Marigene Willson's Writing Workshop

WA 11, Draft 2

Thick air settles upon me like a blanket. I roll over once, but my hip juts against a rock and a tingling sensation darts down my leg. The numbness makes me giggle for a moment, and then I realize I should get up. My legs fight moving as I try to connect my thoughts with my body. They are angry with me, the no longer wish to do the bidding of this earth. I no longer feel the incessant turning of my stomache, it is replaced now by a bloated drum, hollowed out of what used to be the curve of a young girls body. Its seems like it takes too much effort to move this foreign being through the tangible humidity. Heat presses down. My eyes lose focus; black fuzz closes in around the frame. I am still. Somehow, my hand comes to rest on top of my head. It sends pressure to my temples, but at least offers some shade. I try to remember my body. One foot. The other. Right. Left. Rhythm. Movement. The heat makes me think of harvest summer nights; the hollow beat of the tindu drum pulsating through me. The purple of the sky, the color of emptiness, shadows refracting from all angles of the periphery. Spinning. Falling. Moving, dancing. Feeling. Now all I feel is the rush of heat flowing from the ground to my skin, the heat of the sun baring down, blistering my back. My scalp wishes to peel back. On the horizon, I can see water. I can see the undulating movement of bodies. There, the drum comes. It throbs in my temples. The heat scalds my feet. The sun reflects against my bare head. The water pot is gone. Cracked. Next to me? If only it had been filled, perhaps cool water could have splashed upon my face. Nay, it no longer matters. My body burns as the fire of those nights. If only some shade could cover my back, the soles of my feet thrum with pain. The flames rise high; the purple of emptiness seeks to be let in. I do not fight it.

Coming across a leather sandal I hadn't seen in ages, I tripped and swayed, and finally pulled it over my heel. "Oh fuck." my nose inadvertently crinkled and I realized I was unconsciously biting my lip as my toes tingled with the numbness of being cramped inside a shoe that I had long since outgrown. But since when had that happened? The rate of change upon my body completely disturbs me. Its seems like I can grow inches over night. Whatever. I dig through the bin of shoes I never wear, finally finding the other sandal, of course, lying on the bottom-- because where else would it be?, and I push in into the side of the overflowing garbage bag destined for charity. I feel pretty productive, looking around at my clean, cleared out and vacuumed room, and as I lug down the bag of old clothes, I think, this is pretty good, maybe those shoes will even go to some starving kid in Africa.

posted by Marigene Willson @ 6:53 PM