Sinister: wings

[chippy eileen]

when the darkness reaches back to you, it does so in a
smile.

have you ever turned all the lights off, covered the
windows, and just sat in the dark...just listening? 
shut your eyes, reach out your hands, and wait, wait
for the music to feel you.  wait for it to find its
way inside you.

i'm sorry.  perhaps i should introduce myself.  my
name is chippy eileen.  i live in east langerston..its
a tiny village in yorkshire.  we have a chip shop, a
newsagents and a woman who goes round from house to
house, combing old ladies' hair.

i don't know how long i've been here.  no, really i
don't.  you see, margaret found me one day.  margaret,
that's my mother, or the closest i ever came.  she's
married to frank, and they've looked after me since
whoever left me here left me here.  when i was little
margaret liked to tell me it was a gypsy.  i liked the
thought of that.  a dark-skinned, mysterious
headscarfed lady who was on the run from some magical
curse and couldn't take her little girl with her.  so
she left me, wandering round outside the chippy, and
margaret took me in one night.

i left school last year, and now i work in the chippy.
 margaret and frank wanted me to go to university,
make something of myself, but i decided not to make
myself until i knew what i wanted to be.  so i stand,
day after day, frying fish, and playing belle and
sebastian on my little radio.

there's something about frying fish.  most people
wouldn't understand.  most people who work in a chippy
just want the money.  i do it because its where i come
from.  its pretty quiet, so they leave me on my own in
the shop a lot.  sometimes i can stand and stare into
the vat for ages, just watching the bubbles as they
drift around, lost in some sort of long-forgotten
pattern.

that sounds strange, i know.  i often say things that
sound strange.  i'm sure its margaret's story about
the gypsy that did it.  i've grown up believing in
magic, believing in its power to change the
world...or, if not, at least to change today.

that's why i like to feel music.

that's why i stand, in the dark, reaching out and
hoping something will reach back.

they say a geometrid is a type of moth.  did i read
that on the sleeve notes, or did i look it up on
margaret's computer?  i don't know.  
moths, funny creatures.  always flapping around in the
dark, when really, all they're looking for is a light.
 when they find one, they'll die for it.  they dive
straight in, and they find their wings burning.
funny creatures, always flying around in the dark,
looking for a light.  not altogether unlike human
beings.

"geometrid".  good title for an album.  will i feel
the moths in the dark?  will they seek me out, their
light?  or will they fly around, looking for brighter
sparks?

i turn the lights out... the player always hesitates
for a moment, and i use the pause to stand, in the
middle of the room, feeling.

one song, two songs, three songs....i can feel myself
smiling, but untouched.  fourth song...oh dear... and
then suddenly... something tingles.  my fingers touch
a wing.. i can feel my brain breathing... i'm not
alone here.  the songs flow into one another...and i
find one inside me...."bug rain".... i hear the words
but i'm not really listening to them....."bug
rain"...just feeling.. feeling it reach back to me,
flap its wings around.  i hope it doesn't die yet... 

and no, it doesn't.  for what seems like a couple of
moments it explores me... into my hair, round my
fingers.. and then, i am aware that the music has
stopped.  and i'm on my own again...but i'm smiling.

i'm typing this, looking out at the dusk.  there's a
duck pond next to the house.  the ducks don't live
there since someone poured petrol in it.  out of the
window, i can see what's left of frank's green house. 
that green house.  he spent so much time and money
building the green house, growing his tomatos, his
cucumbers, his pride and joy.  when you look at fish
and chips all day, you don't want to eat fat.

it took him nearly two years to get the green-house
just like he wanted.  for two weeks, it stood in our
back yard.  a monument to human achievement.  and
then...it collapsed.
a high wind, and that was the end of frank's dream.

i'm typing this, looking out at the dusk.  downstairs,
i can hear the shop door close and a car drive away. 
margaret's voice is shouting to frank to fetch some
more cola.

i'm typing this, on my own, with the dusk.  soon to be
the darkness.  full of moths.  and i'm typing it now,
because i'm scared that when the morning comes i'll
find that all i did last night was listen to an album.

xxx
eileen

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