The Root of Blossoms in a Fishbowl

I had a dream that I was a dead fly on a mirror. My boyfriend and his friend were trying to scrub me off with a soft, pink make-up sponge. After they finished scrubbing, they hosed the mirror down. I still remained. The stain.

Looking closer I was a housefly sized little girl, curled up in a ball, with pink tights on. I fell through the mirror into a dark room. With pink tights and a matching tutu. A 6 year old pink stain who doesn't go away. Who feels alone.

who feels alone?
alone who feels
feels alone, who?

I haven't seen him for a while. Though we talk everyday on the phone and/or communicate via all the ways we can in our world of technological wonders, it doesn't replace the physical. I just can't look into his eyes and think I'm no longer alone. I can't fall into his arms and breathe deeply whenever I want to. I lie in bed, located in the north-east corner of my apartment and roll the word soon over my body.

I went for lunch with Ack, the ex-husband/ best friend, yesterday. There was a street vendor selling lilies and cherry blossoms. I spent $28 for an example of spring. I look at them now. They are arranged in a fishbowl. There are no fish, but if I really concentrate, I can imagine the stems being ramrod straight, upright fish. That incognito, this is their best defence against their mortal enemies. They are playing dead. Or driftwood.

Over the weekend I had plans to meet a few friends in the west end. We went to Southern Accent, a restaurant on the David Mirvish block that gives a visual respite from his Honest dad Ed's tacky discount retail store of Vegas style blinking marqueé lights and carnival aesthetic. The affluent Mirvishes are responsible for the line-up of theatre attractions in this city. I suspect David adds a bourgeousie feel to his dad's blatant old world kitsch. This combination of marketing minds is quite attractive to the hoardes of tourists that infest this fine city.

Southern Accent is a Mardi Gras themed restaurant with show us your tits appreciation beads on black plastic mannequins; tarot card readers and sexy, semi-private dining booths with pressed white linen. They have dozens of premium bourbon whiskeys on display that bartenders have no difficulty fashioning into green, creamy cocktails that tout Gator as a prefix. I am a staunch beer and vodka drinker who doesn't succumb to vacation drinks when she's at home, but I was convinced to try one once. Once was quite enough.

I like the kind of restaurant that has staff that has worked nearly since its conception. I think it says a lot about a place. They must treat them well. Most waiters and bartenders are in the industry until their dream is actualised. The hope is to leave this often thankless industry to go onto bigger, more abundant pastures. Acting, writing, directing. New hires are brought in to fill the newly created void.

Meet Dell. In his twenties. White button-down shirt, collar up. Clean, longish hair made to look dirty with product. Decidedly Jack White in styling. Very cute. He was asked to man the bar while the regular bartender went out for a smoke. He liked my shirt.

I was wearing a very tight red T-shirt with a yellow hammer and sicle; the words Kiss Me, I'm a Communist surrounded the insignia.

When Dell smiled he had these great little dimples. I asked him to crack me open another Becks beer. I gave him permission to use one of his dimples. Still smiling, I looked over at my 3 companions who are visibly judging me.

The Comrade: What?
The 3 in Unison: Nothing.
The Comrade: Say it!
Designation 1 of 3: Well, you did just create the best experience he's had in all of his 22 years!

Ack was out with us. He had just come from familial hell, shrouded in the pleasures of sushi. There's nothing like being 32 years old and fully realising your family is a bunch of racist, ill mannered scum. Wasabi or no wasabi.

"Don't do business with Southeast Asians, they're all thieves."
[ *BELCH* ]
[ combination *YAWN* + stretch ]
[ scratch ]
"You know vat happened vith Daddy? He vas valking vit doggie and he passed out in snowbaank ven 2 cops came to see if he vas okay? Then he said, 'I didn't just come off a banana boat from Vietnam, you know!'... Ya! Vun of cops vas Asian gerl! hahahahhahah."

Ack carries his family's burden. Ack holds his head with the shame they create in him.

The Comrade: But, they've always been like this.
Ack: It's not right. They have no decorum.
The Comrade: Dude, you had little decorum when I met you.
Ack: I always knew how to behave in public!
The Comrade: They were in your living room.
Ack: It's not their living room! They should know how to behave!

I felt it was similar to visiting a foreign country for an extended period time. Each culture has its own set of social proprieties. There are some cultures that find it absolutely offensive to display the bottoms of feet. Personally I like to put my feet up. Sometimes I like to go foot to face. It's a thing. If I was immersed into a foreign culture, having not done sufficient research prior, I would never be asked back. It's an ignorance issue. But with family, aside from inherent racism - something that exists within both of our families, I pretty much think anything goes.

My mother, whom I adore, has scratched every single body part in front of me. One time her boob fell right out of her shirt!
While doing dishes she occasionally farts.
She chews her food with her mouth wide open, while making rather disgusting noises.
But she's my mom and I love her.

Still carrying residual shame and anger, Ack went out. To drink. And got very, very drunk. And caustic. And accusatory. Everyone was his enemy that night. The only one he felt safe enough to accuse was me. He didn't think I was behaving appropriately. I was too this. Too that. I listened.

The glares and the accusations made me feel bad about how I sometimes present in the world. I am friendly. I am flirtatious. That's who I am in public. Some of my friends are like this. Some are not at all like this. That night I was in the company of 3 people who fell into the latter category. And they were all judging.

Ack and I had plans to go dancing. Prior to leaving Southern Accent, Dell had approached me announcing he was going to buy cigarettes, so "good-bye" if I wasn't there when he returned. He added that it would be nice if I was there when he returned. I was not there when he returned. I accompanied my broken best friend to a place where he could potentially free the matter that was putting a pall on his soul. Dance can be great for that. He just needed to do a couple of Bob Fosse moves to the beat of Interpol's Evil. And Franz Ferdinand's Take Me Out. And Pulp's Common People.

"She came from Greece, she had a thirst for knowledge. She studied sculpture at St. Martin's College, that's where I... caught her eye. She told me that her dad was loaded. I said, 'In that case, I'll have a rum and Coca Cola.' She said, 'Fine.' And then in 30 seconds time she said, 'I want to live like common people. I want to do whatever common people do. I want to sleep with common people. I want to sleep with common people like you.' So what else could I do? I said, 'I'll see what I can do.'"

Back in the day, the Dance Cave was renowned for freedom inducing, anti-inhibiting, anonymous ass-shaking; without a threat of meat market solicitation. Each new generation, and I believe the generations have a 10 year gap these days, bring with it an entirely different expression. The entire dance floor was inhabited by:

People standing stationary holding beers
Staring
Slight movement only at the waist or
People violently losing it during rougher tracks. Think Nirvana in its heyday of teen angst. Repeated violent drunken jumping up and down. Here we are now; entertain us.

I had to protect myself several times from being punched in the face or clotheslined in the chest.

Ack got solicited on the dance floor. She was a blonde, curvy young thing who was feeling a bit brazen. Ack has a difficult time hearing anyone in loud environs. He did hear her intent. He didn't go for it because he apparently has "standards".

The night prior, Ack was invited to a party with most of the invited guests being architects. He described them as a bit heavy set, unattractive with thinning hair... and those were the women! It's been quite a while since Ack's penetrated anything more than a glare. Though he probably needs the practice, to give in felt like a howling desperation. Coyote arm as his potential penance. He has two things going for him: 1) foresight and 2) he is a sexual camel. He is also very focussed. He had come to dance.

But no one was letting him.

This time his mode of expression was being challenged. Met with oppositon. This time The Others were trying to ram their ideals of social propriety down his throat.

And won.
He succumbed.
He wanted to leave.
After the last synth note of Common People played, I grabbed my coat to meet my best friend on the street. He had just lit a cigarette, eyes cast to the ground. The only question in his mind and on his tongue was, "Why?"

All of his crazed Bob Fosse moves were met with stiff backs of opposition. They were maintaining their dance floor real estate. They were immersed in the sound, with all their friends in a circle, for the sole purpose of yell-singing along with the songs they recognised. To recognise and reiterate something loudly was much more enlightening an experience, it seemed; it shrouded them with a supreme feeling of the cool while simultaneously shooting ramrod straight distain towards someone who needed to heal in the only way he knew how.

Ack: But their backs!
The Comrade: I felt the backs too. I just kept dancing and used their backs to ping off of. It was awesome! I never knew where I'd land.

I look at the fishbowl full of spring flowers and fruit blossoms; it's a promise of spring. Spring is hope eternal. I look into the water of the fishbowl and see the ramrod straight fish in hiding. They are the root of universal beauty. What lurks beneath. They are all in hiding. Driftwood. Ramrod straight and playing dead, their only defence from their mortal enemies, I swim around them in my pink tights and tutu.