Puke

In February of 2012, I took a 72 hour trip to Taipei (including the approximately 26 hours of flying) to attend my cousin’s funeral after her unexpected death. Of the dozen or so times I’d been to Taipei, this was the first time I was going in the wintertime. Coincidentally, Little V’s name constitutes the first four letters of my cousin’s name; I did not realize this until she was born and an old friend pointed it out to me. That’s what childhood friends are for; they remember details, facts, and stories about yourself, your family, your friends, and are able to have insights and see connections where others may not.

Surprisingly, EVA tickets were cheaper than China Airlines, and I took a window spot on a forest-green colored seat next to a three-year-old child and her mother. Throughout the flight, the three-year-old girl was quiet, pleasant, and drank from a bottle. About 5 hours into the flight, she projectile vomited all the milk in an impressive spray, all over the seats (fortunately missing me), and her mother literally tried to catch her puke in her cupped hands as she frantically called for assistance from a flight attendant.

Of course, the EVA attendant was gracious and helpful; she brought towels and changed out the puke seats (it had not occurred to me that airlines keep extra seat cushions around for such occasions). My feeling at the time was simultaneously of horror and humor. I horrified because it was gross and I felt terrible for the mother, but part of me also wanted to laugh (a little) at the unfortunate occurrence.

Five and a half years later, now that I am a mother myself, and am pretty much constantly wiping and cleaning spit-up and puke, and frequently getting spit-up all over my body, my clothes, my sheets, and my furniture, the EVA air experience in retrospect seems a little less funny, and also a little less gross.

Alcohol

chasteness chastity celibacy abstinence virtuous reserved

whore

she caught sight of herself in the mirror, presiding over vomit-laced sinks and

briefly searches for the terrible fish in the reaches of the silver pool but is relieved

the bathroom god is merciful when the time pulses slowly, the air moves like waves

he said you smell like cigarettes and boys, what a primitive existence, base and typical

just as you feared

let me live thin during the nights, if it pleases me

on her thigh she notices a bruise, eggplant-coloured and temporary

an accident like Tuesday and his slate-blue eyes

she hates the thickness of heat and how skins cling in damp numbness

these close textures, constant intrusions remind her

she has resigned herself to chasing her second fall