Scribbler's Cafe

Insects like me

Junichiro Tanikazi wrote that in Japan, before a home is built, first the roof is constructed, as though opening a great parasol to throw a shadow upon the earth in which to make a dwelling place. Beauty and comfort find welcome and reflection in the shadows of darkness.

Divorce. Before I could rebuild myself, I threw a great shadow over my existence. I plunged myself and all that surrounded me into darkness. Only in the shroud of artificial twilight was I able to gather enough strength to break my marriage into pieces small enough to sweep out the door.

My actions horrified almost all that bore witness, but that is the point of dim light, to conceal. I need to act without concern for the eyes that track me. If I gave mortal judgement audience, I would falter and stall. All my terrible momentum would be lost. My marriage would defeat me.

I stole away today, alone, to the florist’s café. Her handsome young brother is making me coffee. The sound of the waterfall blends with the tumbling arias flowing from unseen speakers. At the marble table behind me, a woman is practicing ikebana (Japanese flower arrangement). The sweet sting of fresh cut greens envelopes me.

Ahh, the sage advice of LL cool J: Remember hot mama, sweet mama, little mama, there is no love until you love yourself.

So here I sit, with book and pen and strong black coffee, trying desperately to love myself. I am not yet ready to return to the light.

The entire country of Japan I treat as though my sullen dark corner. America is the center of the world (room), proudly naked and bare, lit by fluorescents. I sulk in the shadows on the edge of the world. Keep your bright lights averted. This year I seek the audience of fireflies, common roaches and other people like me drawn to dark depths.

The sisterhood of the roaches – how I love the name, the deep repulsion, sweet embrace and graphic possibilities. I see roaches in high heels, roaches with glitzy handbags, roaches with books and black ink, roaches crawling across red red lips. Thing of the t-shirt possibilities. Excuse my while I go doodle….

I steal into the bathroom to contemplate this roach princess in the gilded mirror. This past year of grief and excess that left me prettier than ever before. The weight I lost gave me back my mother’s sharp cheekbones. I have grown confident in my sexuality and comfortable with my girlhood, so my hair is no longer cropped short or dyed three shades too dark. It hangs in loose, soft waves around my face, my shoulders and is lit by natural highlights that haven’t been allowed to see the light of day since I was a freshman in high school and discovered Clairol hair coloring. And, now I am lonely. The wide eyes of a hungry, open heart are irresistible – if not else, completely terrifying.

posted by Scribbler @ Thursday, May 18, 2006