Bilingual Being by Kathleen Saint-Onge

Author:Kathleen Saint-Onge
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: MQUP
Published: 2013-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

Party

My black ballet leotard and tights.

Bunny ears from the Kresge store.

A blob of cotton balls pinned to my butt.

A box you’d put a board game in

strapped right at my waist level.

The display is fully loaded – Player’s,

Export A, du Maurier, Craven A,

a few cigars, some pipe tobacco.

I am eight years old – one of

three pretend Playboy bunnies.

My cousin, S., who’s ten, has a box

of chocolate bars, peanuts, and candy.

My cousin, X, who’s twelve, has a box

of spare ashtrays and a lighter.

I am the “cigarette girl” because

it’s the lightest box, I’m told.

It’s «une p’tite soirée, un p’tit

parté,» one among many.

My costume is my story

in a nutshell. My metaphor.

Olfactory triggers of my horror:

men, smoke, tobacco, nicotine.

Psychic death infects my nostrils,

imprints an indelible symbol

of interminable injury which is

at once my very own, and

at once a product of culture twisted:

«Bin, viens-t-en-donc. Y’a rien là.

C’est juste drôle, ça-là.

C’est juste pour faire un peu d’fun.»*

This from my mother’s tongue –

my mother tongue.

Everyone is happy, having fun –

«Y sont dans leur élément.»†

But I am not elemental here.

I do not belong, do not enjoy

handing out pipe tobacco

and cigars to the Elder –

and family-friendly priests

pretending their embarrassment,

at taking what I am now

offering them in public.

A movie could not make up this shit

any better than I live it.

Forget the withering soul,

the faultering ego,

a man is snapping his fingers,

and my job is to «faire un beau

sourire pis servir les hommes.»‡

I am being socially constructed as a slut.

Compliant in my best smile,

I vomit only on the inside.

But in moments when

the men are «satisfaits,»

I lean up quietly against a corner,

flip the cardboard tops wide open,

move cigarettes into little lines,

smooth out tiny bits of foil neatly,

reorganize packages into tidy rows

and arrange cigars by label colours.

I want to keep my own display

as clean and sensible as I can.

My limited sphere of influence

hangs around my neck.

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