Truth, Lies, Dreams
I am having a lovely time watching family videos with Connor who has the Russian bride.
“Is that your wife’s sister?” I point at a taller blonde woman, on the grainy video. She is sitting in a deck chair at the beach, is pretty, has an early Lady Di haircut.
“No that’s someone else.”
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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.
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At the supermarket buying eggs.
I’m walking around with a girl I used to go out with. She has long black hair, greasy or unwashed I am not sure which, but I do not recognize her and besides, she’s in her twenties; she has a new boyfriend now.
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When the woman I was making love to turned into a pig I knew that I had become too cynical. I watched her face fill out, her cheeks lose their definition and her nose turn up at me to form a perfectly cylindrical snout. Her skin became rough. It became pockmarked and covered in fine grey hairs and then her mouth widened and opened up to reveal a coarse and unclean set of teeth. Then her ears retreated, grew longer into sharp points that flopped over like a dog’s ears. And her eyes too lost their shine and their beauty. They contracted and sunk into the skin and they became red and as fired as a madman’s. I watched her and I laughed and cried for atop of this perverse metamorphosis was her hair, untouched by the transformation and spread loosely across the pillow: a wig on the head of a pig… It was the one hope for my salvation.