Tχ – ‘Jigsaw Puzzles’

Second Installation

Jigsaw Puzzles

Somehow I’d managed to uproot myself from the spot, and apparently also found time to manipulate my jaw shut and blink two or three (million) times. In between these episodes I’d retreated down the stairs to the kitchen, to the kettle I’d filled with too much water for the mere two cups I’d anticipated. I was in no state to consider any such Freudian revelation that I’d filled the kettle with enough water for three cups on purpose, though retrospectively I imagine I’d always been expecting the arrival of a massive elephant, to assume its position in the corner of the living room.

I made the elephant a cup of tea, having to think far too hard about how a kettle works and what to do with a tea bag.

In times of crisis (for want of a better word) the auto-pilot usually kicks in. I forget, but I assume I sent mine on vacation and didn’t find a suitable replacement. In the kitchen – an open plan oblong space with a mile of granite running along one wall and a dining table opposite, adjacent to a half-wall partition leading through to a thee sofa living room complete with coffee table and hamster cage – in the kitchen, now, that is, some five minutes since I had contracted chronic vertigo, the walls and their pristine white faded and dulled; not even the kaleidoscopic hue of a bustling fruit bowl seemed able to retain its colour. Everything was darker. Everything washed and bled into nothing, with the exception of the elephant’s cup of tea, steaming audibly, almost apologetically.

TV. That is what is needed, I’d thought. Some brightly coloured pixels, flicking ecstatically to form the shapes of Entertainment and Commerce. Noel Edmonds flashed into view with that garishly over-practiced and condescending smile, as he explained, for the billionth time the principles of Deal or No Deal. Some awestruck idiot was being presented with the ultimate two-box dilemma: the bright blue one penny and the slightly darker shade of one hundred pounds mocked the depravity of her ‘game’. Her happiness floundered somewhere, a few rounds back. To lose with dignity or lose with sanity? The offer came in at forty-five pounds – I already knew my response and hers too: they were not the same.

I left it on, knowing full well I didn’t really give a toss, and cursing those damned pixels for the audacity of thinking they could offer escapism. The room notched down another level on the dull scale, as the hamster climbed the bars until she was cliffhanging from her little paws, pining to get a first look at the grief painted across my face like clown makeup . My tea beckoned, but I knew its game: the bearer of bad news and subsequent comforter – Devi’s fucking advocate.

I do not recall entirely why I decided, then, to leave, much less why I took the un-drunk tea with me. Perhaps I wanted to show it that life goes on, before pouring it down a drain and disposing of the mug to a charity shop. Adorning, again, my coat and bag, I ambled down the corridor (feeling a little drunk, I believe) and purposefully stepped out onto the snow-bitten pavement. There may have been a voice that called out behind me. I don’t know. I think it’d make me feel better if that were the case. It may have offered proof that the world hadn’t yet lost its pivot. As I said, though, I had stepped purposefully into the cold February air, which would presume I had a purpose to do so, which would by extension indicate the Earth was still spinning. The wind was gently orchestrating the swaying snowflakes – perhaps yet another indication that all was (largely) well, though I’m no weatherologist and so cannot be certain.

Digging myself into my own coat, thrusting my chin into the knot of my scarf, I began my pilgrimage down the road and away from the high street. I said I had purpose, but that purpose has since escaped me and, subsequent events considered, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to substantiate this claim. Some way down the road I’d stopped and opened my bag. Though I could swear to its contents, apparently I could actually see none of them. It was as if I had picked up someone else’s bag; someone who had picked up this bag, decided it also wasn’t there’s, and left it for me to find and similarly discover the unfamiliarity. Doubly unfamiliar. Twice the confusion. Or something.

The bag brimmed with a multitude of jigsaw pieces: some 3D, some 2D, others Meccano-like and yet others self-sufficient as per their architectural and functional integrity. I began to connect the first, circumstantial, pieces: 1) the world appeared to be (increasingly still) losing its colour and light; 2) the contents of my bag in which I kept all the worldly assets required to operate on a day to day basis (phone, wallet, cash cards, door keys, oyster card…) had metamorphosed into tiny building blocks in need of assembling; and 3) there was a cat approaching me, somewhat suspiciously, wearing a folder strapped to its back. And yes, of course… the folder had my name on it.

Written by Qfwfq. This entry was posted on April 22, 2010 at 2:51 pm and is filed under 'Qfwfq'. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.