November 25, 2007
Thats the way my love is.
The film is thick all over the bath tub, the tiles and the shower curtain. I spray the bathroom cleaner everything releasing the toxic fumes into the air. It even feels toxic as it hits me and soon I am lying on the floor...
Chocolate. I love it. The taste of pure dark chocolate with the sweet minty center of each and every After Eight square is pure delight. One after another they go in. It is quite simply... unstoppable. One box sits open and all the empty black wrappers lay all over the place. The second box is also open as the twenty-first square enters my mouth sending me into oblivion.
Flash back almost one year ago when I passed out after endulging in too much of the same drug. Traces of the chocolate and mint running down the side of my mouth, all over my hands and fret of my guitar. A red and white guitar whose graphics mimic those of Eddy Van Halens' famed stringed wonder.
The funeral went well. It was time well spent with relatives which I rarely see and actually quite bad on my part as it seems that it has taken such an event in my life to reconnect with the only cousins I have in the greater vancouver area. They, the surviving two sons of my late aunt sat through the ceremony besides their father. Occasionally getting up to bow and pay respect to their mother and all those who have come to do the same. Large displays of fresh flowers stand at the front as the Bhuddist organization sang and prayed for my aunt in her new life.
While waiting for the ceremony to begin, the eldest of the two sons reflected back on the last time we were all here at this same place. A group portrait was taken and he noticed that 'he was the only one smiling'. He wasn't old enough to fully comprehend the situation and so when the photographer told everyone to look at the camera, he did what he thought was normal. Smile for a picture. That time it was my grandfather who had died. This time it is his mother. This time he is crying. They are all crying.
We took the flowers from the front and placed them all around my grandfathers burial site. One plot of land sits empty waiting to be filled. My grandmother stands over the plaque unphased. I wonder what she is thinking. I did not ask though she was not silent. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, Starla.
I wake up. Traces of the toxic fumes are still in the air but not as strong as before. The solution of cleaning fluid and soap film has dissolved but dried again. A quick rinse and I will be able to make out a clear reflection of myself on the bottom of the tub.