It wasn't the car that wouldn't
start that woke me, but the man swearing about the car that wouldn't start. There
was little to do now but take in her sour breath and closed pistachio eyes.
Each pistachio had its own horizon. I allowed myself to explore either side and
discovered a sea and a sky.
In the sea I took delight in
trawling the sandy floor for shells and mines and lost treasure; I lunched with
dolphins and did breathing classes with puffer fish. In the sky I met different
gases that had made it as stars and birds of prey who'd lost their mind ingesting
wild African acid.
I also found a place.
A place where anything could
exist. Science wasn't called Science,
it didn't have a name at all. In this place one could sculpt their own body;
enlarging breasts, brightening eyes, shortening feet. There was no war or Big
Brother or famine or street fashion blogs. It was Paradise.
But the car wouldn't start
again and the pistachio opened and the horizon disappeared and for brief
moments I was lost in the real world. Until a smell drew me in and I kissed her
and mentioned that it was love I was feeling for her. She reciprocated, except,
on the end of her admission she added the Proper Noun, ‘Robbie’. And that made
me happy because it was personalised. And I forgot about the place where
Science wasn’t called Science,
because I could always set my alarm early and visit again tomorrow.
