Hurtling Down the Reactionary Road... (from Bernadine Evaristo's Girl, Woman, Other)
With Gemma Weekes, Vanessa Walters, Dennis Da-ala Mirilla, Brother, John Brennick, Haroon Khan - May 4th, 2021
This week’s writers in the order they appear, Gemma Weekes, Vanessa Walters, Dennis Da-ala Mirill, Brother, John Brennick, Haroon Khan
Hurtling down the reactionary road…
Life had her back turned to me. Again. I thought of myself as a fairly interesting person. A good, loyal friend. Not needy at all. My messages were ignored, fell into sofa creases and pocket holes. Nobody called. Where were my friends? Nobody seemed to call me but my mother with gossip about people I either didn't know or wasn't curious about. I wondered if I was one of those people so eager you tire of them.
My friends’s posts soured me on Instagram, sickened me on Facebook, curdled me on Twitter. They didn’t have the consideration to be severely depressed or dead somewhere, or at least have lost their phones. They flaunted their availability and continued use of opposing thumbs.
Nobody called me but my other friends. The ones I didn't need to chase down, worry about, theorize their indifference or lack of care.
Annoyingly, nobody called but those who loved me. I looked at the phone in disgust, thoughts like a car all gas and no steering wheel.
By Gemma Weekes
Hurtling down the reactionary road…
because I’m too emotional, like a spitfire, like rockets going off. I am doing it again. I try to stop myself. But sometimes I can’t. In that split second, I’m not there. I’m outside myself looking down on the craziness unfolding in the street where the other person doesn’t realize they’ve knocked over the powder keg and I’m about to blow up on them. Why? What is it about? I won’t remember. I’ll have to sit down later, my ears ringing, my breath coming and going like a rattling train. I hear so much but I don’t really understand. Why? Why didn’t I just smile and keep going. Walk past ignoring her leather face and forked tongue? I snapped like all the women before me - my mother who dropped a pile of books on my head because I said I didn’t like her health supplements. My grandmother who wet up my aunt for backchat.
By Vanessa Walters
Hurtling down the reactionary road…
He had been on the reactionary road many times in his life. At this point nothing fazed him anymore. God hated him so much that his animosity now hung permanently over his head like a halo. He had experienced tragedy before, many times even.
The last time was when Ola was murdered. He held his anguish all day. It sat in his throat until he was almost suffocated by it. And then he let go, wailing, screaming from deep inside him, in the back seat, while he father drove unbothered, head straight, eyes fixed on the road.
Now he just didn’t care as much. It was life after all.
By Dennis Da-ala Mirilla
Hurtling down the reactionary road…
There were many signs. Some say to stay and some say go. But the watch I was wearing is still ticking somewhere back where I left it. I never had much time to follow signs so I had to discern quickly how to interpret them. I remembered “left foot, right foot” it became a Mantra for me as I was my own drill sergeant plunging into deep adventure. It startled me that I became exactly what I said I would be and the world didn’t much like it. Signs became cold symbolism as I look back to find no one was following me. “Who goes there?” I thought, my eyes telegraphed my startled confused position. I had to bring myself back with a splash of water. Wiped my face and away went yesterday as I nosied back to my seat “left foot, right good”. I had to think because of the unsettled conditions of my arrival. My thoughts had wrapped me warm. It wasn’t a familiar feeling.
By Brother
Hurtling down the reactionary road…
I didn't know that I was hurtling down the reactionary road.
That road leads to negative emotions, herd instincts and conflict. There are few rest stops where you can refresh to think clearly, objectively.
On the reactionary road, there are few off-ramps to alternative perspectives, to views of the full landscape and the far-off horizon.
That road is narrow. Speeding down that road results in the loss of friends on Facebook, and no changes of opinions.
I reacted with indignation to their fake news. I did not ask why they wanted to believe them.
By John Brennick
Hurtling down the reactionary road…
Reset
Hurtling down the reactionary road
I routinely trip up
Scuffed knees caressed with gauze and Dettol
Inhale the aroma of familiarity
Nostalgia only ever comes in rose tinted lenses
Knowing this I switch
from hurtling to taking measured steps
Velocity only matters if you’ve plotted a course beforehand
Ready, fire, aim
my factory settings
Ready, aim, fire
now I’ve recalibrated
By Haroon Khan
(All rights reserved by the authors. Not to be copied or reproduced without permission. ) (Edits by Vanessa Walters)