A reality you don’t yet realise or accept but which nonetheless exists independent of your thoughts because I say so and I never lie
How would you feel if I died tomorrow? Compare that feeling to the feeling you might feel if your fuckwit boss died instead. Not glee, perhaps, but not pain either, is it?
But how would you feel if I died? Be honest with yourself. You don’t have to say it aloud. How do you feel wondering where I’ve been and listlessly browsing the Guardian for something to do - because let’s face it, I take up quite a bit of your time - only to find the story headline may be a girl you know: raped and murdered in cold blood / overdosed on hard drugs / mowed down by a double-decker / leapt in front of a speeding train.
Being alone in this city, I depend on you to make my funeral arrangements. They ask you to identify the body. You should be able to, you know this body fairly well. But do you remember? Perhaps if I’m mangled enough only the smallest detail will count. Do you remember my face enough to see it through the swelling and bruises? What about the location of any of my scars? Do you know that I had two wisdom teeth pulled on one side but not the other just to keep me out of balance?
They ask how you met me and what the nature of our relationship might have been. What do you say, I wonder? How do you explain yourself and us and our secret double-agent lives? Perhaps they ask you to contact my relatives. Can you do it? Call up work to tell them I’m never coming back? Can you tell a mother that her eldest daughter is dead before age thirty? And how do you explain to her just who the hell you are?
Think on that. And then tell me you know nothing of love.
8 October 2007 at 7:13 pm
I’d feel bereft. I’d rather not call your mother though, if it’s all the same to you. Or identify the body. But I’ll go around looking all tragic, if that’s any help.
Actually, this is a rather beautiful post, but let’s not dwell on that when we can be flippant.
8 October 2007 at 8:09 pm
Um, can I just copy Z’s comment? Please? She’s so much better than me at writing them. And besides which, I appear to be speechless.
8 October 2007 at 8:11 pm
Oh for god’s sake. Would you please stop making Mr. Witness speechless? It makes his comments very uninteresting.
I love the bit about your wisdom teeth. One side only, eh? Does is make you chew more often on one side than on the other?
9 October 2007 at 12:16 am
Z: I know I can count on you to make the tea and really, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?
AUW: You could have swooned! Oh that’s right, we don’t want to anger that monkey again. Nevermind. :)
Bohémienne: Hm. I don’t know really. I’m sure this one-sided wisdom teeth business has far reaching repercussions I haven’t even begun to discover.
9 October 2007 at 2:59 am
Well…I might wonder when there wasn’t anything posted here for a while…
No, but seriously, where are these scars?
10 October 2007 at 3:05 am
My fool-proof-no-questions-asked answer for telling them how you met:
While partaking in hot air balloon vigilantism.
I’ve used this several times myself. Typically it comes with an awkward pause that allows for adequate time to escape room, situation, person, etc.
Use when necessary, though with self control. We can’t have the whole world knowing our secrets, now can we?
10 October 2007 at 3:44 pm
Citizent: Not to worry, I’m sure bloggers far and wide will be lining up to fill the position.
Persico: Hello and welcome. Hot air balloon vigilantism? Sounds dangerous and therefore cool. Don’t mind if I borrow it from time to time. :)
10 October 2007 at 10:46 pm
I used to dwell on things like this when I first moved to the city and the man-whore I was with would have been ‘it’, in the event of my demise.
11 October 2007 at 9:36 pm
Lillipilli: The less I try to think about my demise, the more I do. (Man-whore. Haha!)