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.

For you

More often that not a simple and unexpected gift is the best, especially if given by someone you deeply care about. 

When alone, at home, my brother showed up and handed me a white daisy.
I decided not to question where he got it from, or why he was giving it to me, but to simply enjoy his thoughtfulness. 

I felt happy for the rest of the day, not worrying about the future or the past, but treasuring the present moment, the only one that belongs entirely to me.

A Rose Bud

One of these roses is what I am right now, the other is what I want and hope to become.

at Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, Lisbon

Rolling Away

I feel you rolling away from me like an unattended four-wheeled suitcase on a ramp.

I can see you moving away right before my eyes, but it’s already too late.

I reach out, desperately trying to hold you close to me for as long as possible, but it’s no use, you’ve built up enough speed to slip away.

I begin to chase after you, but immediately realize you slipped away for a reason: I didn’t care about you enough anymore.

I couldn’t stand it anymore and I just let go.

I was kidding myself into believing I hadn’t done it on purpose, but I had.

I hope there’s someone at the bottom of the ramp to grab you, cushioning your fall or preventing it completely.

I look down and you’re almost out of sight.

I’m alone now.

I glance around me and suddenly realize that’s exactly how I feel: alone.

I look down hoping to still be able to see you, but I can’t.

You’ve left me. 

In Amber

Sunday morning I was baking pancakes. I had the mix ready and started pouring it into the warmed up frying pan, small and slightly undercooked, just how I like them.

Feeling decadent I decided I’d have them with strawberry jam instead of the usual maple syrup. I opened the jar and took a big dollop out, smearing it all over my pancakes, making sure not to leave any corner uncovered. Time to dig in.

A mosquito was buzzing around the kitchen, probably attracted to all the heat and light. I felt it buzz beside my ear and shooed it away. However, the mosquito was momentarily spellbound by the redness of my jam, a gooey red blood ready for him to gulp down greedily. Swooping down, he fell in, sinking into the jam as if it were quicksand, planted there as a trap.

I was about to finish my last pancake when I noticed what seemed to be a small mosquito so I left it on the side. It had too much jam on it anyway. I placed the plate on the counter, too lazy to wash it straight away.

Meanwhile, the mosquito was stuck, initially thriving to escape, but having realized it was no use, ceased to struggle. He was stuck in the redness as if in his own blood. A cruel death he thought, but caused by his own idiocy. The jam hardened and thickened, leaving him incarcerated as if in amber, only to be chucked into the drains later in the day, making his way through the sewers, landing somewhere, but where?

An unlucky photographer

In front of a small chapel in Cyprus, a photographer was waiting to take pictures of the bride and groom when, without warning, they burst out yelling at each other. The marriage hadn’t taken place yet.
Inside, their friends and family sat, anxiously awaiting their return in order for the ceremony to proceed.
Outside, the photographer paced back and forth, already thinking he wouldn’t be able to take any photos and consequently wouldn’t be paid. How would he explain to his wife that he’d been away all day but had received no payment? The last few months had been rough. Not as many people were getting married, or maybe they just didn’t want him as the photographer and, to save money, asked their family to take the pictures.
The couple continued to argue beside him, but he wasn’t listening to a word they were saying. It never even crossed his mind that if he had attempted to speak to them, soothing and calming them, they might have recognized that their argument was petty, hug, make up and go back inside the chapel. Alas, the photographer continued to pace side to side, overcome by his own problems. 

in The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & other stories by Tim Burton