sublingua

(Be present.)

(It's past.)

(Go there now.)

Part I: When Teeth Go Bad.

I have been plagued by what I think is an infection beneath the gum behind one of my molars (in a space left when my wisdom teeth were removed). It hurts like hell and, until I can get to a dentist, the pain is only controlled by copious amounts of otc painkillers.

Part II: When Dreams Go Bad.

Perhaps I was related to them somehow. I don't remember. I had quarreled with the woman--an older woman--elderly, I mean--and fragile. Her husband was an old black man who wore glasses and shuffled around the neighborhood with a cane. He wore light brown pants--like work pants--and a tan shirt, button-down. I had purchased a few small things and meant to leave a black lighter on their porch (somehow feeling as though I owed it to the woman). I climbed the stairs onto their porch, meaning only to leave the lighter and not speak to either of them. The husband came up, walked up behind me, and invited me in. I knew it would be rude to refuse, so I went inside with him. The woman was lying in bed--the bed was in the living room--and she half sat up as I came in. I didn't greet her. The husband and I went into the kitchen. He began to scramble some eggs. He put the eggs in a pan, added spices and began to stir them over the stove burner. He pulled them off and tasted them. I could see that they were still half-uncooked. He offered them to me out of the pan, on the spoon he had been using to stir them with. I hate eggs, so I refused them, but politely. He made some comment--one of those to himself but really directed at me comments, like, "Oh, so she won't eat eggs..." A reminder to me that I was supposed to conform to his expectations of behavior. I said, solidly, "I don't like eggs. I'm not going to eat them."

He held the pan, but he was so angry that it was shaking. His whole body stiffened and then he threw the spoon and pan of eggs against the wall. (Was there a window there?) I ran out of the house, not willing to deal with his anger.

As I ran out, I realized that I had just run out of my grandmother's house. I ran down the street that is almost catty-corner to her front door. I was running hard, my feet pounding against the pavement. I nearly ran into this girl, almost a young woman, and I yelled at her (?) or thought about yelling at her to get out of my way.

I woke up, thinking about my grandmother and her anger and the food and where exactly my dislike of eggs must come from. The girl, too, whose path intersected mine was that girl who I was supposed to have been, the girl who doesn't look up, the girl who I am trying to present to the Aisho-san.

Part III: When Kids Go Bad.

I spoke to my mother last night, but I am not yet able to tackle this particular subject. Why? Here's an example: The last time I saw her, her only comment to me was, "You're getting too skinny!" whispered in my ear as she hugged me. Then, after asking me and being assured that I was too small to fit into them, she went ahead and sent down a box of clothes that are four to six sizes larger than anything I'm wearing right now.

Part IV: Going, Going...

The last fractured entry was not specifically designed to throw off any and all curiosity seekers. Though I think it may have. Not that it matters. My blood-based demons have scattered in the recent spate of sunshine-filled days, only to be replaced by newer, more invasive demons.