|
I was an Arts major. I forgot fifth grade science. The unit on
electricity was gone. From the field trip to the hydro plant, to the note
about electromagnets I copied from the board.
It took one cent – a penny in the fuse box – to bring it all back. In the
time between wondering, “what’s that doing in there?” and hitting the floor,
I remembered everything.
I settled into unconsciousness. In memory I played with the trivia game I’d
made for my project at the end of that science unit. I read my childhood
handwriting from quiz cards cut from construction paper: “Which of these
things is NOT an insulator? A pair of oven mitts, a sheet of foam, or a
penny?”
I hoped that when my roommates found me, they would have an insulator with
them. I knew I was charged with electricity.
Like all students, we lived in a run down house. I’d lie in bed and listen to
the plaster disintegrate behind the wallpaper. Clumps of it rolled down the
wooden frames and collected between the beams. Someone trying to hang a
picture would inadvertently hammer a hole into the wall.
We didn’t care about building codes. There was nothing so ordinary about us.
For the first time, Kazuko had
no codes, no traditions and no expectations to follow. Alexandra had escaped
from the mansion and the
material devotion of her parents. Karim was
delivered from the tyranny of five brothers unto a faculty that
was 95% female. Francis Xavier Rajasingh
glowed with the reward of a full scholarship and an accent
designed to challenge the history of empires.
I had never met anyone more arrogant. “What do you think, Jennifer? What does
it mean when an immigrant boy, like myself, wins all that money and takes it
away from a Canadian like your self?” he asked.
“I suppose you earned it,” I said and the lights flickered.
“Don’t mess with her,” Karim warned him. “She’s got
powers.”
I felt powerful too. Nature had changed me. I worked outdoors for all the
summer daylight. I ushered tourists and learned how to speak to strangers
with ease. I taught children to swim and was always reaching for them and it
lengthened me. After a sunburn early in the season,
my hair blonded and my acne cleared. I no longer
turned away when looked directly in the face.
“Oh, my golden child,” my mother sighed when she sent me off. “I hate to send
you to that dump.”
“The rent is cheap,” I shrugged.
The wiring of our low-rent house was cranky. It wanted afternoon naps. It
objected to operating both the
stove and a toaster. It shorted out when anyone stepped too heavily between
the living room and the
kitchen. We fed it fuses to quiet it. We promised it Thanksgiving weekends
when we would all leave it in
peace.
We ate under candlelight, a special danger where young people gather. Late
night suppers ended with claims of
deadlines and other almost plausible excuses. Door latches would click and be
silent.
Eternities passed in those silences.
Would he come to my room?
Would he come to me tonight?
I would never hear his footsteps. I would never see the door handle turn. I
would only hear the latch clicking back into place, echoing in the hallway. I
was sure my roommates must know. From a similar echo, I knew that Karim snuck into Alexandra’s room every night.
By the light of my monitor, I pretended to work and Francis Xavier Rajasingh would come and take my
shoulders in his hands.
Tongues traced the outline of muscles. One muscle tensed while another
relaxed in the circuitry of physical life. Lips connecting lips, lips
connecting skin, skin connecting everything, a hum vibrating below the surface
activated by each contact and carried along by currents of touch. A hand
tangled in my hair, my hips reached and were met, the curve of my arms
bending, holding, turning inward, pulling closer. Every action generated the
next and there was always energy for more. We didn’t sleep.
Every Friday, Francis left to visit his girlfriend. On Sunday morning he
would attend Mass and eat with
his parents. That night he’d return with curry and rice in airtight
containers.
He shook me awake on the basement floor.
“Jennifer! What happened to you?”
There was not a sheet of foam or pair of oven mitts to be seen.
I looked up into his face and saw the circles under his eyes. There were grim
lines around his mouth from
frowning. He looked so very tired.
“Careful. You might get a shock,” I said, but I knew the spark was gone.
|
