| Arthritic Knees
I have to tell you: the attic never smelled so sweet. I climbed up there this morning after you fell asleep on the couch because I hadn’t been there in ages. Everything creaked. I ended up dragging my robe all across the floor, but then again, the attic needed some cleaning anyway. When I opened the window, the wind blew in instantly and all the dust picked up off the boxes and shelves. It was as if the great Dust Bowl of the 30s came into our attic. I couldn’t wait for some tumbleweed to roll by.
Where were we during the Dust Bowl? Let’s see, that was ’34, which means you were finishing college and I had just fallen madly in love with John Halkins. I told you about John, remember? He was the one who crashed his car into Mary Cooper’s living room. They ended up getting married and I was heart broken.
I started going through the big boxes first. I found all our old jazz records and the record player you bought me on our first anniversary. You were so crazy! I couldn’t believe you worked three jobs at once to raise all that money. But do you remember how we danced that night? My feet were so tired that I just couldn’t stop and we kept swaying and dancing about our tiny loft like there was no tomorrow. We stayed up so late and you missed your job interview, the first one in months. Those were some tough times, but there’s nothing like the tough times to make you even tougher.
I looked through all those records. It made me wonder what happened to writing songs to your hometown or state. What happened to that devotion to the people that raised you the way you are? What happened to saying thank you to Alabama or Maryland? You just don’t see these things nowadays.
There was some cloth in the box, too, the cloth left over from the dress I made for the Christmas dinner at your old firm. I can still smell the sweet champagne and feel the way you held me, protecting me from all unwelcome glances. You were so funny, but I was so beautiful back then. You took me home early that night and we stayed up drinking tea and listening to sweet tunes on the radio, me in my dress and you in your tuxedo. We were so carefree, so comfortable to be the only one’s in each other’s lives.
I didn’t get to look any further because Judy called to wish you a happy birthday. You should have seen me try to climb down those stairs in my robe! I must have looked so bowlegged! How about we’ll go up there tonight and reminisce, hmm? We’ll put on some old tunes and dance with our arthritic knees. We’ll dance in the attic we built together and it’ll smell sweeter than ever, because after 75 years, there’s nothing left to do but be happy.
A Curious Place
'Twas a curious land that I travelled through at that time.
How I arrived there, I am unsure, for my memory is hazy in regards to that detail. But, once I was there, the sheer sense of the grotesque, the outré, the strangeness of it all places the details at the forefront of my mind.
As I say, it was a curious place, in that few things made sense to me. For, whilst I walked as one does normally, I found myself moving backwards for every step forward I took. At first I was alarmed, perturbed, disturbed even... but then it occurred to me that I had no specific destination in mind, so I may as well let my feet take me wheresoever they would. And thus I did.
As I say, I moved backwards, but the very act of doing so seemed natural. For it was like moving forwards, but not, if you know what I mean? You don't? Oh well, but it was like I had the aspect of Janus, seeing in all directions, an awareness of time and space that did not correlate with the faculties for which I would normally ascribe to an individual such as my self.
And so I travelled. Now the land itself, as I have no doubt said, was a most curious, interesting, singular sort of place. The colours! The colours were completely wrong! And yet they were so absolutely, perfectly correct. As if Michelangelo had succumbed to a frailty of the mind, and started painting everything... in reverse. Blue grass, green skies, that sort of surreal, nonsensical, wayward way of thought and imagery.
The grass was in fact, a vibrant orange. The sky was an interesting pastel shade of yellow. The water, naturally enough, was of a golden hue. The foliage of the plants tended to various textures of cyan. All in all, the effect was quite taking, if a bit unnerving to the senses.
And the senses! I have mentioned the sight that seemed to stem from the mind, but smell, hearing, tactile sensation! Ah, my senses were overloaded with the intensity of the landscape.
And so you have the scene set for you, of the land that I travelled at that time.
Now, I have said nothing of the inhabitants, for they are of a different nature to you and I. Creatures of the Aether they were: intangible as the wind, but as physically imposing as a storm. I conversed with them for many hours, though for some unknown, incomprehensible, bizarre reason, I cannot recall what we discussed. But discuss we did, and I recall satisfaction being prominent among my feelings upon the conclusion of those dialogues.
In the end, I was made to know that my time there was over, and perchance it was I had to leave. And so, with a last wave, I walked backwards, going forwards, ever forwards, until once more my memory failed me, and at home I was again.
But, I must say my dear chap, you do look at me as if something is a bit out, a bit queer, a bit wrong.
I tell you my good man, I feel quite well! My travels to the ethereal antipodes did my health quite a boost.
In fact, I do believe that I don't need to spend anymore time at all in this quaint little hospital of yours, with its most singular dress sense.
Be a good chap, and let me out hmm?
I feel a trip to the orient coming on, and I would like to be able to use my arms again.
These clothes you gave me are quite restrictive.
Deaf-Mutes (Idea from manandboy)
Speak Like A Child
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