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nnyI use to be younger than I am now. It's hard to believe.
That sounds ridiculous, so let me 'splain. It's hard to imagine knowing any less than I know now, just as it's hard to imagine my ever changing or learning, even though it happens every day. I can't conceive of knowing more than I do... or at least, I can conceive of it in an abstract way- one day I will know more- rather than in a specific way- one day, I will know this.
In a time when I was younger and thoroughly more innocent, I used to drink swimming pool water. It wasn't always intentional- it often involved the spitting of said water at various siblings in order to make them squeal. Chlorine tasted alright, though.
As far as the sea went... I didn't know, back then, about the various sewage, pollution, dead fish and smelly people that shared my bathing water. I was more naive and, cliche as it is to say, life was easier. I didn't worry so much. I was quite capable of wandering up to random strangers and starting conversations with them. I made friends on the beach that were friends for life... or at least, until the evening and home time, and isn't that almost the same thing at six? All I wanted in the world was an ice cream, and to ride the trolley car up to the top of the cliff rather than have to walk back to the car. I built sand castles, and chased the waves, and ran and squealed and believed my dad really was asleep as I dumped bucket fulls of damp sand all over him. He made me into a mermaid, once, so it was only fair. I was happy, all those summer days.
Now I swim with my mouth closed.
Olives taste like the sea. That strange taste in the back corners of your mouth, salt and wet but happier than tears... that's what olives taste like. They taste like childhood summer days. And that, Sophie m'dear, is why I fancied an olive at five o'clock this morning.
Anyone have any burning questions? About life, the universe, how lightbulbs work, why your teeth fit together at the back? I can't promise I'll know the answer, but by god I'll lie with panache.
That sounds ridiculous, so let me 'splain. It's hard to imagine knowing any less than I know now, just as it's hard to imagine my ever changing or learning, even though it happens every day. I can't conceive of knowing more than I do... or at least, I can conceive of it in an abstract way- one day I will know more- rather than in a specific way- one day, I will know this.
In a time when I was younger and thoroughly more innocent, I used to drink swimming pool water. It wasn't always intentional- it often involved the spitting of said water at various siblings in order to make them squeal. Chlorine tasted alright, though.
As far as the sea went... I didn't know, back then, about the various sewage, pollution, dead fish and smelly people that shared my bathing water. I was more naive and, cliche as it is to say, life was easier. I didn't worry so much. I was quite capable of wandering up to random strangers and starting conversations with them. I made friends on the beach that were friends for life... or at least, until the evening and home time, and isn't that almost the same thing at six? All I wanted in the world was an ice cream, and to ride the trolley car up to the top of the cliff rather than have to walk back to the car. I built sand castles, and chased the waves, and ran and squealed and believed my dad really was asleep as I dumped bucket fulls of damp sand all over him. He made me into a mermaid, once, so it was only fair. I was happy, all those summer days.
Now I swim with my mouth closed.
Olives taste like the sea. That strange taste in the back corners of your mouth, salt and wet but happier than tears... that's what olives taste like. They taste like childhood summer days. And that, Sophie m'dear, is why I fancied an olive at five o'clock this morning.
Anyone have any burning questions? About life, the universe, how lightbulbs work, why your teeth fit together at the back? I can't promise I'll know the answer, but by god I'll lie with panache.
