Odyssey In A Teacup (12 page)

We took our seats, Ralph directly aligning himself with the microphone on the stage and within spitting distance of it. I sat on his right, Maxi was on his left and Vette was next to her.

The hall filled up quickly. Looking around, I roughly estimated that there were about ninety people in attendance. The hall had dark, shiny but scuffed floorboards, a high, ornate white ceiling, decorative French cornices and drab grey walls. Overall, it had an uninviting feeling about it. The stage was low and in relative darkness, but I could still make out the deep red wine colour of the curtain backdrop.

Right on seven-thirty, the house lights dimmed, the curtains parted, and an imposing frocked figure made an entrance. Even as she walked in the darkness towards the microphone, I guessed that she would have to be over six feet, and she was built like a front row forward. She stopped in front of the mike and was suddenly illuminated by a spotlight. We had to shield our eyes.
Ralph and his imbecilic idea to sit in the front.
The woman silently scanned the audience.

‘Good eeeeevening. Welcome to this meditation introductory night.’

She had a vaguely familiar, deep plummy voice. She paused, for effect, and silently scanned the audience again. Actually, she didn’t stop pausing.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
And then someone started clapping.
Hallelujah!
We all joined in. Satisfied with the response, she smiled broadly. By now, my eyes had adjusted to the light.

Oh. Shit.
I gasped. The very long yellow cuspids were unmistakable. I elbowed Ralph and hissed,
‘That’s Miss Parker!’

He gave me a puzzled look ... and then,
‘Aaah ... the thespian! Where are your bonbon teeth when you need them?’

We both sniggered. Fortunately, Miss Parker was too pumped up from the applause to notice us. She continued.

‘Let me introduce myself. My name is Kishma.’

Oh God.
This was all too much for Ralph and me. Our bodies shook violently as we tried to contain our laughter. You see, Joe’s favourite expression was
kish ma ken tookhus
, which is Yiddish for ‘kiss my arse’.

So, ‘K’ stood for Kishma (not Kathleen or Kunt). I wish I had known this when I was in high school. That second year could have been much easier because I wouldn’t have taken her so seriously. Then again, it might have made things worse. But presumably, ‘Kishma’ was a spiritual pseudonym that she may have only recently adopted.

Kishma introduced her partner, Albert, who joined her on stage. Albert had ginger hair, a dark complexion, skinny arms and legs, and a blubbery, spherical body. As Kishma then proceeded to give us an overview of the evening, Ralph whispered in my ear,
‘As in ... Albert, The Magic Pudding?’

Not so easily restrained this time, we giggled a little too loudly and I snorted.
Crap!
Kishma stopped mid-sentence and glared at the two of us, lips pursed disapprovingly. She shamed us into silence. Kishma, Kathleen, or Kunt, it didn’t matter. To me, she was still Miss Parker, second year high school. She resumed.

‘I want you all to stand, turn to the person on your left and shake their hand.’

The house lights were undimmed as everyone began to stand. I hated being thought of as the black sheep of the family just because I didn’t conform. Ralph took it in his stride. Yet under Kishma’s withering look, even he obediently prepared to stand like the rest of the sheep in the hall. Not Maxi, though.

‘What? Excuse me … EXCUSE ME ... how is that possible?’

Good question. If you turned to the person on your left, you’d get the back of their heads as they turned to the person on their left. Kishma was flustered. She eyeballed Maxi for about ten long, uncomfortable seconds, and then boldly enunciated,
‘It. Seems. Yooo. Have. A. Problem. With. Authority.’

Maxi glowered and then countered, just as loudly,
‘Nope. Just. With. Stooopidity.’

The collective intake of breath from the audience could have vacuumed the whole hall. Kishma was rattled. She did some deep breathing, squinted and then spoke in a very controlled voice.

‘Then yooo may leave if yooo so wish.’

‘Only if I get my three dollars fifty baaaaack.’

‘We do not issssyooo refunds,’ Kishma responded sibilantly, the thespian in her coming out.

‘Well. I paaaay, I staaaay.’

Kishma glared at Maxi, took another deep breath, then moved on. The hand-shaking exercise was aborted. The next exercise seemed a little better thought out.

‘I want you to pair up with someone you don’t already know,’ said Kishma. ‘Then I want you to look deeply into each other’s eyes without saying a word. One can find out much about another this way because the eyes are the window to the soul.’

At that point, Ralph put his hand up.

‘Yes. WHAT?’ Kishma’s patience was wearing thin.

‘If the eyes are the window to the soul ... what if someone’s cross-eyed? Is that like looking through a bay window?’

Everybody laughed. Not Kishma; not Albert. Kishma shot daggers at Ralph. She then shifted her gaze back and forth between Vette and me, raising her eyebrow, as if defying us to also mock her. The two of us just cowered. I was caught in a time warp. I quickly looked down. What if she recognised me? I just could not bear another imposition. Hell, I already knew I was stupid and disruptive. In that moment, I would have given anything for just a soupçon of Maxi or Ralph’s chutzpah.

As Kishma took in the rest of the audience, silently daring anyone else to challenge her, Ralph whispered,
‘I feel like a victim of ... thespianage.’
Again, we both trembled, this time with a mixture of frivolity and fear.

Looking into each other’s soul—whether it was through a double hung, awning, casement, sliding or bay window—raised a lot of discussion, but the rest of the evening dragged as Kishma prattled on about woo-woo stuff: psychic thought-forms, embracing the spiritual warrior within, astral body alignments, astral travel, guardians of light, chakras, crystals, telekinesis, karmic blueprints, blah, blah, blah. Albert then talked about thought transference.

‘We’re always conversing with others without even speaking. You’ve probably heard this referred to as “telepathy”. It’s a transmission of thought-forms from one person to another.’

I already knew about telepathy from my Home Science experience, but that had been a one-way transmission. Living with someone like Sylvia who hounded and nitpicked incessantly meant my ability to hear insulting thoughts was strong. And I guess when a particular thought is a collective enterprise, it becomes a monster thought-form that comes across more forcefully. This would explain why the ‘you pig’ transference from the WASPy girls in the Home Science lesson had hit so hard. But Sylvia was also systematically conditioning me to keep my mouth shut with ‘Don’t answer back!’ So my thought-broadcasting during that fateful lesson was already weakened. Still, my finger bun transmitted on my behalf after the lesson. It symbolised a giant
go-fuck-yourselves
to all those uppity girls!

‘It’s now time for the interactive part of the evening.’ Albert interrupted my thoughts. He divided us up into groups of about seven or eight. Thankfully, Ralph and I were in the same group, but Maxi and Vette ended up in different groups on the other side of the room. Each group sat in a circle and had a facilitator (these people had been sitting at the back of the hall). Our facilitator was Jan.

Jan was a slight woman, probably in her early thirties. She had long stringy, mousy hair, thin lips and a very pointy, beak-like nose. She was an ordinary-looking bird, neither ugly nor pretty. Jan was also wearing mousy clothes—a brownish-grey midi dress that hung on her like a sack—and Jan even had a mousy voice. We had to strain to hear her speak.

‘We connect through daring to be vulnerable, and that requires honesty,’
whispered Jan. Then, she looked at each one of us.

I felt like laughing because I was already anticipating a witty response from Ralph, but he said nothing.

‘I want each of you to introduce yourselves,’
she continued,
‘then you’re to divulge something personal. Remember, this is a safe space.’

As she said it, she moved her arms, palms up, in outward circles as if to delineate the ‘safe space’. Cue Ralph? Nope. Again, nada.

Jan then asked the woman immediately to my left to start. Her name was Anna. An attractive woman with curly, shoulder length black hair and a nice figure, Anna looked to be in her mid-twenties. She confessed that her ex-boyfriend used to beat her up, but that now, God was the only ‘man’ she needed.

‘Thank you, Anna,’
whispered Jan.

Still Ralph said nothing, but I sensed he might explode. It’s hard to keep a smart-arse down for long.

We proceeded in a clockwise direction.

‘Hi, I’m John. I’m thirty-four and two months. After a debauchery-filled ten years, I’m celibate and like myself a whole lot more.’

I’m not quite sure if that meant he preferred having sex with himself.

‘Thank you, John,’
whispered Jan.

Maureen was eighteen and had recently had an abortion.

‘Thank you, Maureen,’
whispered Jan.

Twenty-year-old Clive liked boys.

‘Thank you, Clive,’
whispered Jan.

Next up was the woman two down from Ralph. She had cropped salt and pepper hair, a long, thin face, and an athletic build. It looked like she was focusing on a point outside our circle. She cleared her throat, closed her eyes and took two slow, deep breaths.

‘My name is Vicky. I’m thirty-nine and I have two vageenas.’

Huh?
I thought, and I ‘heard’ the rest of the group thinking the same. Vicky obviously caught our communal silent transmission.

‘Its medical term is
didelphys
. That’s dee, eye, dee, ee, ell, pee, aitch, why, ess. It’s pronounced die-
dell
-fiss.’

No one spoke. Understandable. How do you respond to something like that?
Well, for starters,
hey Vicky, I’m guessing you meant to say two ‘vaginas’. That’s vee, ay, gee, EYE, en, ay, ess. It’s pronounced va-JY-nas.
She didn’t hear this thought transmission (it must have just been only my thought; a thready projection at that).

We waited interminably for Jan’s
‘Thank you, Vicky’
, but it wasn’t forthcoming. Like the rest of us, Jan was obviously shocked. Finally, Ralph broke the silence as he started clapping. Then slowly, we all joined in. Clearly, Ralph was applauding Vicky’s frankness. At that point, Kishma announced over the microphone that there would be a micro-break for all the groups. This would give me a bit of time to consider what I was prepared to divulge. We all stood up and stretched. I turned to Ralph.

‘That was really considerate of you,’
I whispered. I didn’t want to cheapen Ralph’s sensitive action with my indelicate thoughts.
‘Maybe she mispronounced it ‘cause it’s like the girls’ names Regina and Gina. Spelled the same way, but you pronounce them as Regeena and Geena,
’

‘What? Who cares about the pronunciation,’
he said, sotto voce. ‘
I was congratulating her! Hell ... I want her number!’

Ralph’s words momentarily threw me.
‘But ... she’s old enough to be your mother!’

‘Oh, I can overlook that. I could learn so much from a mature woman.’

I peered searchingly into my cousin’s contact-lensed eyes. What had become of the caring, intelligent, skinny little boy with the coke-bottle glasses? Ralph had turned into an opportunist. The cute Mogwai had metamorphosed into a Gremlin. I stood there lamenting this unfortunate mutation, but before I could say anything, Kishma was practically on top of us. She had been doing the rounds during the group work and now it was our turn.

‘Hug time!’ she announced.

Oh boy.
Getting huggy with strangers does not sit well with me, nor does it sit well with Ralph. And by the look on some of the group members’ faces, it wasn’t doing a whole lot for them, either. But Kishma didn’t care. She proceeded to work her way around our group, giving each member a squeeze. Now standing in front of Ralph, she extended her arms. I could see the whites of his eyes. She was about to close in on him.

‘I have brittle bones,’ he announced.

I swear I ‘saw’ a thought bubble above her head:

Kishma backed off. But ... holy moly—I was clairvoyant! Even though I was annoyed with Ralph, I wanted to tell him about my newfound talent. I was next in line, though. Kishma reached out for me. Flashing her big incisors, she and I engaged in a telepathic conversation:

Me:
‘My, what big teeth you have.’

Her:
‘All the better to eat you with!’

The big bad wolverine then wrapped her arms around me, crushing my face into her mid-section. I could smell a mix of sweat and vanilla.
Ecch.
It was Sunday drives all over again. I was hit with a wave of nausea. Kishma then held me at arms’ length, which was a pretty substantial distance away. But even from here, I could see the stucco on her face (nothing had changed; she still needed a makeover). She stared at me for the longest time.