wide smile as she brought her story to a conclusion. I felt a bit ridiculous to have wasted so much time thinking about my own story and therefore missing what led up to elephants stomping through a house. I’m sure it was a good one.
“Very nice,” I muttered as a new thought was blasted through my brain. That last wish—the one with the skin tingling, stress relieving, body lurching et cetera stuff—was obtainable.
“Homeward bound,” I said, giving Old Man Dog a run for his money as to who was boss. “I’ve got a wish to make.”