The role model – Michelle Obama and my MRI


I am standing in a tube, a tube like the kind that transports your molecules from one universe to another. It must be a transmogrifier, I think to myself. I am wearing a plain blue gown, fastened at the back in loose bows, and blue paper slippers. Stylish. I am standing in a machine with electrodes attached to my temples, my neck, and the back of my head. There is a whackatawhirr noise and the flat plate I have been pressing against begins to tilt and I lean into it until I am on my back, looking up into a screen lit with vague, wandering patterns like a freeway seen by satellite image. The screen hovers for a moment and then descends, gradually wrapping me in the freeways and arterials of neuroimagining.
Music begins to ooze from speakers that I cannot see. It is a compilation of early Beatles tunes, which I do not care for, and this makes my legs begin to twitch. To distract myself, I focus on visual images, bringing each up and varying them as the “Yeah Yeah Yeahs” pull at my attention and cramp my legs. First, I picture American cheese, then the cows that are doing their best, then lipstick in my favorite colors, which typically involve berrylicious types of names. The Beatles are yowling into my head that they want to hold my hand and I imagine in self defense that I’ve submerged my hands in warm paraffin. The tingling switches from my irritable legs to my fingertips. They are reaching through the warm wax to a dress form, a dress form that is tall, with broad shoulders and wide flat hips. The fabric is plain, a simple ecru color in a cotton stretch blend. Next I picture offset images, stickers, slogans, campaign promises, catch phrases, buzz words, talking points, stamped onto the plain fabric, making a statement of sorts, and fitted precisely to the dress form. This dress is made for her famous body, her toned arms, her human woman form, and I understand that whatever this individual wears, it will make headlines. I see her pulling the dress on over her head, thinking “might as well,” and straightening it over her warm, familiar shape. The machine whirrs, the Beatles subside, and I am returned to standing again, just me and Michelle, ready to move forward into whatever the future may hold.

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2 Responses to “The role model – Michelle Obama and my MRI”


  1. 1 jami May 5, 2009 at 7:12 am

    whackatawhirr and berryylicious. I love!

  2. 2 Teresa May 5, 2009 at 7:56 pm

    I LOVE words like whackatawhirr — thanks for noticing!


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