1) Our neighbours from Pakistan are in the loft bedroom. I see Moina, the Mum who I'm close with, attending to her son Ehsan and Samina (his wife) who are stood in front of a mirror. Moina is behind fiddling with one of them, maybe their hair or so on. I act casual and hostlike and go to give Moina a social kiss, no pretense of ceremony, etc., just kiss her on the cheek in a savvy way (of course very pretentious). As I get close Moina is too high, she must be standing on a chair, etc., and the kiss is muddled—Moina also does not fully reciprocate the "oh, Hi!" pretension of my greeting kiss.
2) In a lower bedroom, perhaps my first bedroom in the house, are Pedro and Dani—my Spanish friends from university. They are playing video games, Tekken, as we all used to when I was a student and very into the game. I used to be extremely good at this game in waking life, in the top 5 of the country, and the Spanish were always impressed. They continued to play after university, trying to emulate me (I like to think); but I quickly dropped video games after graduation—I think playing these games is very childish now.
The Spanish are in bed, and the room is scattered, like a sleepover looks the next day. I look at the screen and they have selected a secret character unknown to me. It is some kind of comicy character (most the characters in Tekken were based on macho stereotypes; secret characters were mostly the same, with one exception: "Gon," a miniature dinosaur). The character has a first and last name, uniquely, but it is lost on me in waking. I'm surprised that the Spanish have reached the level of knowing something about Tekken that I don't. They invite me to play; I say no, though I know I can still beat them easily if I wish.
3) I get out of bed and feel intense pain in my legs. I see an image of them: the backs of my legs are hideously sunburnt—the skin is a pink/red, with a strong purple undertone. I appeal to Nana for help (she was a Nurse in real life). The problem has now morphed: the backs of my legs are covered in meadows of disgusting black-heads. The acne is big and pronounced: each spot looks like a mini-volcano, with a black nib that looks like a bee-sting sunk in the flesh.
It's horrid and I want to get rid of it at any cost. I hurriedly appeal to Nana again, and she begins to pop the acne. Porridge-like ooze pops out of the spots, and I furiously join Nana in squeezing them.
4) I walk into the Australian arcade (game-centre). As I used to, I stroll in and hunt for the Tekken machine—and as long ago, I'm confident whoever is on it will be unready for someone with my skills. I stay near the door, but can't see a machine, in fact I can't see many players either—this arcade is not much fun. There is, what looks like, a Tekken machine with red buttons and a red joystick, with a white body; but the machine is turned against another so that people can't sit in front of the controls and play a game—a redundant or broken machine perhaps. I can't see another Tekken machine, or Tekken player anywhere.
But I choose to get some change and play something. I find the change machine, and someone is walking away from it as I approach. I put my coin in and wait. The coin exit doesn't look like a coin-exit should, it looks like the dispenser of a coffee machine: a plastic grill, wet, a bit dirty. My change doesn't come out; a large spider comes out. It is not the kind of spider with hair-thin legs and a chunky body, it has both chunky legs and body—like a tarantula, etc. But it is not hairy. It's a sandy yellow color and looks very generic—like a mass-produced genetically engineered spider.
I can't pick the spider up. I bat it out of the coin collect / coin exit, and it hits the floor. It moves, perhaps attempting to escape, and I try to kill it with some kind of liquid, maybe water. The killing liquid works, the spider's legs curl in, its motionless in the puddle of liquid. I go to pick it up, perhaps I even pick it up.
The arcade closes, the few players who were there file out. I follow them. The lights go out as I leave on to the night Australian street.
I wake
No comments:
Post a Comment