Playing dressups

Playing Dressups

The night before, we had argued. We had argued because he had consumed two bottles of red wine and anything else that he could find the dredges of, which would be almost zilch because he always finished everything off. Anyway – I’m not a huge drinker and not during the week to the point where I wouldn’t be able to get up for work. This guy used to drive to work, still drunk, the next day. I often used to find him slumped over his steering wheel, car jacked up half on the curb and lawn or driveway and curb, the lights and radio still blaring. The drivers’ door askew and one leg hanging out. Like it’s the thought that counts…he thought he could get home, get inside the house…ridiculous. So this was why I was mad.

Anyway, as you do, I couldn’t sleep and lay in our bed wondering how the hell did I get here and how the hell I was going to extricate myself from it all. It must’ve been close to 4 am and I hear his car bumble into the driveway and something inside me wished he’d just stay in that car tonight, I was still pissed at the whole uncaring scenario. Alcoholics tend to not give a shit – like just about every other addict addicted to something more important than you.

I can hear him scrabbling around with his keys and I hear him talking nonsense to the cat and rummaging in the fridge. I make sure my back is turned as I just cannot face an argument with an illogical, loud, irrational drunk. He comes into our bedroom. I can hear him undressing and I lie quietly – trying to make my breathing sound even and as if I’m well asleep. He’s struggling to get his pants off and falls around the room, cursing and bumping into things and then collapses onto the bed, snoring.

I pluck feebly at the bed blankets he’s trapping underneath his comatose body. I lie there trying to figure out how I’m going to breathe for the next while, till I have to get up for work, as the room is turning into an alcoholic gas chamber. I only have to wonder about this for an hour and then I will have to get up to open the restaurant for breakfast. I can’t stand it so I get up. I decide to have shower to shake off the sleepless night. We have an en suite and I find my way there in the dark and turn the light on on the inside of the wall. A faint beam streams out, highlighting the bedroom as I turn to close the door behind me. In the moment the light poured itself briefly over my sleeping partner, I noticed something strange. All I could see were maybe two dark lines down his back – up to where the covers hid the rest of his body – from the sort of elbow area down. He’s lying on his stomach and is snoring facing the other way.

I gently open the door a little wider so that more light can try and identify what I am not sure I am seeing. I tentatively take a step back into the bedroom, squinting in the shadowy room. I keep going towards the bed and stand there looking at him. If you had been recording it, it would’ve looked like something out of those spooky paranormal movies. I was trying to figure out what he was wearing. I lean forward and carefully pull the sheets back to expose more of his body.

I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, scream or punch him. He was wearing a petticoat, with little string straps and a lacy trim. I was like, what the fuck!! I was in shock – I tell you, there is nothing like finding your man dressed up in women’s lingerie to wake you the fuck up out of your grumbling stupor of a morning.

His name just fell loudly out of my face and I was still clutching the tented bedclothes above him. His drunken scrunched up face dug itself deeper in the pillow and an arm came out to grab the blankets back.

“I like it! It’s nothing!” He slurred and promptly fell back into his drunken slumber. Well, I’m sorry, but I have nothing against anyone doing things that are consensual and don’t hurt anyone, but I do want to be the only one in the lingerie!

We spoke about it and he denied, denied, denied. It was crazy – I mean, I saw him! Needless to say as I like my men all man, I left and we have stayed friends. Interestingly enough his next girlfriend contacted me in a very distressed state to say that she thought he was cheating as she had found a suitcase of women’s lingerie, stockings and high heel shoes in the boot of his car when she had borrowed it one day. If only that were the case.

It was strange because after the initial shock and insulted type of feeling I had, I felt sorry for him…I realized that maybe he drank so heavily as he was trying to run away from who he needed to be. It may not be who you want to be, but it will be who you are…

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The gift is Home

our family

Nothing says home like the food you know, the smells that trigger head movies and the comforting arms and hands that picked you up and helped you mix and stir and “help” cooking when you were a kid. They now welcome you back into the fold, embrace your grown-upness but still visualised as the child, as you will always be. Family time is noise in the kitchen, clattering dishes and chattering mouths – we women of many words create more warmth with our talking breath, better than the lukewarm sun does, trying to impress us through a shameless glass. The men, young and old – three generations of my blood, gather around the finger food that has been laid out to stop them from starving before the main meal…if you believe that, you will believe anything.

My father, the patriarch, his unwilling body fighting his sharp, determined mind – his sharp, determined mind that used to beat his body has put its hands up and retreated. His brain is stronger than anything else, bar maybe his heart. He peers over his heavily framed glasses all the better to see a watch face his grandson has handed him to look at. His 80 year old eyes squint and recognise, the information is swift and he says the battery is a blah blah…..his mind as sharp as a knife. His son-in-law hands him a glass of wine which he carefully holds, the glass is heavy and cumbersome to him, due to his muscular dystrophy. He already can’t lift the glass to his lips but our mother brings straws with them so that he doesn’t have to.

His grandson, Jay, is a loud kid and is learning to pull his head in, but does show signs of promise with his unresearched fury at certain injustices. Maybe the same way my father felt about all of those things 60 years or more ago. My father brought all of us up to question everything, accept nothing at face value and to take risk in a positive way. He had a strong sense of what was right and fair and he brought four crusaders into the world to carry on that legacy. Give a shit, the majority of the population won’t – so you just have to. It’s your duty as a human being with the gift of life on this earth…

My SupaSista

SupaSista

This is for my amazing SupaSista

Who has been my strength throughout

My bestest friend and my sister

I just couldn’t do without

Tea and piklet scarfing

Feeling handbags and clothes

Sharing everything like it’s with myself

Things no one else knows

I’ve been at my lowest

Boy that was lowest low

And there she was like a shining beacon

Loving me and letting me know

Happy Birthday to my incredible, dynamic, smart, funny and beautiful sister – I can’t tell you how blessed I feel that you’re a part of MY family! I love you so much xxx

A Treasured Life

Me n my Dad

My Dad and Me It was so sad to watch you fade your mind as sharp as a knife It was so hard to say goodbye To such a treasured life It made me smile to think on you a while and on how you loved your wife Your children given all you had you gave a treasured life It seems that you are still here although you can’t be seen I often talk to you And not just in my dreams I hope I told you I loved you enough I hope you know how much I cared And I know one day, I’ll see you again Somewhere over there… © Kait King, 2015

sigh….

sigh

Sometimes I stare blankly at my computer screen, it gives me nothing back and I have nothing in my head. Yet it feels like something is very close…all I have to do is start. Just start somewhere…even if it’s exactly what is in my head – like “sigh”… They say writing is a discipline and this is very true for me. Even though once I’m actually writing I’m sucked into the void, it is sometimes a struggle to start. I love writing and get lost in the whirlwind of it all, and then wonder – why am I so resistant at times? Am I worried my words will get used up? I won’t have anything to write? And I have to mentally slap myself on the wrist – how shallow I am to think I would have experienced and felt everything there is to feel and experience so I could write about it.

The world and universe are far greater than the capacity my brain has to understand all things. I really am but a grain of sand in the big picture of things. We all are – but grains of sand make stunning beaches and pieces of paradise when put together….I wonder if there is something we should be learning from this? And who would’ve thought that a mere grain of sand on its’ own also had the power to change perspectives. That paradise beach is not so out of reach for the human race – if only we all stuck together to keep paradise a paradise…

His broken heart is hid

his broken heart is hid

Life suspended in a web-like hammock

the coffee smell not as nostril-curling as in the past

a homeless man stumbles along wet walks

dragging his sorry arse along the splinter lit streets

a reflection a sad life in a hard city,

his city a place where he lost his wife and his job,

a home, his family

where he nearly took his own

when things were darker than ebony

and he had to walk his walk alone

A bunch of aggro school kids

too brash and way too loud

disrespect his foul figure on the skids

he had no room to be proud

He seeks a place that’s dry

it won’t be warm,

he knows a place where he can cry

and his aching tears won’t show

© Kait King, 2015

Whoever you are

I just want you to know

that you are not alone

I know it sounds empty –

we can’t talk

I can’t hug you

I can’t invite you into my home

But I need you to know

that there is someone out there

someone who also feels the same

is sick of the same game

and shares the same fears

If I can make you understand

this is not what defines you

but the choices you make

from this day forward

even when you don’t know

what to do

© Kait King, 2015

Eddie G

Eddie G

A lisp

a whispered hiss

With a gristle hustle

and a deathly shuffle

you wind your way

back home

There’s a twist

and a freakish glow

in a freak show

the decaying beat

of a drum

hiss

a whispered kiss

of a driveling fool

your hunting days

are done

this

flayed lantern skins

bones used as tools

a soup bowl

not a soup bowl but

a human skull

© Kait King, 2015

I need one of those dogs

i need one of those dogs

Listening quietly in

the dawn of the day

My mind playing games

that my heart won’t play

Watching us still

in the dark of my mind

waiting for someone I can’t seem to find

Holding this close

Not wanting to lose

Making the choice

and then having to choose

As the falling rain

dampens my heart

I can’t seem to see

Was I blind from the start?

© Kait King, 2015