Let them eat words.

As I head out to chop my mop, I randomly mention to S that I hope I don’t get a talkative hairdresser.

“Just don’t speak,” she says.

But I can’t not speak without being rude.

“Don’t speak.”

But I can’t, without being rude.

We look at each other.

“Okay,” I say. “You be me, and I’ll be the hairdresser.”

“I can be you.”

I’m not sure what that means, but okay. We begin:

Me as Hairdresser: “So, how you doing today?”

S as Me: “Good. I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately.”

“That’s me.”

“That’s you.”

Pompeii: Diana reaching across the temple. There are no more voices in her temple, and she'll never reach the other side.

In Pompeii, Diana reaches across the temple to Apollo.  There are no more voices, no more supplicants, and she’ll never reach the other side.

that we’ve driven them from their temples
doesn’t mean at all that the gods are dead.
~ Constantine P. Cavafy

I can’t imagine at all what she means, suggesting I speak of death frequently. Unless, of course, she means that death is under every word I speak.

Yes, in that case, I concur.

And today? The mop is chopped. It is gone. It is no more. And because of my habit of tucking it up in all sorts of deranged flops, absolutely everyone is commenting on it now that it’s down.

Yes. They all remark on how long it’s grown…

About sputnitsa

I'm a first-gen American--grew up in Africa and the West Indies, served in Peace Corps, and work in international development, social justice, refugee aid and youth empowerment. I'm back from climbing minarets and mountains, and here in NYC enjoy exploring theaters, museums, forests and parks. I write, produce short films, and direct plays.
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2 Responses to Let them eat words.

  1. whatever is this death obsession you speak of? 😉

  2. sputnitsa says:

    Darling. I did not mention obsession. Everyone ELSE mentions it. Obsessively. I just know what my eye’s on, and I know Death’s got me marked too. It’s a glorious dance, but we all go down in the end. 🙂

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