I was an odd child, a peculiar ball of fat and undeveloped bones, with dark black eyes. Staring into those empty obsidian irises was like looking at the end of the universe and having the realization that God is totally ambivalent towards us. Though I didn’t do anything truly obscure as a child, I was still odd spending the majority of my time staring blankly into the void and avoiding eating red food products. Only having one true fatal flaw, substance abuse.
Clearly I wasn’t some form of drug addict at the ripe old age of 5, but instead of an infant meth head was a body that was sensitive to oozes. Smothering myself in a number of different matters, some edible, some not and some should not be spread over the skin of a new born, gave me immense joy and a feeling of grander.
Even though, the childhood fetishizing of culinary delights is frowned open is most countries, my parent’s reactions of frustrated laughter and delight at the sight of a jam marinated child exacerbated the problem. Not only for myself, but for my brother, the often supplier of all things gooey. My brother being also an odd child, enjoying the much preferred bum printing technique rather than the common use of one’s painted hands to create patterns and shapes on paper, however being much more aware of his oddness seemingly lessened the side-effects of being an odd child.
It was on a hot summer night, probably a Thursday the day of the week were all misdeeds take place, where I was sleeping in my old passed down blue crib. My brother awake, eager to course mischief and misdoings put it open himself to collect a tub of Vaseline from the top draw of our lavender shaded bathroom. Unscrewing the tightened lid as he foxed his way through corridor into my room, delicately placing the full container next to my hand. Waking me as he slid out, smiling devilishly, leaving me alone with my ravenous desires.
Eyes opening to the sight of the tube of petroleum jelly, a truly remarkable lubricant, I quivered. A gift from the heavens had been placed open my pillow, my yearnings and craving for new much stickier membrane was offered to me. Instantly, I had handfuls of pale oily matter proceeding to mush and roll it into my skin. Rubbing handful after handful, pupils dilating from the pure ecstasy of the action. Covering all surfaces, cracks and fissures I had become reborn as a new being, transcending the mortal skin plan, I was no longer human, I was a God.
Unexpectedly, through the giggles and joyous laughter I had alerted my mother who speedily crashed into my reincarnation ritual, turning on the light and standing there gorping at the scene that presented itself. A small naked boy magnificent and imposing in appearance, the fluorescent beams gleaming against his Vaseline glaze.
Angered and mildly amused, my mother began to undue the metamorphosis. This having its own set of difficulties, grasping a fully oiled child was incredibly challenging, as I slipped out of any hold or lock. My mother clutching at limbs only to find her hands bare and now slightly slimy. This repeated itself for some time, until she instigated the use of an old stained towel, covering me and dabbing at my concealed skin, removing my demigod glow.
It took a several days until all of the Vaseline surface was taken away from my form, leaving only bare, but incredibly moisturized, skin behind. My substance smothering was stopped after this incident, no longer allowed alone with spreadable textures and materials. But, now evolving from that odd child into an odd childlike adult, I sit here typing with a bottle of E45 ready to resurrect the past and transcend to greatness once more.