Scream Part III

I don't like screaming. Well, that's not true. There are times I actually really like screaming. Interpol screaming good. Running down the street with friends screaming - good. Coming out of delicious sleep screaming... bad. I'm not talking about night terrors, something poor Fatty's mother gets in the middle of the night. I'm talking about the reaction to a sound a loved one has made, which I've never heard before; screaming just because it was the first thing that came to mind and I hadn't yet figured out what to do.

Falculties: none.
The night before, I had been out for dinner with my lovely Robert, whom I tried to set Fatty's brother up with, but neither Fatty nor Trist could come, and Matty, the ex-work comrade whom I didn't see eye to eye with for the better part of a year.
3 courses, vodka, Errol Flynn, 4 glasses of red wine (the courses denoted food, by the way, not the liquor portion. I wasn't counting that).
4am initial wake up, tail end of REM sleep I recall vaguely as lyrical contents to a song which I now cannot remember.
With the deftness of a Parkinson's victim, she downed a shaky glass of ice water
Briefly refreshed
Stumbled back to pass out
6am: pillow jostles
Chicken: Aaaaarrh! Aaaaarrh! Aaaaarrh! Aaaaarrh!

Chicken!

The Comrade: [matching] Aaaaarrh! [not matching] AAAAAAAHHHHHHHRRRRRRRGG!

I flipped and cradled him on the floor, light switched on to see what was causing this strange muffled, yet piercing sound.
Examine...
Open wide...
...What?

He had been in mid licking chest mode. Evidently his manly chest hair got stuck on his velcro tongue. Stuck. In my life... I have never seen this. Running it through my mind consistently for 45 minutes, I was still left perplexed by how the hell this could happen. I had just seen Garden State with Fatty. I was reminded of the silent velcro, though while ripping Chicken's hair from his extended tongue it sounded more like the original noisemaking adherer. He immediately resumed cleaning procedures, but was more tentative in his next attempt.

Screaming awake, I don't like. Awake and screaming is not much better.

My Fatty had invited me out with a couple of friends to catch an art show hosted by a selection of student artists from our University of Toronto. I had no idea the U of T had an arts programme. I saw no evidence of any young Kandinskis. It looked like there were some disciples of Rorschach's. Hark! I see dead people in indelible ink! Inspecting the content I thought the school should have stuck to the original plan of creating doctors, both medical and lettered.

Why do students insist on making Shock-value art? A partially opened coffin with a radiating monitor tucked inside where the heart should be. 6' of auburn hair cascading along the ground. Wavy. I screamed and hid behind Fatty's shoulder. But ART is supposed to evoke feelings! Yes, it made me feel something. Fright and irritation. Who the hell would put that in their living room?


I was with Ack, the ex-husband/ best friend, food shopping at the low end of the bling scale grocery chain the other day. Ack likes to push the cart. This is how good a friend/ ex-wife I am: he is in possession of our car, he made off with Flanigan's Neurophone aka the Neuroliser aka the Smart Helmet, and he still gets to push the damned cart. He was ahead of me about 10'. In some cultures, Chinese and Indian spring to mind, there is an ethics code which entails the woman to walk about 3 paces behind the man. I think I'd just finished yoga for the first time in 9 months. 3 paces behind, at a slug's pace, was all these old bones could muster. A young girl had stepped out into the queuing area by the check-out lanes. She was about 7 years old, Asian, developmentally disabled with the most adorable smile and expression of wonder on her face. She looked and smiled at Ack, who glanced at her sideways and kept on walking. I kept my eye on her. All I saw was her pure joy, her essence.

I'm the Shroom Guru. I believe that this particular drug allows a person to truly see one's own unique powers especially if one can't see these on a daily basis. This is mine: I can divine one's pure essence. I see all the potential in the world. And all the hate. And all the love.

Her father went to collect her, bringing her closer to his protective side. As he was pulling her away her eyes locked onto mine. I smiled at her. She smiled back. Tilting her head she said, "Mama?"

I had to throw my hand up to cover my radiating heart, trying desperately to stuff love back inside.

Of course I was not her mother. I've never wanted to have children. The greatest reason being I really think I'd fuck it up. In that instant when she looked at me and called me that name it made me feel all the fright of ever being a mother. It made me feel all the explosive love of potentially being a mother. It made me want to scream. And I think I did silently, if that's possible. But the way she looked at me was as if she had all the vested powers of seeing like I've had when I'm either on shrooms or relaxed enough to not let the world make me second guess myself.