Your Sky All Hung With Jewels

As Corinne moves toward me, I turn off the vacuum and rack my brain for verbs to describe the unusual motion of her approach. Is she hobbling? Slithering? Sashaying? Climbing the side of the building like TV Batman? As she steps through the store's back door, her weight rests on a foot and both hands on the doorknob. She shifts her hands to a railing that leads downstairs to the stockroom and pulls herself a step closer. Her hands shift to the jewelry counter and she takes another step. With each step, she also shifts which shoulder and which side of her face faces me. I've turned off the vacuum because I must know why my much-younger sister appears to be giving me a silent film version of The Eye. Then she says magic words.

Corinne: I've discovered frostbite hurts.

I swear to God she said this yesterday, when everywhere in New Jersey it was August. I'm all a-twitter.

Tata: Your theory intrigues me! How will you support it?
Corinne: I had a plantar's wart removed and the doctor freezes it off. The he digs out what he's frozen. I've been going for weeks. See?

She points to an ordinary BandAid on the bottom of her foot that does not at all make me think of polar bears and icebergs. This is disappointing.

Corinne: Usually, the doctor says, "This is going to pinch" and it does or I don't feel it. Sometimes he says, "This is going to hurt" and it does. But today, he didn't say anything. And I would've been fine except Tippecanoe was sitting there, asking, "Does it hurt a lot?"
Tata: Scientific curiosity. I like that boy!

He is sitting at the counter, playing video games and squealing, "Kill him! Kill him!" and "I stabbed him in the head, yay!" This is a moral dilemma for me. I appreciate a young man's introduction to knifeplay but think it should be done the old-fashioned way: in person. The disconnect created by the floral-scented store full of gorgeous things where Japanese flute music sets a peaceful tone and the gloating seven-year-old was too much for my tiny brain and required Hoover therapy.

Corinne: This time...anyway, I couldn't scream.
Tata: I don't see why not. He's busy stabbing things and they're not screaming properly. When the doctor stabbed you, you should've hollared at the tops of your lungs. For Science!
Corinne: I would never have thought of that in a million years.

Speaking of things I think about all the time, this is exactly the kind of public art project I loved doing and miss now.



In this time of finger-pointy-name-callingy-unfunny-y-repressive Eeeeeeeeevil, I see that I haven't been using my brain for Good to the full extent of its powers. I apologize. I thought blogging was the most I could do and maybe it has been - but it is my revolution, and why am I not dancing?