| Barbara Taylor
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| Alienation Revisited "It's your girlfriend who's got a problem!" I retaliated, feeling the Shiraz induced emotions climax, simmering with held back tears. "Okay, okay. Call your friend, see if I can go there, please? I gathered my few belongings that were already a visible landmark in their intimate and intense domain. From the start, I had been an intruder, but wanted to be received as a visitor. Here I am - there again - nightfall, clutching a map without a torch; looking for a door without a key. Uncomfortable times. Brightness became darkness. "Write down where I'm headed," I pleaded, painfully, panicky. I had been only two days in this country, didn't know the city. Strangely, this same episode of rejection and retreat, had crossed my mind en route from the airport to Kim's place. Through the cab window, I had tried to follow signs. The journey was speedy, each frame a giant multi-media image, a screen of blinding rain and flashing neons. Now it was late, foggy outside. Alienation revisited. After one last survey of the large airy lounge, I checked the bathroom - an extra, unknown toothbrush or foreign underwear can cause great havoc in a lesbian's life. I had to trust that Kim would help me. In no time I had zipped my backpack, strapped myself with passport and money-belt security, the return ticket, neatly folded in a secret side pocket. On smoky streets nearby this supremacist-guarded enclosure, beggars, thieves, and the deprived awaited the exodus of its inhabitants. In-your-face guilt was high. Inflation was high. Drugs were high. Discrimination was high. Disease was high. Death was high. My hopes were not high. "I'll drive you there," Kim offered, in a softer tone. " I'll just say where I'm going, it'll be cool." She left the room. Without validation, her psychiatrist partner would invariably create more hostility. I rejoiced in the quiet space to be, for I was beyond listening to their conversations, no longer wished to play within their bizarre and interpersonal psychodramatics. Get out now, obviously this was prudent, my integrity at stake. But the sadness was real. All, she the psych could say is, "it's so classic". Classic? Classic what, I ask? Kim returned. "We can go now. Come on. I want to." I took a cigarette from my packet. Kim zoomed forward, flicked on her flashy gold - struck up a momentary brightness. Her spontaneity amused, distracted my gloomy thoughts on fear of freedom. "Ready? This just won't work here." The gas flame flickered. I cupped Kim's hand, inhaled and blew out long puffs of poison. Her fingers were shaking. Kim's stare pierced. I wanted to grab her, pull her close, pretend that all in the world was beautiful, and this was but a nasty dream. She telephoned, told her friend we'd be right over. I heard her whisper, "Hey, your plan's worked really well. My darling wants me more than ever!" |
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Copyright © 2000 Barbara Taylor All Rights Reserved |
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