How did I get my start in such a unique field?  Well, I’ve always been interested in pieces of things and where they come from. At a very impressionable age, I devoured OWL magazines, a Canadian science magazine for kids. At the back of every issue was a fascinating guessing game. There were twenty some odd squares that had extreme close-ups of everyday items like the center of a daisy or the middle of the eye of a toad. I used to spend hours trying to figure out what the entire object was from that close up. In grade five, when our teacher Miss Mabbs asked me what I wanted to be, I said, “A Fragment Specialist.”

   Believe it or not, there are fragments of things everywhere. To be sure, it’s an interdisciplinary study and in university I had to take maths, sciences, languages and other humanity classes. I even had to take an accounting class to qualify for my Masters in Fragmentology.

   So for the past five months I’ve been writing fragments of bigger stories in order to hone my literary side. These stories have also been introduced by somebody different everyday in order to create a series of layers that are also somewhat fragmented. This is part of my doctorate in Fragmentology.

   A big portion of my doctorate is focusing on parts of mannequins that are sometimes found in surprising places. 

  Because fragments

 

 

 

The Heart is a Cross-Eyed Hunter

 

    I’m disappointed in you. So disappointed. When I first laid eyes on you in the display window of Sears I thought it was love at first sight. My heart told me so. My heart beat out a Morse code message of warning love, warning love, warning love. A distress signal that was answered by my feet that swiveled a 180 and I went back into the store to get as close to you as possible.

   You were so calm and collected, standing there in a 99-dollar pair of beige slacks and 69-dollar long sleeved shirt. I said hello and you just stared straight ahead to where I had been standing out on the sidewalk, as if you missed me, missed what I was in my innocence before I saw you. In the silence I came to my senses. You’ve always had a way with silence, using it like a weapon. At that moment I realized I needed some excuse to be waltzing into your life so I asked you where the perfume section was and then you played dumb. You flirted with me in the most innocent of ways. Oh how could I not fall head over heels ?! I asked you what time you got off work. Do you remember? By way of response you looked out the window as if you wanted freedom at that very second. Yes, we all dream of freedom from the daily grind. I told you all about my job and then I retreated to my desperate question of a date. I know I was forward but you drove me to it.  I threw out some suggestions and then when I asked, “Do you have any problems with Milestone’s ?” you had no complaints. 

   That evening I arrived at Milestone’s dressed to kill, to slaughter, to maim. To chop your heart up into minced meat so that it could be baked in the hearth of my heart and turned into something nourishing and delicious to feed a family of three or four. (I’ve always wanted twins.) Oh, my head still rings with those wedding bells that I heard and I know I’m getting carried away again. Thinking of you makes my heart go aflutter and my imagination takes off like an intoxicated butterfly bumping from image to image in an art gallery. But that’s what I honestly feel. 

   Of course I don’t need to remind you that you never showed up and as the minutes turned to hours I hated you but I still loved you. You know how to play a woman, fill her full of mixed emotions so that she’ll be yours forever. I left Milestone’s alone (although it could have gone otherwise with all the interest my dress was stirring up on the part of the male servers) From Milestone’s I stormed all the way to Sears and there you were still standing as straight as ever in the display window. Working overtime. I can’t believe what a workaholic you are. Your tragic flaw. Your fortress behind which all your emotions are locked away like treasure.

   But I’m so disappointed. I’m so disappointed that you won’t share any of that with me. And I pass you everyday when I get off the bus and my heart breaks again and again at the thought of what could have been.

   The life we could have had.

 

 

 

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