21 of 40

My sense of smell is getting more acute. I take this as another sign that I am getting more into my body. It's a funny one because my mom and sister have such powerful smelling powers that it really impacts their lives whereas I could never smell anything. One of them would practically double over in disgust at the smell of pee in a a BART tunnel in San Francisco, I wouldn't even notice. Last week I walked into my house and got smacked in the face by the stink of cat piss. Which pissed me off because seriously, no one else in the house noticed this? It was like a pee sauna sinking into more pores.

More than once in my life my mom has come to visit my new apartment and freaked out at the smell of gas. I didn't smell a thing.

My mom would ask me how a place I was travelling to smelled--what does Jamaica smell like? What does Peru smell like? Huh, I would think. I don't know. And then even once I tried to figure it out. . .I still couldn't smell anything.

Similarly but totally differently, my sister was afraid to walk the dog in the dark because she feared for her physical safety, sexual or otherwise. I never felt such fear. I thought it was because I was cool, above it. Probably it was because my body had stopped reacting in such a way that I would recognize the warning. Or I was just so used to ignoring its (aka my) reactions that I didn't notice them. I was mugged in Madrid when I was twenty. Heard pounding footsteps behind me in the twilight as I walked home from a movie. My narrator, constant internal companion more familiar to me than any part of my body, went into slo mo. This is bad. An arm grabbed me around the neck, from behind. My narrator expressed surprise. I always thought I would fight back in this situation but I find myself helpless, unsure what to do. Kick backwards? The next thing we noticed, my narrator and I, was the view of the dark sky as I opened by eyes to the night, lying on my back alone on the sidewalk. The police department gave me Valium in Spanish and I still step aside when I hear footsteps behind me on the sidewalk, even in Laguna Beach in broad daylight. I feel those footsteps in my body in a way that can't be ignored. Those two men took away my sense of safety in the street and I raged against that as much as I mourned the irreplaceable photos from the days before digital.

The problem with waking up to what my body is telling me is that I am so full of rage and grief.