Stumble… lurch
Shit
I should have drunk less
…. I should have drunk more
Close one eye, it always helps
Fuck! … Who put the pans there
My fucking wife is glaring
My fucking kid won’t let go
I grab him
His bloody face in my bloody hand
My bloody hand
His bloody face
Bed
Jesus I need to go to bed
My whole bloody life
… lurch …. stumble
THISBE (5.1)
Asleep, my love?
What, dead, my dove?
Murky water are her eyes
In the unkempt forest of her hair, they hide.
The moles and detritus structure her skin
Yet more soft than the temper that lies within.
Her voice with crows crackles in harmony
Through her mud cracked lips, she sings a melody.
HERMIA
O me, you yeasty beef witted pignut, you spongy clay-brained canker-blossom,
You lumpish knotty pated-strumpet! What, have you come by night
And stol’n my love’s heart from him?
HELENA
Fine, i’ faith!
Have you no modesty, no maiden shame,
No touch of bashfulness? What, will you tear
Impatient answers from my gentle tongue?
Fie, fie, you frothy half-faced harpy, you goatish clapper-clawed measle, you!
HERMIA
“measle”? Why so? Ay, that way goes the game.
Now I perceive that she hath made compare
Between our statures: she hath urg’d her height,
And with her personage, her tall personage,
Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail’d with him.
And are you grown so high in his esteem,
Because I am so dwarfish and so low?
How low am I, thou rank sheep-biting codpiece? Speak!
How low am I? I am not yet so low
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.
The future in my mind
Was never ever like this;
Yet when I hold you close:
Such worlds were never easy.
We spun to Nat, Doris,
And Glenn, all tracks were great.
Your mother’s love projected
To her only darling son.
Wrists fragile, make me humble.
Heart pure, makes me surrender.
Was I always like this?
I only knew of the buckle.
Fathers will be cowards.
Sons will be brave.
Closing the curtains, listening for sounds.
I’m sorry my son, is what should you should have found.
Girl (G): “I’m called little red cap because my grandma gave me a little red velvet cap.”
Mum (M): “Little Red-cap you have to go to your grandmother she is ill and needs some food. So bring her cake and a bottle. Don’t eat the cake by yourself! Go now and don’t run off the path, don’t talk to strangers you never know what they can do to you. And say good morning to your grandma.”
G:” Yeah I will be a good girl I promise I will take care. I’m big enough to know about the strangers. I’m not a little child anymore.”
Little red cap walked out the house and was on her way. Suddenly she stopped and looked in one direction.
G:” Oh what creature is that? It looks scary!”
Wolf (W):” Hey little red-cap how are you doing?”
G:”Good I will visit my grandma. How are you doing wolf?”
W:” Good little hungry what do you have in your bag’”
G:” Some cake and wine. Yesterday was a baking day, and my grandma doesn’t feel too well.”
W:” Oh okay, where does your grandmother live to you have to walk far?”
G:” not really, I think you know the house for sure it is under the three old oak trees. Everybody knows where it is. Bye, I have to go.”
W:” What a sweet, cute girl. She would be delicious with her tender meat. She will taste better than the old grandmother. I have to catch both.”
G:” What are you mumbling?”
W:” Oh nothing! Let’s walk a short distance together. Oh, look red cap over there such lovely flowers. I think your grandmother would love to have some.”
G:” Oh my grandma would love them. Uh, this one is pretty, and this one over there is beautiful!”
W:” So now it is my chance to be there before the little red cap.”
Gr:” who is here. Is it you little red cap?”
W:” Yes grandma it’s me your sweet grandchild. I’m bringing you cake and wine.”
Gr:” Come in sweetie, I’m too weak I can’t open the door.”
W:” Raw, mhm so now I just eat the grandmother. So I just have to trick little red cap. The best way is to wear the clothes of the grandmother.”
G:” Oh dear this is weird why is the door already open? Never mind, Good morning grandma. Strange that she doesn’t reply. Maybe she is still asleep. Oh grandma, why do you have such big ears?”
W:” To hear you better sweetie.”
G:”But, grandmother, what big eyes you have!”
W:” ’The better to see you with, my dear.”
G: “Okay, but, grandmother, what large hands you have!”
W:” So I can hug you better.”
G:”Oh! But, grandmother, what a terrible big mouth you have!”
W:” The better to eat you! Rawr.”
Come in and sit down.
There is a problem.
Someone has made a mistake.
A lot of money is missing.
Has the whole office been questioned?
Look no further than the person behind the desk.
This is going to be difficult.
Nine o’clock in the morning. Slap that snooze button, I need sleep.
My father barges into my room – Asian parents don’t know what know what knocking is, privacy is an idea lost on my family.
“Hurry! Get up! Aunty said to meet us at dim sum!” He hurriedly rushes around my room opening the blinds to let that piercing summer light strike my bedroom walls. I am annoyed but simply grunt in response and pour myself out of bed and ooze into the washroom. My brother and sister are already crowded around the sink, vigorously brushing their teeth and combing their hair to look presentable to our relatives. The relatives that we see every weekend.
My father’s sister, brother, and two cousins and their families all meet at 10 in the morning in front of my driveway. It’s way too early to be making so much noise.
11 o’clock and we drive into Richmond, five cars creeping down the highway, chasing after time I sober up and text my cousins, complaining about how we were going to be wasting a perfectly sunny morning cooped up in a dirty, messy waiting room to find a table for 18, to eat greasy, Chinese breakfast.
As we wait for our seats, my entire family taking up all of the space and other guests shoving me in places I shouldn’t be shoved, I lightened up and joked along with my cousins. We went outside and talked in a circle, catching up on the events of the week and pushing and shoving each other for fun. Maybe it was nice to see family sometimes.
It is now noon and the hostess shrieks our number out – time to talk over each other and see who could speak the loudest and the most. Time to reach over each other and grapple the Lazy Susan for a chance at the best pick. Time to eat, converse and to be a family.
My brother is there, sitting on the bed, sorting and organizing writing utensils. Old pens and pencils they are, ballpoints, graphite pencils, gel ink, highlighters worn-out from their users’ clutches. The pencils he is sorting out are used and of different lengths. He wishes to have a new set of pencils and a good quality sharpener.
He stops organizing the pens and pencils, glances at me with a blank look on his face. He waits for me to speak although he always ignores my presence when I enter his room. He would rather be left alone, function independently, live his life exactly how he wants, but not this month. It’s time for back to school shopping.
“We don’t need any more,” I say. I pick up a freshly sharpened HB pencil. “I’ve got four or five left from last year. They’re in my drawer.” I study the charcoal-coloured tip like an algebra equation in the BC Math 9 textbook. I threw the pencil down on his bed.
“These are in perfect condition. Perfectly reusable,” I said.
The ballpoints are in my hand now. He doesn’t respond so I thought he was ignoring me like usual.
My brother smirks and makes a duck face at me. He gets up from the bed, and walks towards the night table. He grabs the khaki envelope, slips his index finger through the seal and rips it open.
“This is my list. Get yours.”
“No. I don’t need much.”
“We have to go. We go every year!”
“MOM!!!!!!!!!!”
My Son’s Waltz
The spirit in your legs
Could make an old man dizzy;
But I carry on instead:
Such mirth was never easy.
We danced to old records
Caked with dust from the shelf,
And though you watched for mother
Our joy replayed itself.
My worn hands carried
Unscathed hand, finger, knuckle;
At every new beginning buried
Your head against my buckle.
You smiled at every pirouette,
Mother worn from tracking dirt,
I’ll never forget those steps,
Your hand grasped tight to my shirt.
When I hear the music change to a certain playlist at the start of December, or even as early as November, I know that it is coming.
When the commercials on TV start changing its background music to include bells jingling and start showing a snowy, red and green version of itself, I know that it is coming.
When almost all of the stores in the mall start putting out signs that say “Buy your gifts now!”, I know that it is coming.
It’s Christmas. More like, Christmas has been in progress since Halloween ended. The sudden change in mood from orange and black to red and green is so quick that people slap on their Santa hats and start chortling, “ho, ho, ho!” on November 1st.
I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a Christmas without all the pre-Christmas that comes with it. Every year, the signs, lights, and inaccurate religious symbols push themselves into my lifestyle, reminding me that I haven’t enjoyed Christmas since the sixth grade.
I sigh.
