Transformation & transforming places
This should be on the other journal. Erh. I'm logged into this one & I'm a lazy arse. I'll put it in the right place when I'm not at work. Post-and-run really. (Editing what editing, etc.) But OH HAI I WROTE. Boss, please give me some work now... I'd love to get work done. Really. Honestly. GIVE.
At high tide we shared a cigarette and a can of beer, sitting on the embankment as though it was the edge of the world. Right then it looked the part: the water had covered the marsh below, and the sun was beginning to drop down into it, throwing pink and orange and gold across the sea and sky together. In the distance, over at Wells, the line of pines which chased the deep-water channel stood as final sentinels, harsh black outlines against the fluid colours that threatened to make nonsense of everything else. On what would be the main path out on to the marsh at any other time, kids were playing, splashing around in shallow water, but they weren't enough to anchor the moment in any sense of reality. They were just dark outlines too, and their voices seemed to come from a greater distance, miles away. My head was buzzing a little.
"Don't you think anything could happen right now?" Jen said, and I suppose I looked over too fast, tensed a little too much, because she smiled, teasing. "No, I mean..."
"What?"
"Really anything, I guess. Anything at all."
"The end of the world?"
She considered this briefly, and waved her hand dismissively. "Maybe, but that's kind of obvious. Be more imaginative."
I laughed and snatched the beer away from her. "This is your scenario. You tell me."
"I think I could be anyone. You could be anyone. Those people down there on the marsh too, if they like."
The light was changing moment by moment and, looking sidelong at Jen, she didn't seem to be quite all there, in some physical sense I couldn't put my finger on. I knew how she looked, small and wiry, sharp face, matted hair dyed pink and purple and green and blue, expression always just a bit cynical, but it was already half-dark and for a moment, a moment--
I shook it off and shrugged. "Being yourself is OK, isn't it?"
Quiet. I looked out over the marsh again, and wondered about what I'd just said, whether I believed it, whether I wanted to be whoever it was that other people saw as me. In half-light with beer inside you and the rawness of cigarette smoke in your throat you can think these kinds of things and not feel completely ridiculous. In daylight it's different. Even night isn't quite the same, although there's something to be said for two in the morning as a time for these sorts of topics too.
Beside me, Jen was completely still, cigarette slowly burning itself out between her fingers. I felt more conscious of every movement I made in contrast, aware of every noise in the way you can only be when you are afraid to be caught. But caught by who?
"I don't know," she said at last, slowly. "Is it?"
"You're always yourself, though," I said. "I mean I can't think of anyone who's more themselves than you are. I've always thought that." But it sounded a bit weird, tonight. She wasn't herself, right now, in the way I would usually think about it. She was someone I hardly knew, looking at something I could barely see. The impression of a few minutes ago returned, that she was somehow only half there.
"It's not that simple. I mean there's a person you think I am, right? And I guess you always see her. But suppose I think I'm all sorts of different people. And all the rest of them are around somewhere in here," she tapped at her head with her free hand, "but they never get out. And you say being yourself is OK. Which self?"
"I hadn't thought of it like that," I murmured, though I had. I just hadn't thought of other people feeling the same way. Funny how the mind can work sometimes.
"So I think we could be any of the people we think we are. Pick a new one." She smiled at me, lopsided -- or I thought she did. It might have been something else. The sun was almost gone.
I watched the shadows where her eyes must be for a moment and looked away.
She stretched and shifted, a rustle of twigs, a brief impression of motion felt more than seen. "Tide's about to turn. Who do you want to be?"
"I don't know."
"It'll be too late soon," she said. For a moment it sounded serious, and I could feel the weight of the decision, sudden pressure. Then she exhaled a huff of laughter, almost herself, and I could breathe again. Something lingered, though, playing on the edge of my mind.
"You?" I asked, to avoid voicing my thoughts, half-formed and flighty as they were.
"Wait and see," she said, and laughed again. "Tomorrow I'll be someone else."
At high tide we shared a cigarette and a can of beer, sitting on the embankment as though it was the edge of the world. Right then it looked the part: the water had covered the marsh below, and the sun was beginning to drop down into it, throwing pink and orange and gold across the sea and sky together. In the distance, over at Wells, the line of pines which chased the deep-water channel stood as final sentinels, harsh black outlines against the fluid colours that threatened to make nonsense of everything else. On what would be the main path out on to the marsh at any other time, kids were playing, splashing around in shallow water, but they weren't enough to anchor the moment in any sense of reality. They were just dark outlines too, and their voices seemed to come from a greater distance, miles away. My head was buzzing a little.
"Don't you think anything could happen right now?" Jen said, and I suppose I looked over too fast, tensed a little too much, because she smiled, teasing. "No, I mean..."
"What?"
"Really anything, I guess. Anything at all."
"The end of the world?"
She considered this briefly, and waved her hand dismissively. "Maybe, but that's kind of obvious. Be more imaginative."
I laughed and snatched the beer away from her. "This is your scenario. You tell me."
"I think I could be anyone. You could be anyone. Those people down there on the marsh too, if they like."
The light was changing moment by moment and, looking sidelong at Jen, she didn't seem to be quite all there, in some physical sense I couldn't put my finger on. I knew how she looked, small and wiry, sharp face, matted hair dyed pink and purple and green and blue, expression always just a bit cynical, but it was already half-dark and for a moment, a moment--
I shook it off and shrugged. "Being yourself is OK, isn't it?"
Quiet. I looked out over the marsh again, and wondered about what I'd just said, whether I believed it, whether I wanted to be whoever it was that other people saw as me. In half-light with beer inside you and the rawness of cigarette smoke in your throat you can think these kinds of things and not feel completely ridiculous. In daylight it's different. Even night isn't quite the same, although there's something to be said for two in the morning as a time for these sorts of topics too.
Beside me, Jen was completely still, cigarette slowly burning itself out between her fingers. I felt more conscious of every movement I made in contrast, aware of every noise in the way you can only be when you are afraid to be caught. But caught by who?
"I don't know," she said at last, slowly. "Is it?"
"You're always yourself, though," I said. "I mean I can't think of anyone who's more themselves than you are. I've always thought that." But it sounded a bit weird, tonight. She wasn't herself, right now, in the way I would usually think about it. She was someone I hardly knew, looking at something I could barely see. The impression of a few minutes ago returned, that she was somehow only half there.
"It's not that simple. I mean there's a person you think I am, right? And I guess you always see her. But suppose I think I'm all sorts of different people. And all the rest of them are around somewhere in here," she tapped at her head with her free hand, "but they never get out. And you say being yourself is OK. Which self?"
"I hadn't thought of it like that," I murmured, though I had. I just hadn't thought of other people feeling the same way. Funny how the mind can work sometimes.
"So I think we could be any of the people we think we are. Pick a new one." She smiled at me, lopsided -- or I thought she did. It might have been something else. The sun was almost gone.
I watched the shadows where her eyes must be for a moment and looked away.
She stretched and shifted, a rustle of twigs, a brief impression of motion felt more than seen. "Tide's about to turn. Who do you want to be?"
"I don't know."
"It'll be too late soon," she said. For a moment it sounded serious, and I could feel the weight of the decision, sudden pressure. Then she exhaled a huff of laughter, almost herself, and I could breathe again. Something lingered, though, playing on the edge of my mind.
"You?" I asked, to avoid voicing my thoughts, half-formed and flighty as they were.
"Wait and see," she said, and laughed again. "Tomorrow I'll be someone else."