Yesterday I was spooned by a complete stranger, once she was through, I spooned her back. I didn't look at her face. I didn't want to. She lay behind a white net curtain on a mattress dressed with white bedding. Nothing lush. A quilt a couple of pillows. A girl with brown bobbed hair, a big red jumper and blue jeans. I didn't see her face. I didn't need to. She could have been anyone. I could see the bodies piled up behind the curtain. As a spectator I felt no courage. Looking through the netting at a threesome of legs, arms, a jigsaw of human bodies. Does that make it sound sexual? I take off my boots and wait for my turn.
I chose to be spooned. The one adored, the one craved. But this was anonymous. The girl no more saw my face than I saw hers. If I was the one being adored, the one being craved, then that was a projection I placed onto myself. I lay with my eyes closed thinking nothing but 'this could be anyone'. So what do I do? Do I project a person unto her? Is this Andrew? Is this a lover? Is this a friend? Is this a stranger? It really didn't matter who this was.
There were two hands on me. A third person involved, but there was a barrier between me and the third. Except for the extra hand placed upon my waist, I felt the presence of only one other. It could have been anyone. It could have been no one. But it was someone. 'It' was someone because 'it' was breathing. 'It's' breathing was not relaxed. This person was inviting strangers to spoon with 'it', and I don't think 'it' was comfortable. The breathing was too harsh and as soon as I noticed this I did all I could to calm 'it'.
I spooned back. I placed my head into the back of the red jumper and my hand upon the small waist and steadied my own breathing. I wanted the body to mimic mine, to become synchronized. To become, through spooning, one single organism.
There was no connectivity. There was no one true organism created through touch. The mind became as redundant as the identity within the red jumper. I left not feeling comforted by a new relation to a strange fellow being, but comforted for having calmed the breathing of this organism who was damned to spend the rest of the night holding onto strangers. And I have absolutely no idea why she would want to do this to herself.
This playlist will not help us to connect. It holds moments which I can only share with myself. But if I give it to you, if you listen to it properly, maybe you will be able to feel me place my head onto your shoulder and my arm around your waist.