Finally back in his
own room, and sat again upon his own bed, Brother Skunk suffers the regret of
sensing he might have spoiled the day, his selfishness right at its tail
burning back through the hours to ruin the actual picnic itself, and whatever
else for which he might have hoped.
Replaying that little of their conversation he can remember, the combined beer
and whiskey clouds his any attempt to recall exactly what he had said versus
that which he’d intended, and having set aside the dented and empty hipflask
hears himself saying now out loud
Skunk: No I thought, I thought, when ehm, when I was really young, and I still believed in him, I thought I saw Santa... I mean, I’m pretty sure it must have been my dad, even,
pause
Skunk: I’m not sure but I
suddenly unwilling to pursue this further, even on his own, and to himself, and so lets it drop.
Skunk: Yes but then, there were times when I also thought I could see, or or, I thought there were times when I could, when Jesus was there and I could see him, or, not see him as such, ehm, but I was aware of him, I I I, I knew he was there.
now vividly recalling that intangible and abstract perception of the numinous Christ come to him in his want.
Skunk (no longer even imagining he speaks to her): It was like a, like a, a, a sort of indistinct shimmer in my peripheral vision, and I could, I could see it if I wasn’t looking directly at it, does that make sense? You know like at night when you see a star or or, when you see a star out of the corner of your eye and it’s really bright, but when you actually look at it it sort of disappears a bit, it was like that. As long as I didn’t look... directly at him, I could tell he was there.
He struggles to actively forget he had felt some connection between the timing of these appearances and the degree to which his mother was simultaeneous with each then so obviously and desperately ill.
Back at the hotel and for her own part, ache1 is already looking through the relevant pages of the district Yellow Pages telephone directory she’d had brought to her room, making note of those local jewellers from whom she hoped to purchase him a potential present as a thank you for the picnic (and too, the wasted M&Ms), and to have made in him a hole for her, for ever.
Skunk: No I thought, I thought, when ehm, when I was really young, and I still believed in him, I thought I saw Santa... I mean, I’m pretty sure it must have been my dad, even,
pause
Skunk: I’m not sure but I
suddenly unwilling to pursue this further, even on his own, and to himself, and so lets it drop.
Skunk: Yes but then, there were times when I also thought I could see, or or, I thought there were times when I could, when Jesus was there and I could see him, or, not see him as such, ehm, but I was aware of him, I I I, I knew he was there.
now vividly recalling that intangible and abstract perception of the numinous Christ come to him in his want.
Skunk (no longer even imagining he speaks to her): It was like a, like a, a, a sort of indistinct shimmer in my peripheral vision, and I could, I could see it if I wasn’t looking directly at it, does that make sense? You know like at night when you see a star or or, when you see a star out of the corner of your eye and it’s really bright, but when you actually look at it it sort of disappears a bit, it was like that. As long as I didn’t look... directly at him, I could tell he was there.
He struggles to actively forget he had felt some connection between the timing of these appearances and the degree to which his mother was simultaeneous with each then so obviously and desperately ill.
Back at the hotel and for her own part, ache1 is already looking through the relevant pages of the district Yellow Pages telephone directory she’d had brought to her room, making note of those local jewellers from whom she hoped to purchase him a potential present as a thank you for the picnic (and too, the wasted M&Ms), and to have made in him a hole for her, for ever.
