Saturday, September 9

Child of Saturn

Nuir d’été, 1890 (Musée d’Orsay)
Homer Winslow (1836-1910)



Something clicked into place inside me. I awoke with a start, jumped out of bed as the sun rose, and started cleaning my room. I threw open all the windows, scrubbed the floorboards, dusted my bookshelves, and changed the sheets. I rearranged the furniture with Herculean determination; I would have torn down walls and transplanted my room to a sunnier spot had I not realized that I was only renting a room and did not own the place. General cleaning was in order.

This could be the effect of the Full Moon or it could be that I just got tired of being tired. I spent the whole day yesterday in bed, nursing a colossal hangover. I didn’t really drink that much; with two bottles of beer and a sip of cheap red wine, I willed myself into drunkenness. I was desperate for a reprieve from that barren child who had been spending endless hours splayed on the floor, defeated, reeking with suffocating saturnine malaise and dripping with melancholy.

I was only able to slip away from her tight grip for a couple of hours. When I opened my eyes she was roosting on my chest, scratching the lint on my shirt with muddied claws, staring at the black moth that somehow got into my room. I wonder if she would let it escape. Too exhausted to move, I allowed myself to be swallowed by darkness. An hour later and I was up. She had moved to a corner, her scraggly head resting on a pile of dirty clothes. The moth was gone.

I rummaged through the fridge for nourishment. I opened a bag of fresh greens. My body was screaming for meat, but I couldn’t be bothered to cook. I finished half a gallon of water hoping that would flush down the toxins and cobwebs from my system. There was still no running water (it was the third day; the manager of the building said it would be back by tomorrow) and the electricity was low. I could turn on the fan but not the lights, the telly but not the computer. Frustrated, I return to my room. Mélancolie, as I now start calling her, coaxed me to return to bed. With nothing to do, I gave in. Sleep took over instantly.

It was dark outside when I woke up. The lights were still not working; I turn on the TV. Not even the Sports News could rouse an emotion from me. Spain lost to Northern Ireland? I turn my head the other way and face the wretched creature that has been siphoning my energy. I study her face with indifference—her slithery hair shining in half light, weathered skin that was both greasy and parched, pudgy and taut, her eyes drowning in darkened sockets. She was not malevolent in any way, I realized. She was just devoid of everything; a useless lump of mass occupying space for no reason at all.

I began talking to her, asking her questions. She remained in her wraith-like state, more interested in flicking specks of dirt from her nails than speaking to me. I poked, I prodded. WHY ARE YOU HERE?!? Her apathy enraged me. I started pulling her at her yellow-stained sleeves. I pushed her off the bed. I grabbed her neck and threw her against the night table. WHY? WHY? WHY? Not a screech, a whimper, a moan. WILL YOU EVER LET ME GO? My head started to throb. I wanted to kill.

I stepped back and started to weep. The scream that was thrashing inside my lungs for days was no longer silent. Primordial anger, hate, sorrow, pride, guilt, and wrath pulsated within my shell, erupting from my chest, tearing down the stone cold moor around my heart. I am sorry. I was wrong.

I sat in front of her; I am shivering. She doesn’t ask for comfort or care; I offer her none. I reached for the nearest trinket on the table, a half-eaten chocolate bar, and left it beside her. I bid her goodnight.

Something clicked into place within me this morning. She is gone. Saturn’s child will be back someday. In the meantime I am alone again. I am free to open the windows and air out my soul.


3 Comments:

At 29 October, 2006 22:02, Blogger leila_bondoc said...

I know this photo... It was used as the cover image for "Fall on Your Knees" by Ann-Marie MacDonald.
Sorry I haven't been able to check in as often.
Hope all is well. :-)

 
At 31 October, 2006 02:56, Blogger Steph said...

Ohmygod! I thought of you recently... I heard your last name mentioned somewhere and I thought maybe that the person who had it was your sister or something. hehehe. How's school? Still teaching? You stopped blogging!!!

The painting is one of my favorites! It's so amazingly beautiful and haunting. I didn't know it's been used for a cover. Will look for it... is it any good? :)

Thanks! Hope all is well with you, too. :)

 
At 11 March, 2007 07:45, Blogger leila_bondoc said...

hi steph,
sorry it took a while to respond to this one. hehehe. if you happened to attend Super! Bazaar last year, then that's probably it. i won a pair of pajamas during the raffle so my name was called out over and over...
my twin sis, however, attends so many functions that maybe you heard her name, not mine.
anyway, i truly enjoyed reading the book. the writer has a funny way of describing things (or should i say looking at things?). i highly recommend it. i would lend it to you but it's been sleeping over at my friend's for 2 years now. oh well, maybe she's really really busy so she can't find the time to return it.
i stopped blogging for a while but after a week or two i was back with a vengeance. i have a link to your site too! http://leidivine.blogspot.com
take care and keep in touch,
leila

 

Post a Comment

<< Home







Creative Commons License

All images and content, unless otherwise noted, belong to and are the property of Stephanie Palallos. I’m just an artist doing my best to create. Please don’t steal my work! :)