Paperweight

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Another gob of gummy blood on the wall. I tell her, Granny I’m sick of your bloody constellating on the damn kitchen wall. It isn’t appetizing, it makes me want to gag whenever we’re eating. Everyone is disgusted by your habit and wishes that you would stop. 

She doesn’t say anything in response, just grunts, and goes on fingering the raw spot in her mouth with her nail. Typical.

I sigh and draw a napkin up to the wrinkle-estuary at the corner of her mouth, daub up some of the ochre freely flowing there. 

OK Oma, I say, I need some air. 

Proceed onto the screened porch. Can’t even enjoy snus right now because of the afterimage of that crescent nail. Digging around. Her mouth looming in my mind’s eye. Crooked curl of yellow-gray, raking around a naked funnel. That fills in with commingled blood drool, like how water pours from sand when you dig your hands into the beach. 

My own mouth’s tingling pleasantly, despite it all. I feel a bit better out here. The smells are lighter, and the air’s as damp as it ever was. Pushed out past the lightness of the screen door. Hinges hanging by a thread. And a slight breeze that touches the prickling surface of my lips. Ears likewise washed in the frothy creaking of bamboo forest. I don’t think that she will be alright without me. 

My brothers do care about her, but they’re assholes, and can hardly look after themselves. I can only hope that dad will get them in line, once I’m gone. I hope they won’t misspend the money. I can’t worry too much about it—it will be up to them. I’m a good attitude soldier, through and through. Life is looking up.

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Above the greenish foam of bamboo leaves, the welkin rang through greyish white, which wisps of smoke enveloped, like a wimple on the face of light. Whose incandescent stupor held the whole ill-tended former golf course suspended in its gaze. The dimpled orange of the condos was specked black by every orifice, their terracotta rooftops scored and sagging beneath the sharp claws and heavy bellies of the many iguanas who made home there. 

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The fish market had been a comfort to me in many ways. The whole place is cool and transparent. The thick clear curving wafer of the counter, with beautiful blank stares of the fish waiting on their ice bed. The floors are all plum rubber while the walls are periwinkle and ceiling’s almost white, fluorescent tubes floating up there on shiny chain links. I was never bored, between papering the fish and dealing with the kids who hang around to play the arcade games and use the capsule machines. Lots of exciting sound effects when they pull the lever. 

Marian, hey Marian! 

They always bothered me for change, or else to see what prize they won, or complain how they didn’t, or just to praise their high scores. Some of the older boys could be annoying for real, the way they teased me or tried to flirt to show each other up. I didn’t even mind it though, I guess the liveliness of the place and how laidback my boss—Mario, a lot of people thought we’re related because of the names—explains why I was feeling a little sad to leave it. But Mario can’t afford to pay me that much, though. I’ll miss it anyway, to get to the fish market when the light was starting and air still tepid, then the smell of fish and cold, purplish laughter. That was a comfort to me in many ways. 

Mario didn’t mind me studying when it was slow. He’d say, Take a study break, say it was good for me to chase a dream. He wanted to be like a second dad to me, I think. He valued highly the way that I hoped to look after my family, the way I was striving for more in the face of my ungenerous circumstances. He said Kid you’re gonna be somebody. So, I would pull out my laminated packet and pore over anatomical diagrams, problem sets, and storytelling scenarios. I liked to find different thoughtful poses to get my mind working. Like for instance if the store was quiet, I’d bend my back against almost over the counter so that I was like halfway upside down, and the translucent red and turquoise tabs of my packet would be backlit and aglow. And I could feel the chilly icebox and the fish beneath my back. 

Now all of that was coming good. Mario’s eyes were shining. He said Marian look after yourself, you’ll be on my mind. Be safe and make a lot of money—I’m proud of you, and the arcade and capsule machine kids are gonna miss you. 

I said Sir I surely will, and gave him a little salute. Thanks for everything, boss-man. I couldn’t have done it without you. 

Thinking about how now my pockets will be peachy, full and flush with cash. All that’s most worthwhile is what’s difficult to do. One of the many erudite sayings of the great consolidator of SHELLY-ROTHCORP, Mister Mark Shelly-Roth, whose legacy of wealth creativity I would now adjoin. Specifically, The Southeastern Maritime Fulfillment Unit of the Bi-coastal, Tri-American Coalition for Energetic Abundance. Superficial Intelligence Power Platform 488f, designation ‘Glencore QIA Wish Fulfillment Zone.’ In ShellyRothcArgot, people usually say GQ I Wish, because the pay is so high—The platform consistently achieves ‘Pizza-Party’ tier results in subdivision-wide KPIs. I guess I should say ‘our’ platform now, since I’ve signed-on. The shuttle stops to pick me up and take me to the shore tomorrow morning. I’m nervous, but happy for my family, and excited about the future. Anyway, I guess I just wanted to say it all for the record, before I go. I know nothing bad is gonna happen, but…Mario, Jak and Daxter, Dad and Oma—I love you.

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All below the deck was dark, twisted grey whites where the water tore itself to flecks and foam, then sewed-up, smooth and black again. Marian was duly impressed by the undulating velvet shadows that she could see glistening there, through the thick crystal banded around the platform’s main well. She started as an orotund laugh rang out. Tom, a more senior staff-member, had come in while she was staring down at the water. 

Sorry lass, you just make a sweet pretty picture crouched there…peering through the lens, eh? 

Marian said Yes, she had been peering, and was like rapt because the surface of the sea was pretty powerful and mystifying. 

Aye, it’s an awesome sight, he answered, then trailing off, himself transfixed. 

Now Marian looked at his face, his eyes. Green, like two ‘Jumpin-Jungle’ marbles sucked into the creases of old pleather, beige, flaking all over the place. 

Marian chirped goodnight to Tom as she left the luminous faceted ring behind, headed for the upstairs. Extensive pre-professional studies had prepared her for this sort of oddball behavior. Older guys who’ve been working in processing for a while can get spacey, it’s because they’ve spent a lot of time handling very high-vibrational materials. She made a note on her PenPal infotainment console when she got back to her room, then rocked left and right, enjoying the springy way her swivel chair always returned to center. Marian’s bunk was cozy, consisting of a whole room to herself, with a shoe-slot by the door, and a bed niche that could easily fit two of her. The closet bristled with chartreuse-silver-striped uniforms (the pride of all SMFU staff) and the whole floor (except for the shoe-slot) was covered in a must-proof carpet, which had been dyed soft lavender (per Marian’s onboarding-survey responses). A narrow ‘personal’ desk and swivel chair protruded from the wall beside the door—opposite the shoe-slot. The whole space could be variously lit by means of the overhead LEDs, in combination with two incandescent lamps, one by the bed niche, the other on the ‘personal’ desk. The former was made from a gnarled twig and a paper lampshade pressed with leaves. The desk-lamp was a glossy ivory rabbit with carmine-colored beads for eyes, and one paw clutched to its chubby chest. The lightbulb was nestled in folds of frosted glass, which blossomed from behind the rabbit’s drooping ears. The hue of the ceiling of the room was eggshell. There were no windows. 

Marian switched the ‘personal’ desk-lamp off, brushed her teeth with jasmine white-tea flavored toothpaste, and flopped into her bed. She couldn’t quite believe that all of this was real. It still felt strange to lay her head somewhere so pristine. Nothing popcorned or peeling. No cracks, molds, or mildews. Attention and care met with all the money in the world. The silk pillowcase. The steam-showers at the end of the hall. The perfect whiteness of the toilets, and the special, bell-like sounds that kicked around their bowls as her stream struck them. The resistance of the small chrome button, and the thrashing swallow of the flushing action that the button brought forth. Latticework coiled-cables swayed suspended between four enormous concrete columns, and it was all arrayed in hues of blue and grays that shadowed purple periwinkle and molten white along the edges. 

While the brass indicator on the elevator ticked leftward, lower and lower, Marian’s boss had been saying weird stuff. 

Stuff like, Remember, the main thing is to be a good listener. Just relax, go with the flow. We are talking about a very special kind of an entity, who chose YOU, Marian, selected YOU, for a reason. Try to be yourself, you know? Just be yourself. And if you get nervous, hey, that’s perfectly normal. Focus on the money. 

He kept looking at his fingernails. Impeccable pink bed with trim white crescents on top, they looked to Marian like a troop of little monks or soldiers, they were so neat and tidy. His slacks were pleated with a wide cuff at the bottom. Mauve wool pooled slightly on his leather loafers. He kept checking his watch, too. Its face was blue enamel inset with gold wires which had been figured into the shape of a white peacock, whose tail feathers splayed to diamond ends, its little stick feet pronging in four points toward the bottom of the dial. Wreathed in gold, with gold hands sitting on the peacock’s shoulder. The whole thing was encased in transparent rock crystal, faceted in imitation of the lens, Marian thought. Fastened to the boss’ wrist by a gold band. 

Got it sir, I will focus on being myself, said Marian. 

Nodded for emphasis. Gave her boss a thumbs-up. Before the boss-man could answer Marian’s optimism, the elevator announced their destination with an airy two-note chime chased by four plucked strings. 

Well, this is you. You’ll go directly back to your quarters tomorrow morning. You’ll have the chance to wash, and diary about your experiences on the infotainment tablet, if you should so desire. Sorry, it’s a formality, got to say it for compliance, you know, HR. You’ll do great! 

The right side of boss’ face contorted in a wink, his mouth emitting two wet clicks of the tongue as he mimed ‘finger-guns’ at Marian. A snappy dresser, but pretty charmless. How’d someone like that ever get to be the boss, Marian was kinda wondering, while the elevator whooshed up and away from her. To be real, she didn’t understand what his job was, like at all. Marian wore an impassive ‘game face’ when she passed through the bulkhead. It had all been leading up to this. 

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Marian stands on the dais. Dismal candlelight is jagged and confused in mirrors and darkly-stained wood. All the sharp and edges only give way to glistering black velvet in an alcove set opposite the dais. Marian clears her throat, trying to ‘do her own thing’ for want of any direction. 

A voice in the alcove says, OK, Marian, tell me about the time that you had headlice. How did it feel?

Oh, well it…um, it didn’t feel great. I remember at first I just thought I had hay fever, and I took an anti-histamine, I thought then the itching on my head might stop. Except I still felt it, and I remember I was just sitting on the old leather couch watching some video when I found it, I brought my hand to scratch the back of my head, and like I felt something under my finger, it was flat, like a little seed, but I felt it move, and when I went to look at it, then it fell in the remote and got stuck like sideways, like wedged between a rubber button and the plastic chassis itself. I could like, see it waving its little feet. I remember I felt hollow all over, like how I always do when I’m freaking out—I knew what lice were. I didn’t want to touch it again so I went and got my grandma’s tweezers from the bathroom. I like plucked it out and used the blunt end of the tweezers to crush it against the plastic. I could see the mouthparts and legs crushed together but still sticking up. I like to look back at my life’s mosaic and remember those moments when I’m bored, for better or for worse. Ummmm, what else do I remember about the lice…I remember sitting in front of the mirror in our dining room, our dining room has one wall that’s all mirrors and—

—I know all of that. Please focus on your sensory and emotional experience. 

Oh…okay…I mean, I guess it was mainly pain and anxiety…Oma was firm with the combs, and tore out a lot of my hair, she tried rubbing tea tree oil all over my scalp, too, before dad got back and brought the shampoo. It burned and stung like crazy, and I had so many split ends. I cried a lot, I was scared to go back to school looking like scraped-off-the-pavement. I had nightmares about the lice, in my dreams though they were usually much prettier, like neon blue with white spots, and special shaped like snowflakes. The shampoo was so slimy and took ages to rinse out, I ran my hands along the length of my hair over and over again. I asked dad to check my head whenever he was home for months afterward. I kept feeling the crawling, every tingle on my scalp or really anywhere on my body made think, like that must be the tiny tip of a louse leg on the nape of my neck, near my middle part, or even at my elbow. I couldn’t stop thinking about that ticklish teeming feeling, the fact that they were squeezing out of tiny egg-sacs stuck to my hair and then tickling me while they stuck their mouths like straws in my scalp. I tried to picture them dreamlike and cute, with big happy cartoon eyes, I thought, maybe I’m their juice box but if they fill their little bellies somehow sweetly with my blood, but they were too wanton for all that. I could never get the picture of their lousy fucking rutting out of my head and—Oh um, I’m sorry, I don’t know if I should swear, um…they did tell me to be myself, though? 

Marian it’s more than fine. Get over here now. I’m really close.

Marian steps down from the dais and approaches the alcove. As Marian’s eyes adjust, the darkness and velvet begin to resolve. Waiting for her there, with haunches splayed wide and sex everted, is a creature which seems very-much like the iguanas who live on the roof above her condo. The same voice speaks to Marian, as she clambers onto pillowed velvet.

Lie down on top of me, I am going to do a louse impression, says the lizard. 

Marian doesn’t wince or struggle when the lizard’s mouth folds its mouth around her nose. Iguana teeth tear gently at the fabric of Marian’s middle face as the creature tries to suck out her mucus. It’s fucking weird but, mentally, she’s already chilling in a pristine resort hotel. Lakeside, Faroe Islands. That’s gonna be us. Mario, Jak and Daxter, Dad I love you. I’ll take you there. Even Oma will be there. Where a glacier hollowed out whole swathes of stone so now they hang over the ocean. Like an ice cube cools the throbbing gums while warm spit thaws it. A fish eye’s staring where the sun should be. A naked crater was born open in the gum of granny’s mouth, an iguana’s mouth is open and its drool is also dripping into Marian’s. So soon, although she does her best, she can’t help but start to cough and retch. Her lunch spills out in snowy chunks of half-digested fish, and it’s utter bliss for one Iguana-shaped and ancient being. Its prick felt like wet sand with a worm twitching in it, Marian thought.