Memoir of a Snail

Farewell, Pinky.

The potatoes!

Potatoes?

Potatoes?

Pinky?

Pinky, what do you mean?

Oh!

Oh, Pinky.

Be free, Sylvia.

Don't worry. I'll be okay.

I wasn't always this alone.

My childhood was full of people.

Dad used to say that childhood was like being drunk.

Everyone remembers what you did except you.

But my childhood was sobering, Sylvia.

I remember everything right from the start.

I'd always liked feeling caged in.

Snug and protected.

It was a shock to be born premature.

I wasn't fully baked and looked like a baby rabbit.

I was named Grace Prudence Pudel.

My twin brother Gilbert.

The nurse said we had two souls but one heart.

I liked that.

Our birth was very strenuous for Mum, and she died.

We left her womb.

She entered her tomb.

Mother snails do the same after they've had their babies.

Don't they, Sylvia?

As I grew older, I suffered a smorgasbord of afflictions.

I was always back in hospital for something.

The doctors said I was like a China doll

you could shatter with just a stare.

Eventually they needed to fix my floppy lip.

Things went bad.

I lost so much blood I needed a transfusion.

The doctor asked Gilbert if he'd give me his.

Huh?

Oh.

He said yes

even though he thought he'd have to die to save me.

How long before I die?

They quickly explained he wouldn't die.

His body would make new blood.

Oh.

He became everyone's hero that night,

especially mine.

To cheer me up, Dad gave me Mum's old jewelry box.

Inside, it had her snail collection and her ring.

She had loved snails as well and had been a malacologist.

I thought Gilbert should have the ring.

Ooh. I'm gonna wear this till the day I die, Gracie.

Despite my woes, Sylvia,

I believed in glasses half-full and silver linings.

Gilbert's glass was half-empty, though.

I remember how he was often sad.

Seemed like he had a secret he wanted to tell.

He was like Holden Caulfield, James Dean,

and Charlie Brown, all rolled into one.

He saw people as a threat.

At school he was always my warrior.

My defender.

Rabbit face! Rabbit face!

Rabbit face! Rabbit face!

Gimme that.

Hey, morons!

Hmm?

...able to breed a chicken with a giraffe.

He said that he's able to lay eggs

but has a really long pecker.

Our home was our sanctuary.

A place where we felt safe to read our books

and watch our favorite shows.

I loved my bedroom.

It's where everything was just so.

Right angles brought me enormous comfort

as did my snails, Sylvia.

They were my friends.

So I made more of them.

I knew they'd never leave me.

Hurt me.

Or die.

I didn't like people dying.

I wanted to save people.

Save the homeless.

My favorite was James.

One Christmas, I covered him in decorations

so he could feel some Christmas cheer.

He loved his tea.

Huh?

Ah, good on ya, little possum.

Good on ya.

He was once a magistrate

but was defrocked for masturbating in court.

Back then, I thought masturbation meant

chewing your food thoroughly.

He once told me

that masturbation was the thief of time.

-Ooh! -Huh?

James gave me my first real snail.

Aha!

Your Mum, Sylvia.

He told me to put her in a big jar

and feed her Vegemite.

While I was busy trying to save the world,

Gilbert wanted to break free from it.

Free others.

What?

Once, he let our neighbor's cockatoo escape.

Fly, Mildred! Come on, fly!

Bye, Mildred!

Gilbert said Mildred never seemed so happy.

If he wasn't letting animals free, he was rescuing them.

He didn't care about the dangers.

I'll save it, Gracie!

Gilbert!

Come on, Stella!

Over here, Gracie!

Gilbert loved animals so much he became a vegetarian.

Ohh, now she's got a boyfriend.

Look, Gracie, they're hugging.

Eggs, wow!

We'd created our own little family.

They've hatched Gracie. Babies!

You became my favorite, Sylvia.

Your swirl went opposite to the others.

Gilbert named you after Mum's favorite author.

But the thing that made Gilbert really unique

was his love of fire.

He wanted to eat it.

He'd spend hours playing with fire.

I remember how he always smelt like burnt matches.

At school, the girls swooned.

He was the flame, they were the moths.

But he was more interested in reading and magic.

I think he just wanted to disappear

and spend all his pocket money at Bert's.

Bert was the type of person

parents told you to avoid, Sylvia.

Someone who might offer you boiled lollies.

Ooh, wow.

Bert seemed anything but magical.

Gilbert's dream was to be a street performer in Paris.

Look, Gracie!

He was always practicing.

Oh, shit!

Ow! Ow! Argh!

And often burnt himself.

We got little scars from the sparks.

And when we put our arms together, they formed a face.

Oh, look, Gracie!

It felt great when we did this.

Our feelings aligned.

A lot of twins say this, Sylvia, and it's true.

I felt his emotions.

His happiness and his sadness,

which seemed to be the fourth member of our family.

Mum's death had left a hole.

Dad had tried to fill the void,

but he had his own problems.

Dad was French and had once been an animator in Paris.

He made stop motion films with an old Bolex camera.

He showed them to us sometimes.

To pay for his art form, he busked on the streets.

Mum met him on a holiday

she'd won in the Woman's Weekly magazine.

Wow!

Ooh-la-la!

They fell in love, and he followed her back to Australia.

Wanker!

Hey, watch out!

Mum had only just got pregnant

when his career was cut short by a drunk driver.

He never juggled again and became a paraplegic.

Then, slowly an alcoholic

just like the guy who'd hit him.

Money had always been a problem.

Much worse since his accident.

His pension barely paid for his wheelchair batteries.

Winning scratchies was the only thing that brought him hope.

We found them everywhere.

To make matters worse he developed sleep apnea.

Huh?

We'd have to clap to wake him up.

Despite our hardships,

our little family unit was strong.

And there was plenty of joy.

Ready!

Whoo!

Our happiest day was when we went on the Big Dipper.

It was scary.

Scary because it was a hundred years old.

Dad felt alive.

Escaped his body.

When he died, he said he wanted his ashes sprinkled

off the Big Dipper.

The day got even better on the way home,

when Gilbert found a scratchy on the ground.

We won 20 dollars!

So Dad bought 20 more.