In search of the delicate.
Today I took a photograph of a necklace for my friend that he had sent to me. It slipped down my shirt while taking it and so, in the photograph, you can only see its chain. It is a a simple, silver chain and at its end, a silver oval baring an image of Saint Sebastian. On the back it reads, Pray for us. The flat of this side of the oval taps morse code messages into my chest that make me feel protected, somehow.
Pray for us.
The superstition of Catholicism has always haunted me.
(pause)
As with many people brought up with the fingers of violence and violation, I am convinced, at times, that there is something sewn inside of me that beckons brutality. That- no matter how much I wrap myself in the disguise of the delicate- it will sniff me out, sink its blades past ribbons and pearled beads to rip out the red depths of me in its frantic following of this vicious siren song hidden within me.
The other night, I was joking with a friend about how I am a magnet for a particular strand of unpredictable events and people. Sometimes it's funny. A lot of times, it's not. It is a particular type of attention. Unwanted attention. A man staring at me without blinking while his hands curl themselves into fists. Clench, unclench. All the while, his eyes threaded to mine: pulled closer if I look away; taken as an invitation if I do not.
Today, a 50-some year old man came into the library looking at me in this way as he walked towards me. I, too, was walking towards him en route to my office. As I got closer to him in my modest skirt, opaque tights, and heels, he stepped into my line of walking, took the books he had under his arm and punched them into my stomach while attempting to walk through me. It sent me backwards, folding up in half like a faulty rental chair, leaving me with no air in my lungs. I caught myself on the wall next to me with one hand, and clutched at my stomach with the other. When I turned my head to look at him, he was steam iron stalking away without pause. A few minutes later, he would walk by me and command me with "YOUNG LADY" to talk to him and when I tell him "I don't want to talk to you" and try to get past him, he would spit out, "You DISGUST me You DISGUST me" as I break past him to get to a coworker.
It has found me again. Or perhaps it is something else. Something else. It has to be something else.
Pray for us.
**************************************************************************************
Listening to:
Oscillate Wildly by The Smiths on repeat.
Also, reminding myself of how and why I walk:
This is an acoustic version of a song by a heart who has inspired me for a number of years in a number of strange-weathered cities.
here
Thank you, John. Somewhere, sometime, I will see you again.
(top photo credit Dark Daze Photography)
thank you for inviting me to your blog. i appreciate getting a glimpse into you and your life. also, i don't like the 50 year old man that was in the library today. i just decided.
ReplyDeleteOkay, I am trying to catch up on blog reading. Also, I have a bad head cold. Library asshole: that's some fucking douche bag behavior, if I ever heard of it. Sorry, I can't be more eloquent right now...will catch up on more posts soon.
ReplyDelete"there is something sewn inside of me that beckons brutality"
ReplyDeletei have been thinking about this line over and over. its like everyone knows that i am constantly looking over my shoulder even if i dont turn my head. or maybe like a game show where you have to choose the right door with the prize behind it, sometimes even though we know every escape route, it is a mystery who will be waiting in the exit.