Catharsis
The past seems to be growing, forcing its way up into my throat. Like an earthquake. What was buried is now on the surface, poking into my tender skin. If only our memories were catalogued somewhere on a shelf and we could browse through, like detectives with CCTV footage.
Were crimes committed?
Were faces turned away, words spoken like knives?
I am wandering over the broken shards of buildings—roofs crumbled, walls collapsed, old furniture, long-forgotten, as if placed by a mad set designer. A frying pan on a pillow. A toilet on its side, its lid twisted into a question mark. A wicker doll carriage in the middle of the road, it’s white line broken, indicating nothing.
There are smells of rotting fish and strewn garbage—crows picking at plastic bags.
Has the world ended?
I stop to pick up a stuffed toy, muddy and torn but its smile is intact. It feels like a promise, a reminder. This is just the in-between —the jolt, the pause between acts.
The curtain falls and we rub our eyes, amazed to see programs folded in our laps. Strangers murmur and lean down to retrieve purses, fallen scarves. We lurch into the light—too bright—too garish. Worn fabric on the theatre seats, old stains, a forgotten umbrella. We clear our throats. Mindful of our stale breath, we stumble towards the lobby in search of a breath mint or a double scotch to focus, to help us find ourselves again.
Maybe I miss those opportunities, those seductions into other lives, other stories and the blinking, stuttering return to my own skin. Maybe i’ve spent the last year in one reality—one long breath held. Maybe we humans need these mini seizures, these overturning of the earth and views from inside another’s skull.
TV is not enough.
We need to mingle in the outside air, then flow like lava into the theatre, the darkened space, settling into a seat identified with a ticket clutched in a hand—this is mine, this is my space while I willingly forget my life and oh so happily fly with complete strangers to another world. Like crows we peck furiously, hoping to find nourishment at last.
Written on March 4, 2021