there is a lot of lameness in my heart, but i will not dwell on that right now, because there is also a lot of light 😀
Let me tell you a story.
Marise, this post is for you ^^
Some months ago she’d gotten the usual anxiety signs – lack of hunger, restlessness, tight muscles. In these moments cooking is taboo, but ordering in is a way to tempt the barricaded senses. So she calls Debonairs, I can’t remember what she ordered but it was probably a medium veg, with no peppadews. Name, number, address. The usual telephonic rituals with some poor lady who works long shifts and has no patience for these confusing names and unknown street addresses. tee, pee,boo, kwa – after twelve hours behind the counter you don’t really give a damn anymore. Maybe she feels like God creating new names for those on the other side – they’re too far to complain; her transcription is holy. Maybe she’s just tired and confused.
The pizza arrived, and on the till slip (which she always read, because, well, you’ll soon discover the discovery she made a while before) it said
On the other side of campus, in one of the newer residences, with corridors that all looked the same – same colour scheme, same width (or lack thereof) of each corridor, each door a replica of the next, tempting one to believe that the souls contained in these room-boxes were replicas too – there was a girl ordering Steers. At least she, I know, is no replica. She’s quite unlike anyone I’ve met before. Anyway, she was just ordering Steers. Name, number, address, asked with the same trite dissatisfaction you hear behind the counter at Debonairs.
The delivery man drops off the slip stapled to the paper bag, it says
The two girls sit in front of their respective screens, a couple of kilometres apart, kept separate all the time because of timetables, schedules, res hours, the clock on the wall, deadlines, commitment. But they share their silly stories. To you it’s probably one of those absurd moments, one of those “you had to be there type of thing”. But for them it’ a spark, a connection of some kind (maybe it’s not, maybe I just zoom in on non-events and turn them into poetic such-and-suches. Whatever. It meant something), enough to make them both smile, enough to conjure up some more ideas about their not-so-hypothetical-anymore band, now potentially called Molife and Maphina.
Tegan and Sara better watch out.