- Open Suitcase
- by Coral Hull
Whilst acting like an amaguard truck, she was a book. He read her face like
an open suitcase. Roxanne said, 'I tell lies that parallel the truth.' She confided
in her reflection briefly. 'That way I don't fuck up. That way everybody's happy.'
She released things about herself in small compartments. It was as though she
were opening a suitcase up. I don't like standing next to those trucks. You never
know what's gonna happen next.' You warned me about danger. I'm confused unable
to read signals myself and so rely on others. I do not know where the threat is
coming from. It surrounds me like terrifying air. The atmosphere is hostile. I
step back against the wall, a frightened eye. There have been problems of not
recognising dangerous explosives, of entering prohibited land willingly and without
protection. Miraculously, I returned unscathed. There have been problems of seeing
danger, when there wasn't any, and of not having the confidence to know, that
I can cope with any situation now. I secretly adore danger like a velvet bee in
a clover field, and release it like pollen dropping from the legs. We peel the
orange like my cranky layered psyche, and disguard the heavy skin. It was all
so simple in the end. I was so pale, sour, twisted and complex like rind. If you'd
stop acting like a fucking little gangster all the fucking time, then perhaps
we could work on this thing together, make some sense out of it all. You are so
full of shit sometimes Roxanne, it's no small a wonder your lot managed to rob
any banks at all. It's a wonder they just don't sit around talking shit all day.
God knows why we fucking bother. God knows why we fuck at all. I'm always living
it up out of suitcases. It's very hard to break the pattern. I had to climb out
of a window into the sky. I really don't know what to believe, that my father
tried to kill us or me, he was on drugs, he fell asleep, just before, or just
in time, I'm sorry, I had a breakdown, I had to leave my cats, my books, my toys,
I lost everything, nowhere is a place for me, I never had anyone, I don't know
what love is, they never argued, there was just silence, swiping a piece of air,
a black gun coming down, the thumps against the wall in another room, muffled
sobbing, no shouting, now when they shout it's deafening, I hate that tense hot
feeling, like holding anger in, like those westerns in the saloon just before
the mock fighting and the shootout, just before the men get thrown across the
tables with the perfect left hook and grunt, just before Shane the barman ducks
behind the bar, and all the glasses get shot out, just before the slated doors
swing wide open and a stranger trusting no one enters, that is me, I'm the good
guy, I have guns on my hips, warmed by the sun and then by my hands, I have practiced
the art of not overreacting, I hate the tension, more than that, I hate the shooting,
the swearing, and the name calling hurts my ears, rings inside my head like bells,
this is because there was only ever silence, and small noises in the silence that
echoed, this is a strange world, where no place is safe, I turn over in it like
a leaf, at other times I am a silver bullet asleep in the sand, inside a house
I am finally cornered, I want a home, a partner, children, the permanent life,
a routine, but I don't know how to go about it, but I never had it so I don't
think, I only know it exists by reading, songs I hear on the radio, or by what
others tell me. I rely on information. People are stars omitting radio signals.
Some are less obvious clusters, neutrons deeper in space. The prison has no bars
on the windows. The walls are birds. The sky is full of them. Sit down and breathe.
Please don't escape too soon. Identity - I have none. I don't want anyone to see
my little room. That is not myself, just where I sleep tonight. I move on. I move
on. You can open my suitcase, put it's already open. You can check my discs, but
I won't be saving that information. Stop your yelling and swearing because I don't
like it. How about you treat me with a bit of respect. You say I'm aloof at first,
perhaps that's just shy. You say I'm evasive and avoid straight answers. The suitcase
was left open. You will hear them when you earn them. Let's just talk about our
surroundings, and those things we both have in common, rather than spilling our
guts. I don't want them to see where I sleep. They will think it represents me,
when it doesn't. I receive interstellar signals. My white dish learning everything
via each rotation. Anyway, we are alone. The steel bridge collapses with the weight
of hollow wind from the harbour. Love exists on a lonely hill inside the sun.
All my life I travel towards it. The hill is blue golden. He does not love me,
but it doesn't mean my mother didn't. I recognise that cold look in his grey eyes.
This time I laughed. I wonder if sometimes the sun laughs when we think about
its raining, all the fragile grasses blowing down. They all loved me the best
they could, but at the end of it I felt alone. Nothing could fill that void, that
place inside myself where signals aren't received. The relationship therapist
said, 'we all have these gaps, but yours are a little larger than most. The boyfriend
said, 'no matter how much love I give to you, it's not hitting the mark, it's
not enough, you can't feel it can you?' I stared at him from across the crowded
room with vacant eyes. Then I was trembling, his hands on my cheeks. Then I was
sobbing. It was frustrating the way I wallowed in everything, in my endless universe
without emotion, a real little star. After relaxation there were some faint sensations.
They felt like a big raindrop on my cheek, or one leaf bushing past. They were
beautiful jewels. I worshipped them. I was thankful for the little things and
excited by my future possibilities.
