French Toast?

While I was in London, celebrating… actually I’m not sure celebrating is the right word, as I ‘celebrate’ way too often for it to be considered special anymore. Anyway, one night in London I went to a party at a building that, in my drunken mind, appeared to be St Paul’s Cathedral, although for all I know it might’ve been a dark and dirty alley. There was only a handful of people around me, and suddenly I was handed a wristband while someone whispered in my ear: ‘here – this will get you into the restricted areas…’. I started wandering around and walked into a few rooms where I found some old ladies selling random items from their homes to tourists. They were saying that those items were relics and vintage items when in reality, or at least to me, they just looked like their old and unloved crockery and other ‘rarities’. I carried on stumbling through the rooms, and came across a room where an old lady was hunched over her stove. The door had been ajar and I had assumed it was another room I could go into. I had heard someone in the background, or in my mind, saying ‘don’t go in there, she’s crazy’, but I didn’t listen. Curiosity killed the cat, but it didn’t kill me.

As soon as I walked in to this elusive room because the old lady inside was cooking something so I asked if I could help. She glanced over her shoulder in order to take in who the intruder was. She didn’t say anything for a while, then finally answered: ‘okay, fine, but don't talk and do as I say. You promise not to talk right?’. I just looked at her and nodded. She brought out some ingredients from the pantry for what I could only assume was French toast. She was a woman of few words and didn’t say much, but I could see from the stove that she’d just finished a batch of French toast. As she handed me the ingredients I began to question why she needed more of it. She was quite a petite lady and I couldn’t imagine she would be able to get through all of that food. Considering how drunk I was, I probably could’ve eaten both batches though… that is beside the point of course.

As I started to make the recipe she seemed frustrated and fidgety and said that I wasn't doing it the way her husband used to. So I started talking and asked what I needed to do so we could get the recipe right. She stood up abruptly and went back to the pantry from where she now emerged with some old French toast she had saved. I must have had a disgusted look on my face as she immediately stated: ‘This was the last batch my husband made before he passed’. She said this matter-of-factly, as if this statement was supposed to remove any feelings of nausea my face must have been transmitting. I didn’t say anything so she carried on: ‘the one you’re making needs to look like this’.

Once I’d had a long hard stare, my drunk mind coming to terms with the fact that I desperately needed to sober up to fully take in what was happened. The lady and I started chatting more. She seemed to live in her own world, a world in which her only purpose was to try and perfect this French toast. She admitted to me: ‘at my age it's so sad that I always live in my own head’. And I said: ‘no at my age it's worse. I should be off in the world living real life. Instead here I am wasting away my youth getting drunk out of my face. I mean, I probably won’t remember most of this when I wake up tomorrow morning’. Saying this immediately added to my increasing sobriety and I went on to tell her, ‘you being in your own world is actually kind of good. After years of acting logical and responsible for real life things, it is rare for someone your age to have such a child-like sense of wonder and imagination’. We then both sat there. Her living a fantasy life in which her aim was solely to recreate the perfect French toast recipe that reminded her of her husband and me outside of my head and connecting with another person but also thinking about how much my head was going to hurt the next day.

Thank you to Andrea Aguilar for the dreamspiration :)

Coffee mug

I went to get a mug of coffee and, for the first time, I actually glanced into the pot of coffee granules. I thought I could see cobwebs enmeshed between and joining the little flecks of coffee. I didn’t quite know what to think. 

I continued to move the coffee and sift through the pot to see what I could find. I examined the pot in detail from the outside and from the inside but I couldn’t find anything unusual. I began to think my mind was playing tricks on me, and that because my coffee was organic there was just some dust and dirt still present. 

I considered throwing it out, but the coffee had been expensive and it was a lovely chocolate-flavoured variety that I just couldn’t fathom not having at that precise moment. I was weighing my options: should I just go to the library and buy myself a Tall Americano at Starbucks for £2 or just risk this one and save money? As the broke student that I was, I opted for the latter. 

I scooped out a sizeable spoonful and placed it in my empty mug. It looked normal and it smelled normal, apart from the cobweb-looking stuff. I hesitated again, and poured the hot water. The heart-warming smell of full-bodied coffee reached my nose. Bliss. I enjoyed a long breath of it with my eyes closed, opening them languidly as if awakening from Shavasana at the end of a yoga lesson. I looked down and to my horror I saw the coffee water move. I watched it closely, and again I saw something move like a small turmoil underwater. I was incredulous, I could not tear my eyes or hands away from my mug. I peered in, straining my eyes to see what it was precisely. What I saw, you might think unsurprisingly, was a spider. However, it was like one of those grow-in-water toys you could get as a kid that would start off as a small piece of polymer and would grow and grow and grow. In this case the spider was alive and it really was growing and I was petrified – not the best combination considering the mug was still in my hand. The spider was now the size of my mug’s circumference. Its claws suddenly clasped on to the sides of the rim of the mug, just above where my fingers were. I dropped the mug and I passed out.

Raindrop

I was enjoying being in my mother’s warm embrace, but she was feeling heavy and wanted me and my brothers and sisters to leave the nest. I didn’t know what to think… the prospect of dropping out and never being able to come back to that exact spot worried me. It all seemed so final, as if letting go was my sole aim in life.

My siblings were braver than I was and I suddenly found myself alone. I didn’t know what to do, but a sudden gust of wind provided me with the confidence I needed – either that or it gave me a more than subtle push… And that was that. I was airborne. I felt light and carefree. I could see for miles below me.

Yet I could feel the ground nearing at a fast pace, but I was still in denial, just enjoying the view. I could see the busy streets of London becoming more delineated as I came pouring down. Yet another sudden gust of wind hit me, and changed my course completely. My peaceful descent was suddenly dampened.
I started to worry. What exactly was going to happen when I reached the ground? Would I be reunited with my brothers and sisters? I could still see some of them a few meters below me… I tried closing my eyes and opening them again, in an attempt to wake up someplace else. I did not want the end to be so near, and yet, the ground was just below me. Just like that – SPLAT – I joined my family and formed a puddle.

Special thanks to Alex Kozak for the dream inspiration. 

An exercise of cultivation

I had been complaining to a friend, saying I needed to go to the dentist. There had been something bothering me and I didn’t have a good feeling about it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the sort of person who hates going to the dentist. Yes, I know I’m odd, but hey, when you’re a kid and spend a hefty amount of time sitting in your dentist’s chair every month because of your braces, you just get used to the whole procedure and the bright light environment. I’m going off on a tangent, sorry.

So yes, I was telling my friend that it felt like I’d broken a tooth as it had started off as a nagging feeling in one of my molars – a constant throbbing. I had thought it might be a cavity developing, but somehow it didn’t quite feel like that was the case… something just wasn’t normal.

I called my dentist and was annoyed when he told me the only appointment he had was in a week’s time. So I just went into my bathroom, picked up my ultra magnifying mirror, the sort that shows you all your imperfections (why we even buy these I don’t know – something to use when we feel like torturing ourselves?). I couldn’t believe my eyes: it looked like a little stick was poking out of my tooth. I ran my finger over it and it did feel just like a little twig. I was speechless. It definitely wasn't a cavity, but then what on Earth was it? (If it was, indeed, Earthly... and here I am getting away from myself again, sorry.)

I paced around the bathroom. I couldn’t just leave it there. Eating anything now that I had seen what was on, or in?, my tooth just wouldn’t feel right. So I tentatively tried tugging at it. It budged slightly. I felt like a gardener digging up a tree stump. I gave it another tug, this time a little stronger and it popped out, roots and all. It was probably only a few milimetres in length, but it was still impressive. I was ogling it when my friend walked into the bathroom asking what I’d been doing. She saw the tiny black fleck between my fingers and figured it was dirt, so left me to wash my hands. But I had another idea – I was going to try and plant the little twig.

I found an empty peanut butter jar I’d finished earlier in the day and moved some dirt from another flowerpot and gently placed my little companion inside. I put it in my room, hidden by the curtains in hopes nobody would see it and throw it out. I went out for the day and when I returned I immediately went to check on my jar, but it looked the same.

The next few days I almost forgot about it, hidden away in my room. But when I got a call reminding me I had a dentist’s appointment that afternoon, I had a sudden jolt of anxiety. I went over to my window and pulled back the curtain to reveal a little tree, like a Japanese bonsai tree still in early phases of development. I decided that since my tooth wasn’t even bothering me anymore, I would go to the dentist and show him my little trophy. So off I went.

My dentist greeted me with open arms and a joyful smile:

‘So honey, what seems to be the matter?’ he asked.

To which I answered: ‘Nothing now, actually. I thought I had broken a tooth but it turns out I just had a little tree growing out of it’.

He nodded solemnly, but with a slight twinkle in his eye.

‘I always knew you were a little bit special…’ he said. ‘Did you bring it with you perchance?’

‘Of course I did!’. And feeling like the little child who used to sit in that chair every month again, I grabbed my empty jar of peanut butter and proudly handed it to him. He ogled it for a few moments. And said:

‘I guess we spent so much time molding and sculpting your teeth that they decided to gift you with something they knew you could take care of in the long-term’.
Not questioning my dentist’s judgement I left feeling proud of myself. He had trusted me to take care of my teeth, and now my teeth had trusted me with a bonsai tree. This all seemed normal to me.