Dear Vincent,
During my month-long hiatus without you, I invented the Shiny Chrome
Orgasm. And I basked in my Nun Friend’s soothing and maternal bosom embrace of
unconditional love, and I got a cleaning buzz. I think I am going to make it.
Welcome home.
Childhood memories equal, the fairy tale, The Princess and The Frog. I
remember the frog, crouched on the Princess’s dinner table, and lapping up peas
from on the Royal Family’s golden plate.
Are we able to accept all the ugly things without the promise that deep
down the ugly things are actually beautiful and that one day they’ll transform
out of being an ugly frog or an ugly toad?
Toads, in my opinion, are a little bit uglier than the frogs.
Can we love the things that are
inherently and likely
ugly forever?
For example, the toads, or else the thick and cakey fungus under certain
people’s toenails?
A Shiny Chrome Orgasm is when you polish the chrome of the faucet of
your sink to the point that the sight is orgasmic.
 |
| Shiny Chrome Orgasm |
A friend pointed out that combined with the taps, the whole thing is rather
phallic, and isn’t that a little bit exciting?
Childhood memories equal Mrs. Vanden Bosch’s Grade One Halloween
Concert. I am dressed up as a beautiful princess, but our song is about a field
full of pumpkins. My best friend Ellen gets to be the special pumpkin with the
solo. Of this, I am exceedingly jealous. The song is about some special pumpkin
who has some special magical way of singing the words, the Boo-Hoo-Hoo. Maybe
this turns frogs into handsome princes. Or maybe it burns the whole field down.
In any case, I am devastated that I don’t get to sing the Prestigious Pumpkin
Boo-hoo-hoo solo. Even before I skipped grade two and was irreparably labelled
the Strange and Gifted child, I felt that surely I deserved all the main parts.
And the Princess, she felt like she did not deserve to have to go to
bed with the ugly frog. Except the ugly frog had rescued her precious golden
ball from the bottom of the pond, and in return he’d convinced the princess to
make quite an elaborate promise.
“Promise me,” said the ugly frog. “That you will love me. That you’ll
let me be your friend and play with you. Make me a place at your table where I
will eat from your plate and drink from your cup. Then, take me to your bed and
we can sleep peacefully together.”
Some people might say this qualifies as a little bit of coercion. The
Princess was crying very hard when she lost her ball, and the frog sort of pounced
upon her vulnerability. And it was in the olden days, and once she’d already
said yes, she was not allowed to change her mind about taking the frog to bed.
So first the poor princess was helpless because her golden ball had
fallen to the bottom of the pond.
And then she was helpless because her heart’s desire depended upon an
overwhelming and impossible promise.
This story does not leave me feeling very equipped.
Place your ugly frog upon a silky and exquisite pillow, and there will
emerge your dashing tender-eyed prince.
And
Or
Ever since I went off Prozac, my brain’s been invaded by a voice.
And the voice comes ready with a hand.
And the hand is ready to slap.
The voice really wants to be the main part. Sometimes the voice won’t
shut up until the hand wacks me on the face over and over again. The voice
wants everyone to hear and know its rage and how excruciatingly disappointed and disgusted and
at the end of it rope that it feels with, well,
I guess me.
And the hand keeps slapping because
it’s so set on the belief that no one will ever understand me, and this is what
I deserve.
Main Special Gifted Pumpkin sings, “The Boo-Hoo-Hoo.”
All the Generic Pumpkins sing, “The Boo-Hoo-Hoo.”
I still cannot remember the line about why the Main Special Gifted
Pumpkin was so special and gifted.
All the palaces in the fairy tales look exactly the same.
My nun friend has the softest cheeks and the most soothing bosom. I saw
her at a funeral, and she said so many nice things to me. It was like I was at
my own funeral.
“Oh, Erica,” she said. “It is so good to see you. You’re so beautiful. Don’t
ever change. Stay just the way you are.”
I cannot repeat what my Nun Friend said without weeping, if somewhat
delicately. Her words, they shut up the voice and they canned the hand for one
whole week. And I got a cleaning buzz, and I invented the Shiny Chrome Orgasm.
I forgot to say that the princess was the youngest of the seven
daughters. The youngest and the most beautiful. And she loved to throw her
golden ball up in the air and then catch it. Once she got married, I wonder if she
kept throwing her golden ball up in the air. Throwing it up in the air, and
then catching it.
Main Special Gifted Pumpkin sings, “The Boo-Hoo-Hoo.”
All the Generic Pumpkins sing, “The Boo-Hoo-Hoo.”
Welcome home, Vincent!
There is probably something symbolic about the golden ball falling to
the bottom of the pond.
Our golden balls are falling to the bottom of the pond all the time.
Main Special Gifted Pumpkin sings, “The Boo-Hoo-Hoo.”
All the Generic Pumpkins sing, “The Boo-Hoo-Hoo.”
Oh Erica, you’re so beautiful. Don’t ever change. Stay just the way you
are.
In therapy, I always get to have the main part, and surely, this is one
reason why I like it.
Welcome home, Vincent.
Love, Erica.
P.S. In fact, once she married the prince, the princess kept her golden
ball safe and sound on a purple cushion, under a glass dome. Cause what if the
ball fell into the pond again and some better frog prince showed up. The End.
Please send your imaginary emails to Vincent to ericaschmidt85(at)gmail(dot)com.
