Sparkle Susie, Princess of Unicorns and Bullfrogs

Her scars poke out from under her bikini, crescent shaped trails curving alongside each hip, dotted like braille, telling the story of Christine's new hips. It's deceptive. Her youth and vigour belie a lifetime of debilitating pain and compromised mobility. She's funny, hysterically so; a double-yourself-over, laugh-til-you-cry-and-snort-then-end-up-on-the-floor-begging-for-mercy funny. A clown. Literally. Christine has an entire tickle trunk  of costumes, props and wigs. To her kids, as she calls them, she is Sparkle Susie, Princess of Unicorns and Bullfrogs. As a child Christine didn't run or play the way her kids do with her in her drama art camps. Injections, braces, medicines, trial after trial after experimental test group defined Christine's youth. Autoimmune inflammatory disease with delayed onset stenosis of facet joints and femoral acetabular impingements culminating in osteoarthritic symptoms. Her bones fail her. Her joints are angry, uncooperative. At 23 she got new hips. At 26, 3 discectomies. At 30, she dresses up like a space cowboy in a tiara and crinoline with a southern drawl and yodel while making 8 year-olds gallop imaginary horses across multi coloured foam cut-out mats in public schools across the city. There is joy here. There is relief from pain and compression. Christine never lost her imagination. Her body's failings are food for creation. Strolling on the boardwalk, Christine kicks up sand and darts in and out of the cold lake water. No one looks twice at her hips but her smile and turquoise eyes rimmed with shimmery copper liner stop traffic. She is illuminated.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Moving in Stasis

Go. Get on that plane, that train, that bus. Walk if you have to. Swim, we've got great lakes and oceans and rivers. So many bodies of water and tracts of land to get across. Find a way, they said, just get here, soon. And so Tally packed a bag with just the essentials: a blueberry corn muffin with a shmear of cream cheese, her well worn pocket stone she rubs in her left hand, a packet of mints from the drive in theatre, and two pineapple juice boxes. A clean pair of socks, some dental floss, mom's old cigarette lighter she stole off her bureau, and twenty three dollars and eighty five cents in change. That was the heaviest part of her backpack. She wondered if she was forgetting something but her mind raced with all the things at once. Will her shoes be comfortable on the long journey? Did she feed the cockatiel before she left the house? How can she get across the ocean if the boats aren't docking in the harbour anymore? What if she runs out of money? Will Joseph be
Read more

Kindness Is A Boomerang

If he can make it off the couch to the kitchen, then he'll be up and at 'em. Movement is motion and motion is energy and like a battery, he'll recharge. Feel better. Or different. Good enough. Long nights of hourly wake ups, followed by the struggle to quiet his mind. Loop, loop, looping through endless thoughts of what if and who will and I should and maybe they'll but just go to sleep. Sleep. No tech in his room, just sleep and sex. Although physical touch has been lacking. Wanting. Week seven, but who's counting.  And that's just sheltering in place. Before that, well...seasons. The sky is bright. City living with no light pollution is like life at the cottage on Lac St Joseph. There are meteors tonight, a shower or falling or maybe it's his brain playing tricks on his eyes. Looking for things  he can't possibly see. Four missed calls. Thirteen notifications. No one he's pining for so it's a wash. Is it too late to get up... too early
Read more

Good, Not Great

She hits the down button. Two hospital admin types, young women in almost stylish outfits, the ones afforded on entry level salaries, wait on a car going up. The elevator arrives, doors open, she steps on then realizes she's going up. Force of habit, she says aloud to no one in particular, pavlovian response. The two women sort of smile as they study the floor, suddenly intensely awkward and private. She gets louder as she backs out of the car. Doors close and she hovers her finger over the already illuminated down button. Right, just did that. It's quiet here, far from the madding crowd. Emerg was busy, mainly the geriatric crew. A few indigent and drunk and disorderlies draped over chairs, hanging out of gurneys, buried under sheets and gowns, moaning, rambling incoherently. It's the large-and-in-charge paramedic night: 4 teams of doughy young men stand sentinel with their wards, buried in paperwork, bored with the hurry and up wait logjam of daily deliveries.
Read more