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The Future Show Monologue: An Uncanny Moment

An hour later, I will lay still in the etched grooves of my mattress with my eyes shut and planning my weekly schedule. Why won’t I enjoy the moment? This thought will start at the back of my mind and surely find its way front and center. I’ll get up eventually, but naturally, there’ll be so much to think about, and relaxation, will only come, once everything is organized.

The guilt of ‘laziness’ will creep in before making the cumbersome walk to the kitchen for yet another cup of tea. I’ll subconsciously search for my phone and quickly remember that I’ve placed myself on a social media diet and buried my device under, ‘the chair’. Located in the dysfunctional corner of my bedroom, defiantly unimpressed by my OCD.

‘Misplaced’ hair ties, clothes, make-up, charging cables, half pairs of earrings, spare or old batteries, stuff upon stuff- who knows? Under that heap, ‘Samsung’ or ‘Sam’ for short, will lay there containing an overwhelming vortex of images. I will ignore this and resume the short, but now longer walk to the kitchen.

The flat will be quiet again. Evidence of Mum’s juiced vegetables will have permeated the smell of wet grass. She will have left some kale juice for me before going to her essential job. For a brief moment, I’ll stand there doing a double take of the glass to the kitchen sink and the kitchen sink to the glass.

I won’t have planned to leave the house again but convince myself to take the bin out as it’s the least I can do. If I could handle the bin, then by default I could handle ‘the chair’ or at the very least it’s maddening presence, right? No, I’ll also calm myself right down and sort it the following day when I have mustered enough strength.

My bare hands will go to tie the bin and I’ll think about wearing my newly acquired armor complete with mask and gloves. Before crossing our gated apartments, I’ll then think about how I’ve touched the bin anyway and the task at hand will literally take less than a minute to complete. Before reaching the point of my internal argument- I’ll have shut the door behind me and it will be light outside.

A skip to the disposals area will fill my lung reserves with all the fresh air I can contain. Like a flower, my face will project upwardly toward the warm golden light. I will contemplate taking yet another solitary walk to nowhere in particular.

A flow of young muffled giggles from less than two meters away will circle me and ask for my silence in a game of hide and seek. Onward I cross as I will not have seen anything. I will remember telling you this, and wonder if that makes me a hypocrite. But then I will also remember, assuring you, that I can keep a secret. I can keep a secret.

My arrival to the dumpster will ascend a melancholic sigh. Half the journey will be complete once I vigorously toss a bag full of compost into the heap. Out will spring a black lined, yellow winged butterfly. He will glide, fluttering through the air showing off and landing with certainty on my bare shoulder. I will turn my head slowly and fully engage in the moment. I’ll stand there present, silently thanking the golden butterfly for choosing me.

We’ll both have a moment of peace. The golden butterfly will take flight as I watch and wonder. I’ll then be standing in awe of God and all his creations. I will feel grateful to have had my Gift. At a later point, I will be surprised at myself for walking past the chair and not even caring. I will then google butterflies and the significance of my encounter and google will have the facts but not the answers. I will learn something new and feel excited to have a good story to bring to the table during dinner with Mum at some point in the week. I think of how she’ll ask if I took a picture, then I’ll think about how ‘I wish I had camera’, then I’ll think about how nobody’s said that phrase since 1996 but I’ll turn to my mother and reply with a quick retort, ‘yes a mental picture’.

I will remember the moment in the show where I paused and we all silently thought for a moment about the last time we wished we had a camera. I will consider ‘Sam’ staying off for a few more days.


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