How To Build A Skeleton Heart: love letters
29 October 2009
In my dream last night we were back at gatehouse drive. You were lying on my couch in your usual attire. I was in my pyjama bottoms, a t shirt and a button up hooded top. You were smiling at me as I came over and lay on top of you, moulding my body to yours. I wrapped my arms around your neck and you wrapped your arms around me tight. We lay just like that without any raunchiness or animalistic ravishing. I felt so contented and my housemates wandered around the house. They passed us on the way out the back to get stoned in the pit of despair. M and K was walking around making noises and talking in funny voices.
Time passed and the scene changed
to a crowded party. I could not find you amongst the crowds of people milling
around and Bon Iver was blaring from the stereo. People were all around me but
I only wanted to find you. I was slowly getting panicky and scared. I had lost
you. You were nowhere to be found amongst all these strangers that I cared
nothing for. They had no faces. I began to wander from group to group with the
dawning paranoia that perhaps you were
hiding from me. Perhaps you were watching my growing distress with
pleasure. It was all a game to you.
I was awakened to find tears on
my cheeks and a whisper from a panicky JP.
Jess, Jessie!’ She stage
whispered. ‘’There is a mouse in our room!’
This rather confident mouse had
scurried across the floorboards and stopped in between our beds to stare at
her, before scurrying under my wardrobe.
We sat up in bed and stared at each other from our respective side of
the room. Mice I can handle. I am a farm girl after all.
JP and I laugh and feel in awe about our relationship since sharing a room, it has intensified and deepened. Sadly the dream of our money making scheme, never came into fruition: The gritty arty film entitled When Good Jesses Go Bad And Have No Money For food, will never get made due to a lack of funds and equipment.
We have born witness to the other ones crushing
lows and euphoric highs of emotional turbulence. We have seen each other cry
tears of rage and frustration at our attempts to wade our way through the
overwhelming pressure this city puts you under.
Shifty land lords and creepy housemates. We have made our own fun in
this large room with the big bay windows. I have done overdramatic reading of
her writing and my own. Dancing up a
storm to cheesy songs that we loved as children. Played the best of the
Divynals repeatedly and had the South African family ( a mother and her two
grown up kids in their 30s) living in the room below us complain about the
noise. We apologized for getting carried
away and turned the music down.
One night as we were getting
ready for bed, JP got into her bed and looked at me.
‘Jessie, I have decided I know
who you are.’’
‘Really?’ I asked, as I got into
my bed. ‘Who am I?’
‘You are the living manifestation
of my alter ego whom I call Ruby.’
‘Wow that’s awesome.’
‘Yep, it’s true when I am at the
cinema putting up with that bitch. I think what would Little Jess do? ‘
‘Because I speak my mind and have
an in your face humanity?’
‘’I AM A DEMI GOD! BOW BEFORE ME
OR FEEL MY FURY. POSTULATE OR PERISH.’
We giggle. Outside the wind blows
a gale and our neighbours have a loud and public domestic in their driveway.
Wish you were here. It seems
trite but the sentiment behind the words is not.