dépaysement
“You are a bright star passing through. ”
The girl dreamt that she was riding a white horse in a red desert. Long rocks with lean grey lines cut into the pale sky. Her lips tasted smokey. Her nails were icy blue. Barefoot, she hugged her inner thighs to the flank of the horse. Snakes wound tight from ankle to hip—Black as her iris.
A man with short blond hair and indigo glasses drew the serpents on each leg. He had worn white gloves and sucked short cigarettes while he worked. The metallic music filled the girl's body with iron. She didn’t feel a thing as the man pressed the needles into her flesh.
Most women make noise, he’d said.
The girl hadn’t asked for a snake. It wasn’t about wanting. She understood that early in life. Need precedes desire. The girl lived for bread with jam and cheese.
In the dream, the girl rides toward a slope of ripples. The horse balks when she loosens her legs, and the girl is flicked from the mare’s back with an easy sweep of its tail. Cleaning is cathartic, the girl thinks. The horse strides away in the same direction they entered.
The girl continues barefoot. Her feet burn in the prickly sand. Her skin thickens and blackens to match the reptiles. Her eyes water. Pupils contract. She shrinks in the light. Her dress sucks to her skin. The dampness feels like rot. Sweat rolls into her eyes, and her salt clouds the sky. The girl’s shins collide with a rock, and she goes sprawling across the hard earth. She cries out, an acute rumble that tears into the rock. The perforations remind the girl of the attic where she used to read—tucked into a corner with candles cozied into the wooden beams. The crawlspace smelled like the desert: dust and blood.
Pressing up to her shins, the girl sees her dress is stained. Gold glitters from the red sand. Her earrings. She digs a hole and leaves one in the earth. Better to go without treasure. The girl knows she must give if she’s to take anything. She rips her dress at the hem and ties two strips at her feet like slippers and one over her head like a kerchief to protect her face.
Head extended toward the sun, feet on the ground, the girl walks. She missed the horse, though she accepted his decision to leave. She will not be a burden; their journey together was complete. Sometimes, words were unnecessary.
The meaning is in the feeling.
As dusk blooms, the skyline whispers lavender. Prickly pear tremble in the light breeze. The girl breaks off the flowers and pulls the pins from its fruit. She gathers a dozen in the skirt of her dress, tying the balls in knots to save for later. She continues to walk as she chews two of the fleshy pink plant.
Stars poke out from the ethereal curtain. Each stone blinks in agreement. It’s a voyage the girl never signed up for, though she’s glad for the audience. She waves at the constellations; Cassiopeia, that vain queen! The girl was the Goddess of Grace. She sat down to present the cacti cocktails to her guests.
The girl lines up thirteen flat stones in a circle. Sitting down in its center, she takes out the remaining fruit and pummels them into a pulp against the rocks. Licking her paws, the girl rises and waves at the asteroids. No one goes hungry in my kingdom! Her tongue is stuck and the world has gone silent. The girl gestures grandly with each limb. Her body sings the invitation to those winking lovers; Gemini, the twins, Castor and Pollux.
If no one accepts her invitation, the girl will die alone.
The darkness sucks the light and spits up more stars. The girl's hands are sticky from the juice. She licks each palm and rubs her wet hands on her thighs. The snakes laugh. Silly girl! Save your water!
Hush! Says the girl. But I haven’t said anything, said the boy.
The girl looks up and sees a small youth with blond hair squatting in the moonlight. He has red lips and blue eyes the colour of wildflowers.
What do you know? Says the girl.
I miss you. Says the boy.
The girl squats beside the boy. He is crying. She is crying too.
Here, says the girl, look at this.
She hikes up her bloodied dress to show the boy the snakes.
You must be patient. You must be careful with your words. See how the tongue splits in half? The forked tongue is a symbol of deceit.
I miss you. Come back.
I don’t have anything to give, says the girl.
She takes the small boy’s hand. He fits into her palm just so, as she knew he would. She remembers.
Blue tears fall into the cold yellow sand. Save your water! Scream the snakes. Shush! Says the girl. The boy says nothing.
At dawn, the sun discovers a husk in the center of the stone circle. Like the snake's skin, papery and soft, the husk is stripped with the red juice that’s dried to the dust. One gold earring glitters in the sand. One stud buried for Chandra, God of the Moon. The other presented in unadorned view for Surya, the Sun Goddess.
The snakes sing. You will discover the end of the circle and only greet yourself. Their tongues flick in two distinct directions under the disappearing stars
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