I have done too much crying lately so I decided to google ‘crying’ and I discovered this new word, ‘secretomotor’ which I rather like because (if I am spelling it correctly) it implies that I have a very special and secret (?) talent for it. In other words, I do crying very well. If I were to be assessed on my crying ability I would be given very good grades for this weekend’s attempts because I developed my whimpery, watery, wimpy secretions into a rather horrific howl. I did this in front of Ming first, then in front of a good friend, then today I performed for Anthony’s taxi driver who was so impressed he let me wipe my face on his shoulder. I am hoping he has some contacts who will turn my weeping into a wholesale business of wonderfully weary weirdness. I do believe I now have the key to a new reality show; after all, sorrow sells, especially when it is secretomotorish.
Today, the nursing lodge forgot to put Ants into a wheelchair to transport him home in the wheelchair taxi; then the taxi service forgot to pick Ming up from town as well so the driver had to go all the way back into town to get him. In the meantime our visitors arrived – a mother and daughter; the daughter is going to have scoliosis surgery early next year, so wanted to talk to Ming. The taxi driver got Ming back home for another fee then said he would be back later to take Ants back to the nursing lodge. By this time my crying was all curled up inside my stomach but I managed to cope even though Ants was giving me the shark eye look. My mother, who had brought our visitors, made coffee and tea for everyone and we shared our guests’ pastries.
My crying gradually became a clenched fist behind my laughter and my sunglasses and I wondered, in amongst the conversation, if I should just give up on Anthony or keep my arm around his shoulders. His silence out in the sunny garden made my eardrums thrum with that slow, quiet heartbeat of nothingness, so, pretending that all was fine, I saw our guests and my mother off, watched Ming motorbike off to milk the cows and helped the taxi driver get Ants into a seat. I kissed my husband goodbye until tomorrow, stepped out of the taxi van, paid the driver the bill and then, with no warning, I began to cry and the taxi driver gave me his sleeve to wipe my nose on.
Secretomotor skills have become my speciality lately but soon I will replace these with sunflowers.
Tomorrow is still three and a half hours away.
jmgoyder 