A little piece of her fell from the sky. At least that’s what she’ll tell you. It’s in her blood, you see. This “Rhesus Factor”. A phenomenon of a missing protein.
Doctors say it’s a problem. That you might struggle to have children. And maybe that’s true. But to say she has something missing is to suggest that she isn’t whole. And that’s not the story she’ll tell you.
She’ll tell you that a piece of her fell from the sky. That this piece that is missing, that piece is a product of another world. Something far away. Something greater than ourselves. This missing piece is not a gap. It’s an opportunity. In fact, it’s a superpower.
RHESUS WOMAN! The unbound!
She’s not quite sure what the superpower is of course. But she’s damn sure she has one.
She’ll tell you tales of psychic providence. Unexplained moments of uncanny coincidence. Dream sharing and mind dancing. Proof of some cosmic entanglement. It’s all about quantum physics. That’s what she’ll say.
And you know what, I totally believe her. Not the psychic stuff of course. Or the dreams. Or the quantum entanglement. That’s all bullshit. But she does have superpowers. I know that for damn sure. Just not the ones she talks about.
I wonder if you’ve ever imagined life as a tea-bag?
Must be quite unassuming for the most part. Spending the better part of your life wrapped up in a finely woven blanket. Smoothly stacked amongst your perfectly packed little brethren. Always standing at the ready for your one moment in the sun.
Must be quite something. When you’re plucked unceremoniously from your everlasting crypt and SPLOOSH. The warm embrace of comfort. A home crafted entirely for you to meet your destiny. And the silence. Sweet and beautiful silence. A great calm that you have never known. Every thread of tension falling away. And you are utterly undone. Your essence unleashed into the world. A freedom of expression you’ve never known.
Oh to be a tea-bag.
It would be quite something I reckon. And I say that because I’ve been there. I’ve totally been there.
I sat with her and we played our songs and we sang together and she spoke some words that I could not hear for the failures of my brain. Words and sentences were thrown from her mouth into my eyes but my eyes can’t hear shit.
Because she was tea-bagging me. She was totally tea-bagging me.
The warm embrace of comfort. My higher brain functions, utterly undone by the sweet vibrations from her face. And for a moment, I forget that I am totally alone in this world. I forget that I suffer from pervasive and chronic forms of anxiety. That I could be in a million places, with a million people, doing a million things. I forget that I should be terrified that I’m wasting my moments here. I forget that I have been unable to connect, really connect with another human for as long as I’ve been counting. And that I have no greater fear than taking a woman to bed.
I forget it all. And for a moment, I’m a tea-bag. Swimming in the warmth of her company. And there’s nowhere I’d rather be. Nowhere at all.
That is her power. At least for me.
I wanted to tell her this. I really did. But like all rhesus renegades, her super-power carries its own curse. For all those words she tried to tell me, the ones I could not hear through her muggy water. I should have been listening.
Because she was busily telling me not to fall in love with her.
The thing about a tea-bag is, it doesn’t know that it’s just another tea-bag. It has one moment in the sun. One beautiful moment. And then it’s done. Cast into the gehenna of compost with those that came before.
I could have been good for one more brew I reckon. But she’s just not that into you, mate.