by Katy Wix
One’s first memory is like one’s first reality check. Modern philosophy happens to agree with me. If one’s first memory becomes a lie then there’s nothing to stop every other memory from then on succumbing to hyperbole is there?
I lie a lot. ‘Did you’, my friends would often affectionately enquire, ‘make that last bit up?’ That was how the running joke would go. Why do most people lie? I think it is usually for four reasons: the first being that real life is boring, the second reason is because the person in question has something to hide, the third: to protect someone from a hurtful truth, and the final reason stands for the thousands of other reasons why people lie. My reason? The combination of a likeable imagination, the typical attention-span of anyone my age, fatigue, but above all else just the simple urge to keep my audience entertained. If I’m halfway through an anecdote and I see my audience, whether it be a singular person, family pet or a large group, start to flag, then I will just take an all-time favourite ending and tag it on to the end of the story I’m telling. The results are always thrilling. Reaction times vary from person to person, but speaker and listener will always share in the unexpected ending of the story – almost as if the speaker is hearing the story for the first time too. Now what could be a more loving gesture than treating your companion to a convincing well-told lie? My pleasure!
INSTANT
I’ve told everyone that I’ve lost my voice, but I haven’t … there’s only so much conversation I can take …
When you’re a vicar’s wife, you’re expected to get on with everybody, constantly. All I wanted to do tonight was stay in my room, eat wine gums and bury my head in a Maeve Binchey. But I can’t do that – I’m expected to chat and be polite, nod and smile and so on. You could say I married the church itself. Before we got married, and I married young, yes, but I was very sure – we both were … of our commitment to each other, but before we married we’d been to a barbeque at John’s house and some of the other vicars’ wives, most of whom I detest, said – ‘Oh, it’s like having a second job’, and I thought no way! That’s not what’s happening to me! I’ve got my own career thanks, you see I always thought that’s what my husband liked about me – I wore Doctor Martens and I have the Chinese symbol for happiness on my foot – a tattoo, I mean – I wasn’t born with it. At least I was told that’s what it means – it could mean ‘machine wash only’ for all I know. The point is – I was different, quite a rebel and certainly not dowdy … and I’d always had a kind of faith, you know. My faith wavers. That’s natural. Sometimes it feels like God and I have a sort of tempestuous relationship like Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.
It’s been quite a tiring morning you see. The enormous church building costs so much to run and I thought – well, we should really use these buildings for something other than worship – it was my suggestion to open it up once a fortnight and provide lunch for the homeless. Some of the other wives, the ones I hate but never show it – well, one in particular – said that they were worried that this could be dangerous and what if one of them lashes out and does something violent. Not very Christian, I thought. In fact, what a shitty attitude.
If somebody needs help – you help. My husband says that’s the only reason he is here: to meet people’s needs. And now, I just feel so silly. I’m out here – pretending that I’ve lost my voice …
I’m in charge of puddings. I was just boiling the kettle for the instant custard and I was struggling to get them out quickly – I couldn’t find a big enough container, you see, so I was just putting the custard in individual bowls and then heating them in the microwave one at a time, but it was quite difficult to keep track of whose was whose. So then this lady got served before another gentleman and the man started shouting and before we knew it – he had taken someone else’s custard and then they started fighting – custard everywhere. Well, I just had to leave. One of the wives gave me a look of ‘I told you so’ like she had the god of hindsight on her side!
KEEP SMILING
(She has a fixed grin throughout.)
Keep smiling. Keep smiling. That’s it. You’ve got to keep smiling. Keep that chin firmly up, my girl.
Damp patch is getting bigger. Keep smiling!
It’s starting to smell. Keep smiling.
Oo if you could feel my belly. It’s hard with stress – gotta keep smiling. Smile through the tears, that’s it.
Damp patch is getting bigger. Smells like a baked potato.
I wrote three letters – one got lost, one got wet and one got swept away. I wrote three letters – gotta keep smiling. I told the council, I told the landlord – damp patch is getting bigger. The ceiling is bowing but I’m not a queen. The ceiling is peeling. The landlord came by. Funny little man. Bright blue aura – first thing I saw. Flannel jacket, flappy and skinny. Hate him. Tit. Gotta keep smiling though! Packet of chips stuck to his lips.
Damp patch is getting bigger I said.
But he hasn’t been back. Keep smiling. He only lives down the hill. I’d like to spill his blood! Keep smiling though! He’ll be back. Scout’s honour he said. When was that now? I’ve lost count – I’m counting my smiles though.
Oo, it’s defo got bigger – smells like a household fart.
Gotta. Keep. Smiling.
Cat’s had a hysterectomy. Gotta keep smiling.
I’ve nothing to eat – only frozen cheese – keep smiling.
I’ve lost three Twitter followers in as many hours – gotta keep smiling.
The only silver lining I can see is the one on the damp patch. It’s quite pretty now I look again. Marble effect. I gotta live with it, not against it. Gotta learn to love it. Learn to smile from within, not without.
When’s he coming back then? To fix up the patch? Put a patch on my mind too – with all the worry. That patch needs to be fixed. Bloody landlords. Land of hope and glory. The sensible people never win. I’m sensible. Hasn’t got me anywhere. I just keep smiling.
Damp patch is getting bigger.
A LEMON TREE
This is my lemon tree … in a pot.
It takes a little more work but worth it. If I’m honest though – it’s more leaves than lemons. Oh well, when life gives you lemon leaves, put them in your G&Ts. That’s what I always say – well I say, I always say, but I’ve never actually said it before. Or you can prune the leaves.
Responsibility is not really a word in my vocabulary. If you’d met me as little as a year ago, you wouldn’t have imagined me, out here – lovingly growing lemons, baptising the soil with a watering can. I’ve never looked after anything before, other than myself, I suppose. I had a dog once, but it went off with someone else. I was only 14 – took it very personally: Jacques Brel’s Ne Me Quitte Pas could be heard on loop for a fortnight coming from my attic bedroom window, but it provided me with little succour. I thought I saw him again in a lane, next to a broken-down car, but it was just a hefty fox.
I know what you’re thinking … ‘bit early for lemon trees, this time of year isn’t it?’ Well, it’s always too early for something around here – you can’t put a foot right.
This is the warmest, sunniest part of the garden. They’re the most sensitive to the cold of all the citrus family – lemon trees. Well, I can relate to that – especially when I went through my bulimic stage – I was cold all the time. It only lasted three months, it was after I saw a thing about it on Oprah and rather than it acting as a deterrent, it seemed to plant a seed.
It needs me, this little thing. Warm soil, laying down its roots – I know all about how to keep a little thing alive now – will put me in good stead for the future. Cos everyone needs to know where their beginning is, don’t they? And who watered them and found them the warmest patch of soil and so on and so forth. Oh, I sprinkle it with pepper dust as well – to stop the passing dogs … pissing on it.
‘You live in the wind, you live in wind’ my grandma used to say. I never really got what that meant, but I get it now. I was always up here (she sw
irls her arms above her head) but never down here … (she sweeps her hands down low) in the tables and chairs world of everyday life – so quixotic – like air on the move … like the whole world’s breathing in and out just for you. I had no roots you see, no sense of what came before me or why. Without curiosity, you will die, she would say. Curiosity is our water and without it we shrivel. If you want people to do anything for you or marry you then all you have to do is be curious and ask them questions about themselves …
(She thinks.)
Oh, I’m sorry … and what do you do?
LIKENESS
I took my earrings out. They made me look too frivolous.
Didn’t sleep so well so be kind.
(She positions herself into a pose.)
Like this, yes?
Should I choose a point in the distance and fix my gaze? Speaking of gaze – I’m so glad you told me, really I am. I knew there was something else, some one else. I knew it. Suddenly now, it all makes complete sense. I mean, can you imagine if I’d actually fallen in love with you or something mad, like that? It all made so much sense when you told me.
I don’t know if you know this, but I have one eyebrow higher than the other. But if I do this face … then they even out. Shall I do that face? Do you want that?
There’s an argument for lifting my arms up like this … but I suppose that’s asking for trouble. Oh, what happens if I need the loo, which I will – my bladder goes off like a clock with a quarter chime.
I’m glad you told me. It’s rare for me to be able talk about fabrics and things like that with men. Knew it was too good to be true. And the first time we kissed and you were so obsessed with my bum and now, honestly – I feel like the gods of hindsight are looking down and laughing at me.
Don’t paint my nose too big, will you? Shall I hold something, for scale? That might help, like a tennis racket or something? I notice you’re using a lot of blue. Are you going though a blue period, like Picasso?
Do you remember that time we followed Rufus Wainwright into a health food shop and we talked to him by the big bowl of strawberries and he told us he was looking for the strawberry of his dreams? He was staring at you. Just think, what could’ve been. I bet those same gods are laughing at you now. You probably could have shagged Rufus Wainwright, is my point, I guess.
Should I smile? No. No, I want to look arty.
MANDATE
Don’t let the bastards get you down. I, for one, intend to stay angry – because the angrier I am, the more of an effing nightmare I am – my bark is equal to my bite. If we all stay angry then we’ll be heard by those at the top!
You’re pulling that face again. You know sometimes, I swear I can hear you pulling that face, even when we’re on the phone. It’s a face that screams, ‘Oh here we go – here she goes – doing her Russell Brand impression again’.
And I know that you and I are very different, but you don’t know what you know. You always say to me that you don’t care about politics – but you’re vegetarian for god’s sake. That’s a political act right there. And I know it’s because you say you love animals but you’re a classic Green Party member without even knowing it. The personal is political, my friend. Our small, day-to-day, ‘innocent’ acts all amount to something. When you’re eating tofu – it’s not just a bowl of wobbly grey stuff – it’s a statement.
But, oh my god – can you blame young people – can you blame us, when there is so much to think about – so many adverts telling you you’re a piece of shit and you won’t get laid unless you buy this cream or this car or get a face wax or a bum peel or whatever.
But I don’t think young people are apathetic – no, that’s just lazy. When you’re young you probably care more about things than at any other time in your life – just sometimes, maybe, the wrong things. I think young people just need a helping hand, a way in. Stop. Pulling. That. Face.
Ok, case in point, yeah? Your girlfriend. Like how, and I don’t mean this in a bad way at all, but if this makes me a prick, then I’ll just take it on the chin and say it anyway – your girlfriend has, well, a bit, a touch of … it’s like her head is full of butterflies or something. When I told her that this government didn’t just have the political will anymore – they had a mandate, d’you know what she did – she just started talking about ‘manbags’. She didn’t even know what I was talking about. She just wants to talk about Reiki. The pair of you: you are not in the real tables and chairs world. I am. And I’m trying to change things. I won’t to sit by and do nothing as this government, the government that we re-elected, tip people out of their wheelchairs and shit on the most vulnerable.
MOOD
(Sung.)
‘And I just can’t wait to get you home,
And I just can’t wait to see your face,
And I just can’t wait to be in your space …
And I …’
Mmm, no, I think that sounds a bit weird. I dunno, to the wrong ears … you know – could sound rude – ‘be in your space.’ I mean, I suppose it’s ok – I mean can a woman be in a man’s space … in a rude way I mean … well, I suppose they can but only if it was up the … oh no, no forget it.
How about
(Sung.)
‘And I just can’t wait to be in your personal space.’
That’s probably clearer but less romantic. Although, it’s not actually a love song – it’s more of an anti-love song.
What about this line:
(Sung.)
‘And I just can’t wait to get you home …’
See, I’m worried that sounds a bit like I’m a parent talking to my child rather than a lover, do you know what I mean?
No, I think it’s fine. I think it’s self-explanatory: I want to get him home to be alone with him …
Mmm, it’s useful being in a relationship, you know, with my songwriting, you know – it means I have a muse at all times. It’s good. Was wondering if I should mention the goosebumps thing, but probably won’t – not exactly poetic. Oh, did I not tell you – he has this condition which means he has permanent goosebumps. Yeah, I don’t know if it has a name … like everlasting bump, but yeah – he has skin like a cock all year round. Cockerel, I mean, sorry. Our first date was in a Bella Italia and it was boiling and I saw it peeping out from under his shirt. All these goosebumps. Yeah, I mean, it’s still just normal goosebumps, obviously – it’s not one big goosebump, he’s not a complete freak, it’s just that it never goes away. But I have to tell you – on certain areas of his body – it’s not a problem. It actually is quite an advantage point!
He called me in the middle of the day once, panicked – saying that he had just stared directly into the sun for several minutes and nothing had happened – hadn’t even hurt before realising that it was the moon. You know, the way the moon is still visible in the day sometimes. I said, no offence – but anyone can look at the moon, hardly worth mentioning mate. Bless him. I think he was starting to think he had super human powers or something. Hardly, I said – you don’t even do the washing-up, so you’ve got a little way to go till you’re a superhuman! No one can stare into the sun – you’d be lucky to have lids! Your eyes would smell of burnt sugar – cook your peepers off. You’d bloody know about it.
He doesn’t know I’m writing a song about him – it’ll be a nice surprise for our anniversary … it’s coming up to about seven now … days, yeah only been a week, but when you know, you know don’t you, or think you think you know, when you think you know, at least.
ON STAGE
I wrote a poem about snow – don’t worry, I’m not going to do it now. I don’t remember it anyway.
I was chosen to go up in front of the whole school and all the parents at the Christmas fundraiser concert. Backstage, there were two girls dressed as Christmas puddings. One of them, the one with more holly, pointed at my face and said ‘What’s that?’. Then I felt it; wet and it was growing, running from my nose and down onto my mouth. So I touched it and th
ere on my fingers was this cherry-red blood. It must have been the nerves. The pudding twins laughed and my cheeks tingled with shame. How dare they. They were the ones dressed as desserts after all.
Then I heard them call my name. I didn’t know what to do. There was a long pause and then Mr Francis repeated it once more. It reminded me of when the babysitter used to let me stay up late and watch The Sound of Music. At the concert the man keeps announcing the winner, ‘The Von Trapp family …, The Von Trapp family …’ but they never appear because they are running from National Socialism. The girl with more cream on top nudges me, and her sprig jabs my arm, ‘You’re gunna get into so much trouble’. So I took a deep breath and walked onto the stage. The blood was dripping down my front.
Little murmurs and sounds of disgust were now coming from the front row but the lights were so bright that I couldn’t see their faces. So I began …
Large white flakes do fall to the ground
Silent and soft upon the mound …
… and so on until I got to the end. I don’t remember the last line but I know that I rhymed ‘penguin’ with ‘apron’.
Afterwards Mum was cross because she had made the dress especially. It was cornflour blue, but cornflour isn’t blue – it’s white. The trim was white – she cut it off the bottom of an old confirmation dress that she found in a skip and sewed it on. But she wasn’t happy, when she saw the blood down my front she screamed at me like an injured animal, burst into tears, said sorry, and took me to the café round the corner. I had three different types of ice cream, so it was almost worth it just for that.
OPENING
I used to stare at you from behind a wall. You had a bike. I had chapped lips and a helmet. I was saving up for the bike. I watched you practise and practise for your cycling proficiency test. I too prepared … for heartbreak. He’ll get the top mark anyway, I used to think. And you did. You went up in front of the whole class to get your high score. I just got a pencil, because I didn’t have a bike.
