I’ve come to know Thai culture pretty well, but today was my first encounter with the pure belief that I might be in the process of getting knocked out.
When she pressed the cold menthol smelling cloth over my face my first instinct was to rip it off and leap up. I may have even moved an inch todo so. But I get into mental games of my own very quick sometimes and so I stayed still and decided that at the slightest feeling of faint or dizzy, I would bolt. I even thought of what positions my legs were in and whether or not I should move them to make for a faster leap. I had whoations of panic. I was feeling light headed, wasn’t I? She had looked at me oddly upon entry into the massage room, hadn’t she? She would have stolen my phone by now, wouldn’t she have? These questions genuinely laced themselves into my brain current. I made the very conscious effort to control my breathing and after each intake, I did a quick assessment.
I didn’t wake up in the back of a covered pick up truck. I didn’t wake bound in ropes or in a pit of snakes. I didn’t even wake
because I didn’t even sleep.
I didn’t know what chloroform smelled like, but I do now because I looked it up thinking that if ever such an event happened again, and it WAS the real thing, I would know.
Shadow of large long branch on beige wall. Moving because that’s the moves of the century. Moving because that’s the way to feel the world.
And conversation with parents voices. In my headphone ears. One was in Canada. And the other in Brazil. And there I sat in Thailand, on a wooden bench with bats winging around my head.
Special feelings are ones where only certain people or things can make happen. They can be small. Like shadows on walls. Or big. Like family.
They can be big like culture. Culture doesnt fit in my head. It comes bustin out of my ears and I write about it like I’m reliving it and all those feelings comes swimming over. Easily.
Small things that poke your mind and feels good. A connection. Within yourself. Like you’re the one laughing at your own joke. The joke you told inside your head. Because her hands massaging my face, smelled like a bubble bath I had years ago. Because that smell rolled up a memory and a frame of time I hadn’t thought of in years. And love gets to be both big and small. Because small things can happen and you connect it with love. And big things happen that we attach love to, too. Like proposing. I’ve never been proposed marriage before. But I’m married. And have been proposed hundreds of things.
And it is later than what it was earlier So that’s usually a good a sign as any To get into the clouds of Sleepville.