The Pure Life of Dreams

December 2, 2022February 17, 2023

Unloading on High School and its Consequences

I sat at my desk but Rebecca Farmer suggested we go get some ice cream . It was unusual because I had never really spent time with her before.

“Sure,” I said and we went down to the lunch hall, but when we got there there was a long line of people with trays.

“We must have hit the lunch time,” I suggested. And instead we returned our desks and talked a little bit. We sat face to face and Becky, as she preferred to be called, propped her feet up on the chair next to mine.

Only we did not have much to say to each other. Until she asked me about my high school.

“I went to St. Pariah’s,” I said, “only it was very difficult for me.” I struggled to find the right words. “Because I was… was slightly darker than the other kids.”

And she looked at me and said, “It can’t have been that bad.”

“No, you got to realize this was in the eighties.”

After our conversation I decided to leave the office and take a ride on the train.

I got on the overland and it clanked out of the station. It headed through unfamiliar stops into the Bangkok suburbs and snaked across the rusted rail tracks of a major railway intersection.

We passed tall buildings either side of the train that I did not recognize.

We passed a big white sign with the train stop written in green lettering. Underneath, it said “Sponsored by the Thai Democratic Party” and I thought it strange that they would sponsor a railway sign.

I was depressed, so I decided to take the train to the end of the line because I could always just take it back again.

And the route map above the window looked like it would return the same way, and wouldn’t fork in another direction, though I couldn’t be sure.

I put on my headphones and called Elaine.

“I just unloaded on a colleague,” I told her.

We tried to talk, but the screeching sound of the wheels against the rails made it difficult to hear her. Then we hit a dead zone and she went silent for a bit.

And when the train hit the end of the line I got out and there was already a train on the opposite platform so I stepped right on and settled into the last cabin by the door.

As it set off, I looked around at the other passengers and they were all locals. I could see a family with babies but though I looked across at the seats the other side they were not there. Instead the family was a green tinted figment mirrored in the glass. They must have been behind me, or on a parallel train passing by.

It made no sense, but just as I thought I had figured out the illusion, and seen where the family was actually sitting, a young woman smartly dressed in a matching pale pink jacket and shorts walked up to me.

I was taking off my headphones at the time. I remember the warped mouth piece, and she got real close. Too close for comfort. She stood directly over me. She grabbed my wrists with both hands, before sliding one hand under to grab something from my inside pocket.

It was an object I had not seen before, half oval, flat and black but smooth and no larger than the woman’s fist. Like a blackened Venus shell~~, or one of a pair of castanets~~.

Photo by Bernard Spragg via Flickr

July 14, 2022July 26, 2025

Bad Hot Dogs and a New Route to a Lost Car

We were just coming back from a football match in Manchester and I was trying to find the car.

To get to the match we had to walk a lot. Liam had brought a friend but even so, we were going to arrive very early. Nobody else was even making their way. And we were lost cutting through a suburban estate.

Middle class, wide roads curved left and right, sided by red brick houses and manicured lawns. It wasn’t very exciting.

I told the boys to hang back, ”We don’t want to get there so early”, but they went on ahead.

And when eventually we did get close to the stadium, only a few stalls were opening up for food.

I wanted hot dogs but the woman gave me a palm-sized Saran wrapped banana leaf that contained the dog inside. I wanted the greasy kind. Still she told me, ”There are seven layers of leaf so you peel them to get to each bite”.

I ate it in one go and went looking for another.

The next stall I found also had bad hot dogs; this time the greasy kind and that’s what I wanted.

“Give me the sandwich bread,” I said pointing at a line of cut pieces of baguette. And the man landed the dog onto a baguette slice like I asked.

Returning from the match, Liam and his friend walked off to do their own thing, and Siobhan and Lizzie joined me to go look for the car.

I’d had to move it because a traffic warden told me that, though legally parked, they were towing the area anyway. I had moved it but I couldn’t remember where.

We tried an area in front of an abandoned field that was surrounded by a wire fence. Overgrown uncut grass. Siobhan and Lizzie tried the red brick lane adjacent and together we tried the place where I had originally parked, but there were no cars left.

We even wandered the streets where no cars could drive, where there were only narrow walkways with cute white Greek houses decorated with bougainvillea.

Some one told me Shawn from work lives there, pointing down a side street lined with olive trees and flower boxes. That’s certainly nice, I thought. I was surprised he could afford it.

Then we stepped back out onto the roads and kept walking, until we were further from the city center. Until, finally, I recognized a street, Queen’s Parade, which curved to the right, townhouses on one side, the park on the other. Just before the road curved leftwards once more, I recognized our car so we hurried past the other silver SUVs. Until we were close enough to see the decals on the back of our own Highlander.

When we got there I saw the tyres curbside had been punctured, as if someone had stabbed each tyre, the rubber crunched between road and hub cap. Sitting in the car with the convertible top down were three Chinese girls. One sat on the drivers headrest, her toes up on the steering wheel; she was reading a magazine. The other two were in the back.

“What are you doing? I’m going to calls the cops.” I said. And we had a little argument, clipped teenager tones between them, before they agreed to mend the tyres. Their mechanic came by, his feet bare and swollen like balloons, but he unscrewed the tyres and rolled them away and the girl in charge said he’ll be back at seven.

As they were leaving a parking attendant reassured us it would be OK, and we walked back the way we had come while the girl went off with the mechanic. Then it struck me that I had not got a cell phone number so I caught up with the attendant to ask her. She knelt on the pavement and started writing.

“I‘ll give the number of both the mechanic and of the girl. Though I suspect the number I have is for a burner phone and she’ll have changed it by now,” she laughed.

Photo of hot dog stand by cjuneau and of Naxos village by Marko Verch both via Flickr

December 3, 2021June 7, 2024

Strange Foot Treatment at a Beauty Parlor

I won a prize beauty treatment.

As I sit down for my pedicure, in a small white living room, a man squares up in front of me and raises my naked left foot, puts it on his knee. He takes a large dressmaker’s scissors and, starting from the bottom of my pant leg, he cuts vertically up.

Next to me, another man assures me I will like it.

November 5, 2021October 27, 2022

Two Nurses Help Me from Being Lost

A boy had a COVID test in hospital chair, had a hard time of it, so I think I’ll try the same. To see if it was that bad.

I sit down in the blue hospital armchair. The nurse puts the tube in my arm, but I can’t get comfortable. There’s no pain, but there’s a strange feel of the rubber hose rolling under the skin of my bicep as I move from side to side.

I hold up my hands, trying to adjust my position. My hands are frozen in the shape of duck feet, pale webbing and pink fingers. They might look strange but they don’t hurt, they’re just amusing to looking at.

October 13, 2021June 7, 2024

Skirt

I am wearing a white ankle length skirt, full bodied, made of lace. People look at me funny, but I am defiant, I like my look.

I stand at a shop window, look at the house prices. I could become a realtor. I go in to a bar, or maybe it’s an office. The looks are hostile, but I am still defiant, I like my skirt.

A man, black suit, white tie, looks down on me, physically down, puts his pointy black shoe on the tip of my nose. I can introduce you to a realtor, he says.

At a beachside café later, Barbara laughs at me. You cannot wear a white skirt in this season, she says. It’s because of the wind. And what do you have on underneath?!

I think about it, try to come up with a better answer…

Black leggings, I reply.

Image via Pixabay