confection goodness knows
Wednesdays my mind was like a pollock painting. Usually, it was more of a klein. International klein blue was the mood and the canvas of my brain – a smudge. Why Wednesdays? Because it was the day that she would step into the office. Carrying her stuff, offering her goodies. My head would scramble in the style of fwip, splat, drip until she was gone then it would lay drying in the toxic air not getting any better. Not getting any easier to understand. Why her? Why this girl? Why did she enter my world offering up baked goodness and her own ample charms… not so much offered as dangled. She was a cupcake-teasing dame after the hearts of those who offered note or coin in exchange for calorific deliciousness. And you opened the packet, bit into the soft sponge but wished, wished it were her own soft, silky, pale flesh your mouth was gorging on. And then you realised you were dribbling a bit and people were looking. You glowed red and looked away, wiping crumbs, trying not to think about her round hips, her pert little – oh god. Wednesdays. Wednesdays were like a pollock painting.
It was the day of the week where you took that little bit extra care in choosing your outfit. The shirt a little tighter, the trousers a little smarter. The make-up applied with more care – a darker shade of lipstick and a deeper shade of shadow, just in case she didn’t know, know that underneath the paint the eyes and lips were pretty much that shade anyway. To go with the red, burning cheeks. I could pass it off as desire, but it was hopeless blushes. Blushes that she could dictate a whole day. Well, half a day, until she appeared. And then the rest in recovery. I painted myself a lempicka, even waved my hair slightly. I would be a siren, a vamp. I would capture her heart the next time she came round bearing muffins of chocolate chip or bran. Slice of custard or cream. Scone of plain or fruit. God I wanted her sweetness on my tongue.
Her and her cakes and biscuits and cookies and sweets. Her. Her. Her. Nameless, gorgeous her.
Wednesdays my mind was a Godard movie. All you need is a girl and a gun right? She would shoot me full of confectionary loveliness. My day a beginning, middle and end – but not necessarily in that order. She was the hip chick, the charismatic miss, ambling into the monochrome world of workplace after workplace offering her sixties sass, her nonchalant naughtiness. God I wanted to be cool, wanted to be belmondo, wanting to be belmondo and seberg and karina all in one. To capture her, capture her and carry her off into my dirty bedroom in one room boarding house baby, yeh, smoking while making love to her, her blank stare off into the distance while crazy man crazy jazz filled the room like our love baby love baby on the run love baby I know she will leave me by the end of the picture.
Wednesdays my mind was ornette coleman blowing his axe screaming a murdered note out into the cosmos playing my heart playing my soul haunting me haunting me cool one moment hot the next pain in every seeping sound spreading out amongst the solid solid solid solidness of the air air thick with her scent the scent of skin and creamy creamy love love love love love.
This Wednesday. This Wednesday. I may stay in bed. Call in sick. Or… i may ask her name.
(copyright corinna tomrley 2005)