Errand

Tigdh Glesain

In five minutes she would know. The whole philosophical argument about time being a construct, well, that all seemed like so much crap when faced with the possibility of soon having none of it, at least none to spare.

IN six minutes she would know. Six minutes to learn what her future would be made of, and where it would go. Six minutes to reach a point in her now to define the rest of her life. Six minutes and counting.

Her gut tightened, forcing the contents of her stomach up and out, and into a violent spew. The smell was impossible to escape, flooding her nose both inherently and physically, and she retched again. This time she felt something tighten, tear, and separate. The sight of what seemed to be far too much blood, mixed in with the bile and remains of her half-digested breakfast, gave her a panic attack that she quickly brought back under her control. This was not the time for additional lack of focus or distraction. The bleeding would be dealt with later.

The concern that rang most vividly and incessant in her head was not the physical concerns for herself. The lack of mobility was not that unusual in this situation, she knew this. Her experience had shown her too many times that this reaction of the body was typical. Normality was suspended in moments like these, and to the casual observer, she might even have looked inebriated, as though her actions were precipitated by hours of dancing, imbibing of drugs legal and illicit; an overindulgent evening and now the comeuppance.

Except that it was now 2pm, not 2am, and that particular situation she would have relished, grasped at with, in exchange for what was taking place. This, this was something other, and still she knew that her need to gain control would decide her future.

In five minutes she would know. The whole philosophical argument about time being a construct, well, that all seemed like so much crap when faced with the possibility of soon having none of it, at least none to spare. She thought it odd that this stream of thought would visit her here, in this moment, when really all she wanted was to be somewhere else, somewhere safe. No, not somewhere else, nor somewhere safe. She wished, more than anything she could ever remember, to be someone else; to be another, unrealised someone. The person who had inhabited the fringes of her mind, haunted the passages of her unrealised life.

And there it was. The epiphany, the grand gesture, the wake-up call. The vision splendid. She began to weep. Not hugely at first, and in truth, it snuck up on her. Suddenly, almost without announcement, her vision shifted, and she thought that she had begun to swoon, and would pass out, and away. It must be the knock to my head, she supposed, after all that kind of impact would have killed a lesser person. Her rattled consciousness was the one hope she had left, but it now seemed that this was taking its leave.

The view was startling

In that moment, with her vision slanted in that direction, her mind dropped the veil from the facade that now made up her life, and she saw for the first, and possibly the last time who she really was. The view was startling, and like a new pair of glasses that are far too strong for the wearer, she responded by again retching violently. It reached down inside her stomach, and kept going, passing her toes with such ferocity that she felt the soles of her feet peel away.

The vision dragged her down further into herself. A part of the precious remnants of the former she peered in disbelief over the edge from above, and announced that now was not really the time for this. This was totally unfair, it added, and would she mind giving control back to herself. This whole conversation was fucking madness. She knew, and would always know, that she had wasted the allotted time given her, that somehow the choices she was about to make would leave her time to recover, but probably never to heal.

In three minutes she would know. In three minutes she would see the real from the fake, the wanted from the unwanted, the necessary and complete. Fastidiously, she took note as the separation continued, and the centre of who she had always been pulled her further down. At first it seemed as though it was a journey to the core of the planet, but this seemed to take forever, and she imagined there’d be heat and fire and more noise.

Was she gone already? Was this the famous cliche of life flashing before her eyes? Yet how could it be, none of the remaining sensory systems could recall anything like this in her life. Her hair was different, she was taller, and, my god, she had breasts! Her waist was the one she’d always desired, a flat and toned belly, hipbones at that angle, her thighs that length, and for once her feet actually looked like they belonged to her. Why was this not what she truly looked like? Why had she had to put up with all those taunts; she looked like an old woman; she looked like her eyes were put on upside-down; she looked like a crazy witch with that hair. This is not me. This is not me. This not me.

She screamed

In two minutes she would know. She screamed, so hard that she felt her throat rupture. The floating vision shifted again. This time though it was less kind, and this time it hid nothing from her, this time she realised that things were not going to be alright.

Her left knee was burning from pain, and she realised her right eye was closing over. The sounds of inner dialogue were slowly being overhauled by the returning sounds of the city; people yelling, screaming, crying and the ever present sirens. Her stomach tightened for the final time, and she watched in amazement at the scene beyond the third virulent puddle in front of her.

The road was awash with her things, her bike, her glasses, her courier bag, and sickeningly, her shattered and ragged lower left leg. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fucking fuck, fuck, FUCK! This can’t be fuckin’ happening. The day had started so well; sex, breakfast, sex, a late start — the first in ages, a day of euphoria and hope after months of shitty, shitty, shitty.

In one minute she would know. What she did not know were the faces of the people gathered around her, strangers to her, all know attempting to save her. The woman that looked like a teacher, the man who looked like a lawyer, the kid with the coffee house shirt, the guy with the truckies’ uniform, the ambulance officers, the passers-by, standing and gawking at her sideshow. She knew none of them, yet they were all trying to help. They were all talking, loudly, softly, expertly, apologising.

Then she knew, she knew by the look in their eyes. She knew what she had always known, that she had only a certain amount of time allotted to her, and she had used it all up. There was nothing they could do except to be with her, and hold her, and help make her comfortable, and tell her everything would be okay, that she looked beautiful still. She knew they were lying, but she loved them just the same. With ten seconds to go, she shut her eyes.

Tigdh Glesain

I’m a one ‘half’ seventh generation Taswegian
I arrived in Campbell Town
The other half is much older

I have lived all over the state (and been in many states around the
state), Lachlan Valley, Savage River, Ulverstone, Launceston, Lilydale,
Hobart, and have had long stays in a few other places along the East
Coast and Central Highlands

I have lived and travelled over a lot of the North Island
I have visited South East Asia, Scotland and England, and want to live
in Japan for a time
I don’t need to leave home to know what home means
I’m glad I did

I am a professional musician
I once studied and worked as a Fitter and Turner
I stop sunlight from fading my wallpaper with a University Degree

I write obsessively
I play music obsessively
I am a shit-stirring creative type
I research obsessively

I am a life long student of Judo – it supplies me with the the basis
for my interactions with people

I speak Gaelic
I laugh in French
I swear in German
I question in Japanese

I wonder where my first lover is

I have no respect for bastardising
I have no respect for authority figures who feel that we owe them
something
I have no respect for the majority of journalists in this state,
present company and a few newcomers accepted

I can’t work in retail cos I won’t toe the party line – trinkets and
baubles

I am a Green voting Socialist
I make no money, and I’m most definitely not on welfare
I believe in ‘lean thinking’ as a model for rebuilding our industries
Some times, there are so many reasons to do something, but only one is
needed

My dreds are fine
My arse looks huge in this hat
My mother is Scottish
My Father isn’t
My Nan is 86 years old today

Richard Flanagan should be Premier
Science is the new Christianity
Consumerism is the new Religion
Nuclear is an option, a really bad one

Look up

I weigh more than I want to
I totaled my back in a car crash in 1998, but I lived to walk again
The car was fine

I will never let anybody treat me without respect for as long as I draw
breath

I am writing two books – One called “Errand”, the other called “On
Lavender Mountains”
I wrote a short story called “Flushed”, cos I wasn’t, then sold it
I grow some of my own veggies and fruit

I’ll stop there…
Tigdh (O: