Thursday, November 19, 2009

acquired immunity

“I’m sorry, but do I know you?”
“Yeah, we spoke. Remember?”
“Did we? I don’t seem to recall.”
“Well I’m not surprised. I’ve changed much since we last talked. So how have you been?”
“Well, what if I have changed as well and I’m not entirely too kicked about talking to you?”
“Oh. In that case, I’m sorry. But it is a pity cos I have changed for the better since we talked.”
“Oh really? And who is to vouch for that, may I ask?”
“Well, for one thing you would remember me the next time we spoke”
“(shudder) I certainly hope I won’t.”
“But that is just being plain unfair.”
“No it isn’t. It’s resilience. I’ve learnt to fight back.”
“Intriguing. And what is this that you have learnt to fight back against?”
“Disappointments. Angst. Agony. Hurt. None of them can affect you if you don’t remember.”
“So you’re telling me that you don’t remember anything at all?”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m telling you that I can remember nothing at all.”
“But that’s just ridiculous. What about happiness, joy, childbirths? You don’t remember those either?”
“But how can you possibly do that. How can you leave those behind?”
“Oh I can.”
“And love? What about love?”
“Love? (Laughter too shrill to be icy) Love is just foolishness. Anyone can afford to leave foolishness behind.”
“Ok forget love like romance, flowers and sex. But what about love like romance, flowers and sex?”
“Hmmm? What about it? Those are just tangled weeds and smoke. What they do hold against the cold sweetness of indifference?”
“What about longing?”
“That? Do you know how easy it is to jam every emotion in prescription pill bottles? Their caps are so damn tight, to keep them child proof.”
“Somehow, the sight of pill bottles make me feel cold and clammy inside.”
“You’ve got too much emotion going on with you. One day you’ll realize that they’re nothing but deadweight. And you’ll abandon them like old friends.”
“Your analogies are disturbing.”
“There you go again. Are you going to be this dramatic through out?”
“And these pill bottles, what do you do with them?”
“Oh I bury them. Oh I know that they poison my well water. But it’s certainly better having my blood poisoned and turned to lead by having their contents inside me.”
“Their contents being?”
“Oh do you ever let off asking questions?”
“You have dirt under your fingernails.”
“I know. That’s my talisman. To remind me that it never does to be weak.”
“Will you give me some?”
“That is just plain disgusting. Why?”
“Because that’s all I can claim of what we used to have.”
“You have nothing to claim. There never was. There never will be.”
“But that’s a lie. You know it is.”
“My dear, I’m sorry but I didn’t get your name.”
“It’s George, Mrs. Alberta George.”
“Mister George, I’m terribly sorry. But if you’re trying to stir up some kind of emotional past, you are wasting your time. Because what was left in me is dissolving right now in the fathoms of my well and sticking to the tendrils of my dahlias’ roots.”
“But how did it get to be this way? How can you be so remote, so unfeeling, so unaffected? It’s inhuman.”
“My dear, did I not mention prescription bottles? They hold little pellets of resistance. Resistance against disease, against infection. Defense. And keeping you out is no more inhuman than resisting those viruses that cannot wait to invade my body and make me awfully sick. It’s no different from keeping a cold away.”

He left in a hurry. But not a moment too soon. One second more and I’d have reached out to keep his face from falling into a million pieces. But he’ll be over it soon enough. Even if I never will.”

(I was wondering how it'd be if there was some kind of emotional suppressant. And thus this post. thanks to a certain pink person for showing me how interesting conversations can be)


pink said...

way to go!

Izzy said...

:) we all do that some time or the other. Really interesting post!

MissAnnThrope said...

:) thanks :D