by John Foxx (Beneath-Shady-Devastated)
One arid summer’s day, I contemplated a water glass and the cliche about it either being half full or half empty. I reached for the lower half, which felt cool to the touch, wet with perspiration up to the edge of the top part, which was hot and dry. The empty part, while clear, but smudged, resembled the current climate. Beads of moisture rolled down my fingertips and on all sides of the vessel. The sky blue napkin underneath, was soaked and formed a soggy textured, deeper colored ring where it touched the base. I drank the water, and while devoid of flavor, it left a bitter, chemical aftertaste. The minerals, numbering in the parts per million, were enough to leave their mustard gas like aroma in my throat. The dry area near the top of the glass quickly shrank back to resume its previous state.
If looked at properly, the dry part wasn’t dry at all, actually, it was full as well, but without the obvious distinctions that make it wondrous. You might think it doesn’t matter which part is worth consuming, but the air is there, and to a degree, has its share of what exists below. I couldn’t completely live for either half, without knowing the dissatisfaction of not having enough of either element. I have had both regularly to be sure, but would really prefer to be the container, and not the contents.
Jeanie sat across from me at the table, silent, but smiling anyway, possibly about some inner joke, but I couldn’t really tell. The memory of her sweet voice sank low into me, and had lasted a lifetime; forty years earlier, we were friends first, but then life mates, later. When we met, I asked her to show me everything and she did, but then revealed much more. Her prescriptions told the whole story of past battles, which had recently returned; she had smiled while explaining the pills favorable functions, but frowned when talking about their unseen and hideous effects. Many of which were hidden, till made public only recently. What was beneath the clever subtext I wondered? Was it ever really medicine?
Good or bad, the meds helped her feel like she finally had everything, or really, any non material thing, a person should want. Her aura decayed at a slower rate, than it did for everyone else, she was full of energy at all times, and full of smiles. Now, most of what was once there is sadly gone, forty years later. I often wondered, was it shady where she is now, or always sunny? Like a Raggedy Ann Doll, she had no discernible form. She didn’t always return my gaze, or engage; she would just sit still, but then move with a small burst of energy for some purpose or need. On occasions, when she did mentally surface, it was always very short lived, but it was what I waited for each day. Those brief moments, when we would reconnect, always replenished me. Sadly, those precious moments were happening less and less frequently each day. Her glass was finally empty, but she didn’t seem to notice, she reached for it anyway. I placed mine in front of her and she consumed it without noticing that the glass in front of her was no longer hers.
Hours passed, and a warm breeze flowed between, and then around us, whispering through the leathery and wax like leaves of the nearby Firethorn bush, from which, its bright red berries signaled the fruit’s bitter flavor. I leaned over to kiss her cheek and she smiled, perhaps not even really knowing who it was that reached through her sunny cloud. She tried to speak, but only relayed a message that was garbled in meaning, but was meant for me, nonetheless. The exercise left me devastated, but with each acknowledgment, I knew we could continue to meet somewhere in the middle of that haze each day, between life and death. We are, for both of us, the contents and the container, half full or half empty, it is our glass.
One arid summer’s day, I contemplated a water glass and the cliche about it either being half full or half empty. I reached for the lower half, which felt cool to the touch, wet with perspiration up to the edge of the top part, which was hot and dry. The empty part, while clear, but smudged, resembled the current climate. Beads of moisture rolled down my fingertips and on all sides of the vessel. The sky blue napkin underneath, was soaked and formed a soggy textured, deeper colored ring where it touched the base. I drank the water, and while devoid of flavor, it left a bitter, chemical aftertaste. The minerals, numbering in the parts per million, were enough to leave their mustard gas like aroma in my throat. The dry area near the top of the glass quickly shrank back to resume its previous state.
If looked at properly, the dry part wasn’t dry at all, actually, it was full as well, but without the obvious distinctions that make it wondrous. You might think it doesn’t matter which part is worth consuming, but the air is there, and to a degree, has its share of what exists below. I couldn’t completely live for either half, without knowing the dissatisfaction of not having enough of either element. I have had both regularly to be sure, but would really prefer to be the container, and not the contents.
Jeanie sat across from me at the table, silent, but smiling anyway, possibly about some inner joke, but I couldn’t really tell. The memory of her sweet voice sank low into me, and had lasted a lifetime; forty years earlier, we were friends first, but then life mates, later. When we met, I asked her to show me everything and she did, but then revealed much more. Her prescriptions told the whole story of past battles, which had recently returned; she had smiled while explaining the pills favorable functions, but frowned when talking about their unseen and hideous effects. Many of which were hidden, till made public only recently. What was beneath the clever subtext I wondered? Was it ever really medicine?
Good or bad, the meds helped her feel like she finally had everything, or really, any non material thing, a person should want. Her aura decayed at a slower rate, than it did for everyone else, she was full of energy at all times, and full of smiles. Now, most of what was once there is sadly gone, forty years later. I often wondered, was it shady where she is now, or always sunny? Like a Raggedy Ann Doll, she had no discernible form. She didn’t always return my gaze, or engage; she would just sit still, but then move with a small burst of energy for some purpose or need. On occasions, when she did mentally surface, it was always very short lived, but it was what I waited for each day. Those brief moments, when we would reconnect, always replenished me. Sadly, those precious moments were happening less and less frequently each day. Her glass was finally empty, but she didn’t seem to notice, she reached for it anyway. I placed mine in front of her and she consumed it without noticing that the glass in front of her was no longer hers.
Hours passed, and a warm breeze flowed between, and then around us, whispering through the leathery and wax like leaves of the nearby Firethorn bush, from which, its bright red berries signaled the fruit’s bitter flavor. I leaned over to kiss her cheek and she smiled, perhaps not even really knowing who it was that reached through her sunny cloud. She tried to speak, but only relayed a message that was garbled in meaning, but was meant for me, nonetheless. The exercise left me devastated, but with each acknowledgment, I knew we could continue to meet somewhere in the middle of that haze each day, between life and death. We are, for both of us, the contents and the container, half full or half empty, it is our glass.