slapping gums

we play games, my friend and i. we tread a line. we have heartrending talks, carefully managing not to rend anything. our hands are held out, our palms sealed. lines crossed out.

occasionally we wince at the nip of a teething truth on our ankle. it rarely draws blood and, later, it rarely persists. bone breaking through flesh needs contant sucking pressure. and a sharp loving clamp every now and then. but we leave it in ignominious peace and talk only of chewed food. habitual rumination. another enamel soldier surrenders his ridges and draws back.

i'm beginning to think this is a generation disconnected at the hip. we fuck with choreographed abandon and cower at the intrusion of a hug.

witch at the christening

one of pappa's oldest friends called the other day with some good news. his daughter's wedding's been fixed. a daughter dangerously past the right age, so the news brought relief and joy to everyone that heard it. because of her overripe age though, she is marrying someone with a ten-year-old child and sick cancer-ridden parents. oh, but he is a good match. he belongs to the right caste and sub-caste. he comes with good references. he's well off. he's not keen on her working after the wedding. so.

so her parents have no money. so her dad is hurrying up with his eye operation next month, when her current job will still cover the hospital bills. so they can't afford rent for too long now. and they're the nicest family that ever i met. kind to animals, devoted to friends, generous with all they have. they lit a candle in a faraway church when our missing dog was found. they're almost ridiculously nice. and so incredibly poor.

so i say to pappa: surely, their daughter isn't going to abandon them. i mean, she'll either get a job to support them or get her husband to compensate for the salary she isn't earning. that's only fair.
and my parents reply in unison: but how can he be expected to take care of her parents? why should he?

because she's looking after his, maybe?

nobody talks about this ever when fixing to get married. no one says, yes, that's all very nice and made in heaven, but who pays what bills? and how? why don't we discuss this? because it isn't civilised? isn't romantic, for fuck's sake?

maybe this is just youth's arrogance at the frailities of an infirm protocol. the ringing logic of the fantastically underinformed. i know nothing of being over 35 and not married. i know nothing about being the parent of a 35 and not married. and i know precious little about not talking about money. i talk about it all the time. and it makes me so mad all this tiptoeing around the first thing on everyone's mind and the heaviest weight on their heart.

but i get no satisfaction from this fury. no chest-thumping youthful righteousness to massage the uncertainties away. no triumph at all in the making of this fist.