Moving Day

moved

I moved into my own body at around twenty-three, only to find myself embarrassed and horrified at the nonsense it had been getting up to.

Especially my mouth.

I was in a club. It was dark. It was late. The Irish man I was talking to looked deep into my eyes.

“You know, I thought you were a decent guy. But you’re kind of a piece of shit,” he repeated. My mouth had just said “what?” even though my ears had been working perfectly fine.

I looked down at my hands. If my mouth has been pulling this shit, what have you bastards been up to, I thought. I used my hands to feel my ears, my nose, my hair.

When was the last time I got a haircut?

I looked back at the Irishman.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, “I had a rough childhood.”

What the hell are you talking about? I thought at my mouth.

“Stop it!” I cried.

The Irishman frowned at me.

“What?”

“Not you! Myself. I’m just really–ah!”

I cut myself off before lying again. I tested my feet, they worked as I expected. I turned around and ran to the bathroom.

I looked in the mirror. My eyes, pupils dilated, my shirt open way too far. I buttoned it. I splashed water on my face.

Not enough.

I walked to the stalls. The big one, even though I wasn’t handicapped. I tore off all of my clothes. I looked down at myself; covered in hair, full of drugs and beer.

“What the hell have you been getting up to?” I asked my nipples. They ignored me. My penis cowered between my legs.

“You’re certainly not innocent!” I remonstrated.

I looked at my toes, unclipped, dirty. I wanted to punish my own body, but I was trapped in it, now.

“I’m ashamed at you!” I told my body as I examined twenty-three years of memories; twenty-three years of no one behind the wheel of this suicidal sack of meat. I put my pants back on. My shirt, too.

“Things are about to change around here!” I proclaimed.

I meant it.

I forget what happened next.

 

19 comments

  1. […] Moving Day: Hm, this is one I tried to write for a while. It is almost entirely true. I was young, trying to get this guy to hit on women, really being a jackass about it. I remember very clearly him grabbing me and saying exactly what is in the story. It was painful to think about for a long time, because, well, he was right. It made me realize I needed to change a lot in my life. Funny, I don’t even remember his name. […]

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  2. This is the first story I’ve ever read from you guys (I’m a new fan, stumbled upon this blog post).

    When I read the first line, “I moved into my own body at around twenty-three, only to find myself embarrassed and horrified at the nonsense it had been up to”, my attention was successfully grabbed. I think I liked that line so much because of it oddity, and how the commentary still remains quite realistic.

    I moved into my own body at the age of fourteen, when I immigrated to North America. That was when I stopped thinking in small scales 🙂 .

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you. I’m really glad this struck you in some way. Thanks for giving it a read and I really like that last line of yours. Feel free to turn it into a story of your own if you’d like.

      Liked by 1 person

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