Drunk Angel

Standing in the queue for the cashier at the food-market. I am wearing a long skyblue knitted coat, and a gray knitted woolen scarf with pompoms.

A man in his 40-50ies is behind me, buying a 6-pack of beers and nothing else. Most of his teeth are missing, the rest are brown and look like a disaster area. He stinks – to put it mildly.

“Oh that is such a bloody fantastic wonderful coat! and that scarf! I LOVE people who stand out – oh that coat is fucking bloody fantaaastic!”

“I am happy it pleases you. You like colors.”

“Oh it’s amaaaazzing – bloody aaawesome” and he starts to stroke his hand slowly down my arm, caressing the soft wool.

I have fallen into the old habitual trance of being nice and 2 year old and not saying anything – but there is something so sweet about his energy, kind, loving, that I find myself just firmly saying ” don’t do that” and remove his hand.

Pause. In a low sad voice: “I did not mean to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t. It’s just too close.”

“Then you just have to tell me that.”

“And I just did.”

“And that is OK” – smile

what is weird is that I know that these words do not come from an alcoholic – they come from kindness and complete soberness.

I know it is a classroom

People are not who we think they are

We then both noticed the very tired stressed young cashier and both started to praise her for her stamina, keeping her head clear in  this chaos, calling her a hero. She blossomed in front of us.

*

When I came home, I used the happening to allow my body to fully feel the feelings of shock and disgust and fear  – so long denied and repressed and rationalized – breathing through it and letting it go

2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Mona Gustafson Affinito
    Dec 04, 2014 @ 16:44:34

    Great report!

    Reply

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Please note that nothing written here is intended as medical advice. Readers who think that they need help with a physical or psychological condition are advised to seek a qualified opinion.

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