Dying/broken/forgiven.... now I begin

Born: 17-06-56....gemini.... monkey
re-born: 3-09-80
born again\found: 14-04-08
other notable dates: 10-03-68; 03-09-87; 23-03-96;
1-05-98; 31-01-02; 5-04-04

Interests: movement, stressed/transgressive embodiment, lived experience (body\space\time\relation)
expression ( word, dance, text, image, story, music, poetics)
learning, yielding......

Hopes for the blog:
offer up the wild intersectedness of lived experience and engage others in creative, expressive, perhaps irreverant, hopefully playful, and respectful encounters....
enact kindness
create moments of pause for disclosure, discovery, stillness

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Fear .... ( a not so short prose )

The line of traffic extends for almost a city block. There is a car, sitting, idling, its driver's door wide open, that seems to be the problem. Other cars are doing their best to get around the open door, still others are slowing down, rubbernecking, so see why things are slowing down.

A police vehicle appears out of nowhere, the cop strides toward the offending car, assessing the scene; he glances at his watch and squints up at the sun. What the hell. Flynn would rather do any other law enforcement responsibility than traffic patrol duty. It was so....pedestrian. He sighs to himself even as he continues to turn around, slowly doing the 360. He notices a woman crouching on a grassy patch across the street from the car. Her ankle length black skirt is wrapped around her legs and she is further swaddled by the tight hug her arms have around her knees. There is a briefcase nearby, with papers that appear to have been haphazardly thrust inside. It yaws open, like a mouth with large uneven teeth protruding. Paper fangs. Flynn is not sure why he finds this unnerving and while he is here feeling slightly off balance by the whole thing, traffic continues to back up.

Does anyone know anything about this car, Flynn hollers over the traffic. The woman has been resting her forehead against her knees and now she lifts her chin and looks right at the cop. He looks right back. She nods, and stands up carefully and dusts the grass off her skirt. She collects her briefcase, pausing long enough to arrange the papers so that none will fall out. She tests it, briefly, with a slight heft and swing, and something about her posture alerts Flynn to the possibility of a foot chase. Swiftly, he glances at her shoes, his instincts jangling now. The woman walks steadily, deliberately towards him. I own the car, she says, looking up into his face.

Jeez, ma'am-- it's always " ma'am" beyond a certain age--Jeez, ma'am, you've got quite a bottleneck going here. He cocks his head and gazes down at her, doing that fixed stare into the eyes cop thing.

Are you sick or something?

No, she says, not sick.

Not sick....stoned, maybe? high? Flynn runs through the mental checklist; a trick gone bad.... nah, couldn't be, the look and the briefcase don't match up... maybe a head case....

He's looking at her more closely now; he's noticing how she keeps him between her and the car.

Anything you want to tell me here, ma'am?

He's looking at the car more closely, now, too. He's sweating; she's not.

I can't go back in there until you get rid of it, she days. Her voice is a little shaky.

Just show me what the problem is, he says, taking her arm and guiding her towards the car.

Oh, no! she cries, and pulls back, shaking him off. Her movement is startling, forceful and agile; her eyes are darting back and forth.

It was on the window, she says quietly, just get it out and I can get back in there.

Flynn puts his hands on her shoulders; he wants her to stay put. He feels her stiffen in that way that women do when they're warning you not to keep doing that. He backs up and gives her the shitIsurrenderwaitrightthere gesture. He turns away and approaches her car, glancing back to make sure she 's not going to take off. Flynn never thought he'd see the day when he wished he had back up for a traffic diversion. He leans in and examines the windshield....
.... the wasp flies up into his face, he rears back, wrestling with the space; he falls onto the horn, it gives a loud blast; he hits his head on the door frame, hastily backing out, bum first, swinging his hands in front of his face..... holyshitmutherfu.... Flynn curses instinctively, bobbing and weaving, all thoughts of dignity abandoned, avoiding the thing buzzing wildly about his head and shoulders. He manages to swat it away, abruptly stopping his flailing dance in mid-gesture, glancing around a little sheepishly. He lifts his chin and rolls his head, smoothes the front of his shirt. Ok, Ma'am, he says, it's gone.
The woman walks past Flynn and cautiously approaches the car. Thank you, she says, and hugs the briefcase close as she climbs back in.


  1. this is a piece from a storytelling workshop I attended earlier this year.... and it seemed to fit well with the short prose prompt from Jon at expressivesubjects.... a site that is doing wonders for my range of motion ;))

  2. Enjoyed this very much. All I could think of was 'bomb!' I especially liked the description of how he pulled himself back together after the encounter with the wasp - a good visual.


  3. Crow-- thanks and nice to see you. As for visuals, I am loving the ducks over at your site.... cheers!

  4. As the crow said, I also enjoyed a lot reading it, it was really easy to read and had trapping. It had an interesting atmosphere, like an everyday event but also one that was surrealist.
    take care love

  5. funny. Here he would have had his Glock out and capped the little bastard as soon as it attacked him. {;-]}

  6. I hate wasps, so she had my sympathy. I was stung on a deeply unfortunate place once and have never quite recovered from the embarrassment. Enjoyed this.

  7. that was excellent.

    btw, i have started a collective fiction blog, http://flashingby.blogspot.com/, and would love to have you join. let me know if you are interested

  8. timmy-- thanks for the kind words and for the invitation; I am interested and will be in touch.
    Madame-- I 'm terrified of them, too.... beastly little suckers; glad you enjoyed
    WM--I laughed out loud at your comment. Mostly, I am grateful for the relative absence of Glocks in traffic control in Canada.
    Crow and Mariana-- glad you enjoyed and that my suspense building was reasonable effective :)