Lit, a recollection…

Tyrone Takawira

PART I:

Moments of pain are so intricate with probability. It’s only when you sit in a 4WD hitting sixty — that you begin to connect the dots.

I got soaked in hot water when I was ten. Quite a prolific moment. If I hadn’t slept in my long PJs the night before, I wouldn’t have tripped. I wouldn’t have let go of the heated pot. All I could do was watch the steam rise, and the water fall.

Onto my skin.

It was a hundred degrees of fucked up; kerosene on the Sun shouldn’t burn this slow. I couldn’t see past the light, the vapour of flesh and pain was blinding. Between crying for help and regaining balance, I couldn’t breathe.

Worse, I was lying right in the center; too dismantled to leap for salvation, too hot to stay.

My mind is blank here, how I got up is for Holmes to solve.

I do, however, remember knocking on mother’s door; she didn’t answer. Mother was pressed in sleep, and I, in boiling melanin. All I could do was blow on my skin, and keep moving.

“Keep moving, sonnie. Gets hella hot if you don’t.”

Blowing spurts of air on myself was like running a garden hose from a kitchen sink — in the hopes of putting out 9-11.

My mind draws another blank, next thing I’m seated in dad’s 4WD, hitting sixty on a highway. He asked if I had ‘cooled off’, which was a bad joke. I nodded. What I meant to say was,

“i’m friggin’ drowning,

in ashes,

save me,”

We stepped into Pari Hospital some minutes past eight. It smelled like detergents and government service, with an attitude. Papers got filed. I slept in on a hospital bed; the first time since 98′.

The next morning was a mess. Puss ran from my blisters, and my skin had crept into the bandages. The nurses tossed me into a tub, like a dead somebody. Two locked my legs, one gripped both arms, and the other tore the bandages off. That son offa’ never counted to three.

It was not a poetic scene; the red and black of tissue in dying skin is as fantabulous as it gets; no kitty glitter anywhere. I buried a kick in someone’s neck, all in the name of pain.

I was scrubbed in salt water, which is something of a pinch in the groin, the kind were the pincher doesn’t let go.

I sat on the bed hours later, with a fresh kit of bandages, ready to bat into dreamscapes.

I stretched a smile,

“i’m glad THAT’S over,”

A nurse turned on the lights. He left a glass of water and said I was real brave today.

He also said I best get a good night’s sleep for another bath tomorrow.

I didn’t say a word.

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