I’m sitting on my couch with bubble wrap in one hand and a mosquito bat in the other. ‘POP’- the electrically fried mosquitos irk to this hemispherical plastic destruction. But this is nirvana to my ears, each bubble is a face I cant remember, they are those places that fade away like a mirage, they are the flickering memories that come and go.
I can sense a mosquito halo around my head and as the halo breaks into a single grey little malaria causing clump in front of my face, I can see a young man whose been staring at me from the other corner with dark circled bags full of remorse under his eyes. ‘MOM’ he says with a stern 25ish tone. I smile back at this face that was very similar to someone’s I once fell in love with.In this case his father’s probably But what was his name damn it?
‘POP’ today I just love bubble wrap I think I always have. I love how it’s filled with just air; just imagine if there was water inside them. I hate water it reminds me of the tears these strangers shed in front of me, the sympathy that I get for this disease I have.The disease I cant remember the disease that doesn’t let me remember.
Mom do you want me to read to you tonight? My supposedly son asks me. Stranger or son I don’t think I’m programmed to say no to Maya Angelou. He reads the one ‘on ageing’-
‘But aint I lucky I can still breathe in’ we both end in unison.Now my bubble wrap is wet. I told you, I hate this salty fluid rolling down my face.
’Can I give you a hug mom?’ I nodded yes. Strangely it felt like something I knew, something I remembered, and something so pure. And ‘POP ‘ went the last one on the sheet.
