A week in two days

A drive in the dark, a walk on the beach,
Those pretty cabins so close,
But just out of reach;

The taste of raw fish,
Electric green trees,
The slight smell of Pleasure,
Wafting in the sea breeze;

A thought in the rain, tide waits for no man,
But maybe, just maybe,
In a snow globe I can.

Conversations in the dark

I got home pretty late last night. Had a meet-up with my regular Friday friends, RFF or Rich Friday Friends as the Taman Desa gang calls them, and we did what we have always done every Friday for the past two years. A pint or two (today a lot more) and a conversation that covers the usual shit; work, sports, politics, subliminal anger.

So I got home and it was late, probably four in the morning, and I stood at my bathroom sink washing my face. I looked up and my mom was staring at me through the mirror. I apologized for waking her. She said nothing. 

On a side note, when I was 15 I was convinced my over-protective mother would have me shut in after I finished high-school so I wouldn't be participating in the fictional orgies she assumes all young men go to. It is a pleasant realization now for me that my mother is nothing of the sort and I come and go as I please, respectfully of course so not as to make worry. It was for this reason I was standing at my sink at four in the morning with my mother standing behind me and I didn't worry one bit if she was mad at me.

After 30 seconds of silence my mum suddenly spoke up and said "You look very different, not like the boy I used to know". I told her about the Gotye song that was playing on the radio a while back and she said she'd never heard of it and it sounded pretty daft. I couldn't agree more. I said I was going to make some coffee and asked if she wanted a cup. She said she'd make breakfast instead while she was in the kitchen. She probably smelt the alcohol on my clothes. She always makes me breakfast when I come home smelling of alcohol.

So we sat down, and had breakfast, and had one of the most meaningful conversations I've had in a while. She said I looked very tired and haggard. I said it was probably because it was late. And she said she has seen tired, "In your grandfathers face when he used to come home from the pepper fields, THAT was tired. Yours is a different face. The face of a boy (boy?) with a lot of things on his shoulder". Again, she was right. I told her I wasn't sure but I felt I had lost my way in life. That I used to walk the path with the destination firmly fixed up ahead. Now, it just feels like I'm walking through a fog. She said she knows, "I know my son very well. But sometimes you come home a stranger". I told her I'd work on that. She told me to jog more to put some colour in my cheeks. And that was the end of that conversation.

I asked her about my new god-son. She told me the family was going away to Australia in March and I might never see him again. I broke down a little in my coffee. "Well why the hell am I the Godfather!" "They just wanted us to baby-sit the kid for a while, don't worry about it". I fed this kid, carried him, sang him a lullaby. I sang this kid a fucking lullaby.

For some unexplainable reason I felt cheated on. Not by my long gone god-son,no he is an angel and I wish for him every good this world will ever offer. I just felt cheated by the circumstances.

She asked me if I was seeing anyone, to which I smiled and nodded my head. "I'm seeing a lady called Perdition and she's a cruel bitch a cruel mistress". She didn't get that. She said my neighbour had called us over for Chinese New Year. That they have a daughter and that I should stop being such a fuss-pot (I have always hated her using that word.It's a word that makes me feel indecisive and effeminate) and go 'talk to her'. I told her I'd rather have children by binary fission. She thought that meant adoption and looked concerned. I sighed. I told her "I'm no John Wayne, mum. Like papa." She stood up with a look like she would slap me. A look that I haven't seen in a while. "Don't you make the mistake of thinking your father was no charmer! Don't you ever make that mistake!"

 That startled me. She said that I had that same blood. My fathers charm and my mothers fire. For some fucking reason, in my head i pictured myself a charming arsonist. I told her it has now become a collective school of thought that the charm I possess is of the geeky variety. She didn't understand what geeky meant so I told her,"Like Nobita from those Doraemon cartoons I loved. Remember?" "Didn't he get the girl? Suzuki?" "Yeah mum I guess he did."

Nobita did.

And that was it. She said it was late and I should sleep. I told her to leave the cups and plates I'd clean it later. "Pandai. That's how I raise my son."

"Yeah you did a great job mum. Goodnight."