Writing Backwards

It’s hard to believe that it’s been over a year since my last blog post here. Obviously I am a very, very busy woman (she clears her throat) working on other very, very important things (more throat clearing … I’ve never been a good liar).

Well, any excuse would be feeble in this kind of embarrassing situation. I should rewind. Write backwards – tell the whole story of 2012. Pen the bastard down for all to read.

Instead I’ll tell you about my doctor who, I discovered during the first consultation, can write backwards and upside down. No, not standing on his head, that would be silly. Sitting across from me, he turned the sheet of paper to face me, then proceeded to draw a diagram of my endocrine system and spell out my condition in perfectly legible upside down (for him) print. It’s one thing to have a dysfunctional endocrine system, but to have it spelled out for me upside down and backwards, was both disturbing and comical. Should I laugh or cry? The nuclear scan I’d had an hour before was even more unsettling. There’s something really wrong about allowing another person to inject you with radioactive serum (always to be referred to as serum to ensure maximum horror effect). But that’s another story for another night.

So, the specialist was quirky. But the specialist was also clever. He could write backwards and upside down. Perhaps he is married to a woman who can see around corners.

In 2012, we needed special powers like theirs. We needed to see in the dark to protect our rhinos. We needed to vanish certain politicians. We needed Spiderman to knit a sky web to hold back the storms. We needed mind reading, supersonic hearing, we needed superman to save Hayibo.

We needed to write backwards.

[Long Street at night in Cape Town, lights stream through the camera shutter, Marvel glows in the background. Passing cars leech the shadow of a car guard, waiting, drawn backwards into the bright night.]