The Enchanted Goat's Leg

The Enchanted Goat’s Leg

I was walking through a stretch of bush land today and I saw a goat’s leg in my peripheral vision. I saw the hoof first; it was cloven (as they usually are) and it was bent at the knee joint and brown. I turned to examine the leg but, as I focused my vision squarely on it, the leg transformed into a branch. It was a very ordinary branch, although it bore a striking resemblance to a goat’s leg. The end nearest me was split, as if it were imitating a cloven hoof, and it was bent right at the place where, if it had been a goat’s leg, a knee would have existed.

Briefly, I considered that this leg could have, in fact, always been a branch, this thought I dismissed. It quickly became clear to me that at the place the branch occupied a goat must have buried itself in the ground in order to hide from me; he supposing I were a foe coming to capture him, which a foe would most assuredly do precisely because he (the goat) is plainly enchanted… or perhaps enchanter. I say plainly because it is clear to me that when the clever goat realised he didn’t have time enough to hide himself completely underground he enchanted his own leg (for it was the only part yet exposed) to look like a branch in order to trick his supposed pursuer.

Obviously, I considered grasping the branch in order to shake it and bring the goat out of his hiding. However, while I would have dearly liked to meet the clever goat (and I am sure you will agree with me, he must be very clever indeed!), a second thought on the matter belayed any consideration for shaking the poor creature out of his ingenious disguise, for fear I would frighten the life out of him! I comfort myself thinking it is quite enough to delight in my knowledge of him, and knowing the sweet mystery of falling for such a delicious trick… if only for a moment.

This is what I suspect the enchanted goat looks like obviously

 it is difficult to estimate given I only saw his

leg and only in my peripheral vision.

The Jigsaw

The Jigsaw

Break me open

Make me red

See the unguent oozing from my wounds

Reading pasts, futures

See my human-ness in the red on your hands

Come on dear

Find courage

Smash my bones, throw me down by the sea

Where we played in youth

Half of me will go back to it, liquid. Flowing free

Brace your hands

Seize me tightly

When you are ready breathe deep, seething

Then pull me apart

Piece by piece, tearing each part of me away

Pack me up

Keep each piece

Place the bits of me in a suitcase

Take me with you

Drive for an hour, we’ll go to the countryside

Lay me out

Red and broken

Start with my hands, put me back together

End with my heart

I’m a funny jigsaw but, we can make me

Better

A Million Things

A million things you and I could do between now and Christmas

We could go on a picnic, but instead of just choosing a place and going there we would pack our picnic and jump on our bikes and ride until we see a spot we like. It could be by a lake, or under a tree, or a place equally as lovely but only half as loved… like those gardens in the middle of round-a-bouts, though I don’t know if it's legal to picnic there, we could try it anyway.

We could sit on the beach at night and tell each other stories. I’d tell you stories about land-walking sharks, because that’s one of the things that has been in my head forever. I used to dream about them, but I can’t remember if I thought they were scary or not.

We could make experimental frozen desserts with yoghurt. It’s almost summer time so we could get loads strawberries… which we’d eat before we could make anything with them, and we’d probably smoosh them up and throw them at each other too.

We could plant herbs. We’d line them up and give them names like Barry the basil plant, and Coralin coriander, and Terence thyme and Geoffrey the rosemary plant. We’d paint little prayers on their terracotta pots to help them grow.

We could find a good lawn and lay down on it at night. We would give names to all the stars we could see. It would take all night, but that’s alright, we’re night time people anyway

We could experiment with making our own pear cider… because we can’t afford as much Rekorderlig as we’d like to drink on the coming lazy day summer afternoons.

We could buy kazoos and go busking. You would play and I would sing. Chances are we wouldn’t make a dollar between us, but that’s not really the point, is it?

We could go op-shopping and buy outfits like Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson and sit in cafés drinking coffee and talking about solving crimes and catching that dastardly Moriarty!

We could learn how to do felting and we could make felt hats and then we could make felt flowers to pin onto them.

We could create an epic scavenger hunt for all of our friends to do, and at the end we’d have a big tea party at my house in the middle of the night… it could be Alice in Wonderland themed.

We could dress up for Halloween, even though we’re not in America, and we’re not American. I just like dressing up, and I know you do too.

We could learn how to cook Moroccan food, or French food… or Sri Lankan food. Then we could eat it all.

We could make Christmas cakes for all our friends. Or we could make them just for us, and make cards for all our friends.

We could do a million things and I won’t mind what they are, as long as we’re doing them together.

Awkward

Awkward

When I was fourteen I asked a boy out… sort of.

We were on this school camp sort of thing, he wasn’t from my school, he wasn’t even from my city, but that sort of thing really doesn’t mean anything to a teenager’s mind. He was nice, a nice boy, nothing too extraordinary, just nice. So, after days of my friends egging me on and hyping me up about it (because when you’re a teenager, it’s more about who your friends think you should like and what you should do about it than your own opinion) I asked him out. I don’t really remember what I said, I do remember feeling like my cheeks were going to spontaneously combust though. He turned me down. Again, I don’t remember the words, but I remember having a very sick feeling develop in my belly. I know he was polite about it, as I said he was a nice boy, but at fourteen it doesn’t matter how nicely it’s said a ‘no’ is still a no.That was a decade ago. I don’t think I’ve asked anyone out since then, although I can’t be sure.

I never really expected to have to speak to him again, in fact I remember thinking when I was fourteen that I really really didn't ever want to see him again. But I did, a decade is a long time... here's what happened:

As is often true in the case of awkward re-acquaintance, the run-in occurred in a moment completely devoid of dignity on my part: I was crawling out of a cardboard box… it wasn’t graceful. I stood, again with incredibly little grace, and immediately took on the pretence that the fellow speaking with my friend ahead of me was a total stranger. Before long the geographical location of the conversation was such that he was standing next to me, and we were occupying a conversational vacuum. It was awkward and the pretence was getting me nowhere. So I made a choice, I turned toward him and decided that I was an adult, as was he, and we would act as such. Besides, social nicety dictates that awkward horrible teenage moments shared a decade past are not to be brought up in conversation, right?

The conversation: 

Me: So you’re Mr X (not his real name) right?
Him: Yep, and you’re Laen right?
Me: Yeah, yep that’s me.
My Friend: How do you guys know each other?
Him: From back in the day when we were at school we met at this camp thing...
Me: Yeah, so I tend to block those days out a little (sarcastically joking a little bit… maybe).
Him: Oh right.

My friend decided that this conversation was a two person job and returned to the comparable paradise of not-completely-awkward conversation to her left.

As you may well know, there is a practice, which I am quite certain is consistent through all human cultures: that is that when you meet someone, having not seen them in years and years, and the last time you saw them was an awkward horrible teenage moment, your brain takes up the business of chanting something along the lines of ‘Oh God please don’t let him say it, Dear Lord please don’t let him say it.’ while your mouth attempts the necessary small talk appropriate to the ten year interlude. That is precisely what my brain was doing up until…

Him: So, I wanted to apologise for what I said back then.

I snorted my exclamation (and disbelief) at the realisation that he may have been reading my mind and had decided to torture me!

What I would have liked to have said: Oh hey, no big. Ten years and all that…

What I actually said (when I eventually regained my powers of speech): Nnngh, sorry what… um, don’t even… I mean, uh… what, why would you … uh. (Throat clearing) Ahem, so yeah that really… why would you say that?

Him: Well you said you block memories out, and I thought it may have been because I hurt your feelings.

At this point my inner African American woman said this in my head:

 “Say what? Honey, as iiiif you be as important as aaaaaall that, you aint no thing! Like you would be worth my blocking out memories for! Ah shush your mouth you aint so important as you be thinking you is!”

What I actually said was : Yeah, so I think we could just forget about the whole thing

We returned to awkward small talk and after a polite and socially appropriate interval he made his excuses and left. I sat down, pulled out my mobile phone and stared at it dumbly and the tiny bit of me that holds the tattered pieces of my fourteen your old self’s esteem squeezed tightly around it while I contemplated going home to unearth the emergency bottle of red in my closet…

Tiny Stories

A Broken Bauble

Jassina sat there looking miserable, which was good, I wanted her to feel miserable because anyone who breaks another person’s glass bauble should feel miserable! It was the nicest thing I’d ever seen and it was mine and now it’s shards. Worst. Best friend ever. My Nonna gave it to me for my birthday last year, I told her a liked the ones she had on her Christmas tree and when I asked her why we didn’t have pretty glass baubles hanging up all the time she told me she didn’t know… but maybe we should. Mum told me afterward that Nonna gave me a Christmas decoration for my birthday because she had dementors… but I told mum they weren’t real, and anyway they don’t usually bother muggles. I thought it was the best present I got, probably the best present I ever got. Now I know it was. Nonna died a little while after that. Mum kept telling me that she’s in Heaven, so I guess that’s not so bad.

Jassina left after she broke my bauble, I was really angry at her and I told her I hated her. She said she’d give me her blue glass fish from when she was on holidays in Queensland, but I told her I didn’t want it and she had to go, so she did. I feel bad about telling her I hate her, I don’t think I do really. After she left mum asked me why Jassina left so quickly, I said I don’t know, she said that Jassina was crying, I said “she shouldn’t be; she hasn’t got a right to.” I closed my door on my mum. I don’t usually do that but I thought she’d understand, because I know I looked really upset.

I tip-toed over to my bed because there was still glass on the floor, I hopped up on my bed and leaned over to pick up the biggest piece of glass I could see. It had a purple and gold swirl on it. I missed Nonna right then, and I hoped there weren't any dementors in Heaven, I'm pretty sure there wouldn't be though. I bet there are glass baubles that are hung up all around the place and they never take them down or pack them away, at least I hope so, she’d really like that.

The Nod: Plaid is King

The Nod: Plaid is King

So the first shock of a new university environment has worn off. I’ve made the requisite friends necessary for midnight study companionship and after class beer drinking, I’ve discovered exactly where and when it is best to study according to my preferred level of comfort/concentration, I’ve also found the best labs to find free computers in the afternoon when the conventional spaces are all full. It’s nice, I feel like I conquered the castle and now I’m living cushy all up in it (see what I did there, busting out my hood slang?). But…

Okay there’s one thing I haven’t conquered, the thing I am not a part of, and the desperate socialite that hides underneath the enormous rock of sarcasm that acts as my brain, really wants in. I’ll often be walking around campus, looking as at home there as I could without actually moving in, and I feel good about it. I see scared freshers running around looking as wide eyed as bad anime, while I know I look suave. But every now and then I’ll see an exchange, something that happens in societies where paths cross and mutual respect is a thing, and at tertiary education institutions it is a massive thing. 

The nod. 

The ‘hey, I acknowledge your presence because I respect you’ nod. This new campus is huge, thousands and thousands of students are here, running around the place doing their thing all day every day. I didn’t think the nod would exist here, but it does, and I want in!

The first time I noticed it was the third day of semester, a Wednesday afternoon around four. I remember because I was walking to my first historiography class. I was passing the hulk of a library that dominates the central domain of the campus and I noticed the girl walking a step or so ahead of me. I liked her outfit, plaid jacket pumpkin skinny jeans and scuffed leather ankle boots, bang on trend. Then I glanced up and saw a second girl walking toward the girl in front of me give girl number 1 the nod.

It was brief, barely an ‘I know you and you saw me so I have to acknowledge you.’ nod. But it was a nod none the less. I looked at girl 2 a bit longer as she passed, to see if I could discover a possible source of motivation for such a scant action, but I could discover none and girl 1 climbed the stairs to the library as I continued to ALR:10.

I know that this exchange wouldn’t stay with most people, but social interaction is important, and knowing how and why it happens in a new place is just about the most important thing to learn upon arrival, so I was giving it plenty of time worth of mulling over. I started absent-mindedly writing notes for my historiography class, trying not to remark out loud that my new professor could probably have applied for the role of Professor Trelawney in the Harry Potter movies and felt very confident of getting the part… and then it happened. The moment of same-ness, the common element, the silent accord that had passed between the girls by the library. The reason for the nod. Plaid. 

Girl number 2 had been wearing a plaid shirt under a black demi-vest over mustard jeans with oxfords. I can’t believe I missed it! But now I have my in… I have to find some plaid to wear.