It was chaos.
There were words everywhere. Such was the scene at the grocery store today. I was in the produce section, putting some Fuji apples in a bag, minding my own business when I felt a tap on my shoulder,
“Pardon me; I found this on the floor. It must be yours.”
A man hands me the word “when.” Any normal person would ask how he knew it was mine, but then I saw them. I had left an ant trail of words behind me. There was a mixture of words and incomplete thoughts, starting at the entrance to the store, and zig-zagging its way to me. “Endorphin vending machine” lay among the containers of strawberries. Someone had stepped on “Chardonnay no bueno” a few steps away from the green lettuce. One word and then two fell out of my ear, as he handed me “when.” I caught “situation” and “bites” before they hit the floor and shoved them in my pocket. Next, a full sentence fell to the ground and broke into pieces.
“There,” he said. “I see some,” pointing near the basil where I had been. “Whoops, there goes another,” he laughed, as the word “Nomenclature” escaped from my bangs and landed on the avocados.
Everyone is staring now. Another woman approached with concern,
“Excuse me but, do you need help? Should I call someone for you?”
Embarrassed, I look around for a reusable shopping bag. Of course, I’ve left my stash in the car. As I turn my head, “Stumps you” lands in another person’s grocery cart. I lean over and retrieve it. I am near tears.
“Oh, it’ll be okay” she commiserates.
The woman’s mouth was open again; she might have been in mid-sentence. But, I didn’t stay to hear it. At this point, flea-like words are jumping out of my hair. I abandon my cart, and run out the door.
Later at home, I’m relaying the events to my friend over the phone.
“It was like Sesame Street; only it wasn’t a friendly ‘L’ singing a song. The letters were words, and they were coming fast and furious.”
Silence on the other end of the phone.
I go on, “Do you remember when we’d be out with friends? We’re dancing or at a bar, and we’d be afraid to ‘break the seal’ and go to the bathroom? We always thought that this opened up the floodgates. After you went for the first time that night, you’d always have to go to the bathroom once it started. Remember?”
“Oh yeah, I remember, ” she replied.
I am in a ball on the couch, arms around my knees, I might have been rocking, but I can’t be sure. “It was like that, and it keeps happening.”
I continued my shameful, frightening story,
“You see, it’s happening to me right now, as I am talking to you. Wait, not the pee, I’m talking words again. I came home and wrote down one small idea. One small idea. Once I started to open the door for a couple of words, I couldn’t close the door again. I’ve slammed it shut, leaned on it, stuck my foot up against the bottom of it but words keep coming. Now they are like liquid and trickling through the doorframe and under the door. Words keep coming out of my ears, my hair and my fingertips! I am alphabet Carrie on prom night!”
She was calm when she said, “Don’t worry. They come in waves; it’ll stop. Plus, you should be happy shouldn’t you?”
I’m still thinking about the grocery store. I choose to look on the bright side: “You know what? Thank god, nothing has come out of my nose. Can you imagine the word ‘supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’ coming out of there, and in public? That would hurt, and it’d be embarrassing.”
I’ve found the only way to corral these words, whether out in public or at home, is to sit down, organize the phrases, even the run-on sentences, and give them some love. So I write them down. I’m embracing the feast.
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