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viewsDisquieting Muses at the Grocery Store
By krrobi, Tuesday, July 27, 2010, 7 comments ~Nowadays, my prayers go a bit like this:
“Help me! Help me! Help Me! Pleeeease Jesus, Help Me!”
Sometimes I scream the words out like a lunatic. Sometimes I sob out the slippery syllables like a lonely, lost child. Sometimes I just wander around mumbling the words inside my head.
Silently. Ceaselessly. Ridiculously.
I find it remarkable that one can hide insanity so easily, so simply, so wholly. I’ve discovered that one can wear a mask of feathers, bright red lipstick, glued on smiles and fit in perfectly; that one can walk up and down the grocery isle as if she were normal, as if she were like everybody else, as if she mattered a damn in this deranged world.
I pretend I’m shopping. My legs move. My arms sway. I nod at a neighbor without making eye contact. I stroll down each row of perfectly strait soup cans, cereal boxes, whole chickens. I lift a red tomato to my nostrils inhaling its ripeness, it’s skin cool against my nose. I squeeze the avocadoes. I stare at the glazed donuts, the strawberry pies, the corn on the cob.
But nothing looks appetizing or appealing or alluring.
Things I once savored and sinned over are dull, dull, dull. Dull as triple hell.
The cashier smiles. She runs my items through her register casually, mindlessly.
“Nice out there,” she says. “How’s your summer goin’?”
I pause.
“~Oh, lets see, my sister was murdered exactly eight weeks ago by her so-called-husband. I saw the mustard yellow tape wrapped around the house to prove it. There were swirling red lights and some reporter was clicking a camera and laughing like a moron. It really happened. I still can’t believe it, but the son-of-a-bitch killed her.
I was in the waiting area when the doctor came in. I can’t remember what he looked like, but I imagine the Angel of Death is equivalent. “She’s brain dead.” That’s pretty much what he said. I hated that doctor. I hated him for uttering those words, those life-changing words. I despised him for not preparing me for my own death, for not explaining how one goes on breathing without a pulse, a heart, a best friend.
A flower left out.
They said we could go see her, go observe her body stretched out on some fucking silver stainless steel table. I jumped up and down like a crazy woman. I screamed. I swore. I kicked somebody’s desk.
I smell her perfume as soon as I enter the room intertwined with chemicals, floor wax, something else.
I walk over to her, touch her cheek ever so softly, skim my fingers over her newly waxed eyebrows, freshly highlighted hair.
“Oh, god, I love you,” I whisper. She feels cold, like marble, like snow, like she’s already gone, but I still smell her perfume. I still see the stain of crimson on her lips~
I sense the cashier gazing at me. Waiting.
I don’t say anything. I can’t. I just smile. That’s all. I pick up my bags of groceries and walk out the door.
Kim & Kay Loving One Another...that's all.
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7 Comments
Hugging you in my mind
Oh Kim. Oh Kim. Oh Kim. My heart is breaking for you. I have to send you something. A poem my brother wrote before he was killed. Maybe, maybe since you love words, it will give you a thimble full of comfort. I wish I could hug you.
Dody
Your description of the
Your description of the numbness following the death of a loved one is spot on. You do feel like you really aren't in control of your own body because your heart is so full of grief. It is a robot-like state. My heart aches for you. I wish there was something, anything I can do; but, I know that all I can do is read your blogs. It is my way of listening. I love you.
In my thoughts and prayers
Kim - I haven't been online for a while and after catching up on your blogs I have just learned of the senseless and devasting heartache you are enduring. I will be keeping you and your family in my thoughts and prayers.
Lynn
i love you
Kim,
I know how it feels each day to put up a facade and keep on living, but ultimately that facade fades away and your living relatively normal again. To my surprise, my facade has dissipated into the darkness with all my resentment and perverse thoughts towards that stranger who've I lived with for 20 years across the hall. We have to remember where our angel is Kim, she's in paradise grooming the mane of every lion who gently and very eloquently passes by and rejoicing with the Lord Jesus Christ in the heavenly realms afar... I'm jealous of her, If I had the opportunity to be where she is right now, I'd instataneously grab that pass in a hurry! Now, through humility, we need to find our individualized gift through faith and find what our objective is to complete here on earth so that we may gain a closer relationship with our Father. Inevitably, we gain a closer relationship with our Guardian Angel Kay as well :). Kim, let's be diligent with the time we have left on this earth and live a life that radiates the continuity of her legacy she left behind... I love you!
Inside his head
That laughing reporter! How is it possible that life goes on for others while it's stopped for us? And though our lives have stopped, how is it possible that we continue to live? And yet we do. We live one minute, one hour, one day at a time, seeing as if we see, listening as if we hear, walking a fine line between here and hereafter. Our minds there, not here, though our feet keep us standing on this very earth. Love you Kim.
"The night is so much
"The night is so much darker;
The wind is so much colder;
The world I see is so much bigger now that I'm alone."
These are lyrics from "Papa, Can You Hear Me?" It's a Barbara Streisand song from the movie, Yentle. I was reminded of these particular lines when reading your blog.
I've never lost someone so dear to me, but I imagine the world is stranger when they're gone. Not the same, and it never will be. Nothing anyone says is interesting, but at the same time, you don't want to be alone. At least, that's what I imagine it to be like.
Keep writing, Kim. Know that I'm thinking about you constantly, and we all love you!
I'm starting from here, Kim
I'm starting from here, Kim ... I want to go back and read what I've missed from your heart and your unbelievably expressive soul. I want to help but I don't know how. So I'll just read and send you prayers ... of what, I'm not sure. Peace? I am so grateful on your behalf that you have this gift ... to be able to pour your emotions pain hate hurt on paper (screen) and let it out ... let us in. Love, Ginger
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