Life or something like it
This is a birthday present for a friend of mine, Cyrin the inflatable dolphin pool toy.
Lying on the floor is a limp layer of PVC, grey and white with hints of yellow. By its self it is inert, flaccid, useless, a pin point of potential in the universe. It promises the potential of many things, it could be anything after all.
Whilst not organic in any sense other than it's sentience it could be said to be symbiotic, never parasitic. With help, life giving air that fills any living thing as it must fill the toy, it can give back so much pleasure. So much joy. So much fun.
A hose and a pump attach from with the guidance of tender loving hands. Slowly the promise of potential is fulfilled and what was once just a grey and white and yellow colour smudge starts to take shape.
At first there is no definition, like a puddle growing in size in the rain. It spreads across the floor and then, once it is as wide as it goes, it starts to grow up.
The vertical growth is painfully slow compared to the horizontal spread. Slowly, slowly formlessness dissolves and the basic shape appears. No longer an it, now a he, a dolphin. Each pump of ear like a breath of life into a drowning mans lungs, each one a step towards actualisation, identity, life.
The gross shape done the detail emerges and the fins straighten and thicken. Those of the more carnal nature may relate this to certain phallic symbols, certain biological needs and desires that have no place on an inflatable body. There is a symmetry to these acts though, a responsiveness to the toys partners needs but it goes beyond the carnal and into a realm that only these two can share.
Now firm and defined and clear of purpose the hose is detached and the toy sealed, a clear boundary of inside from outside. The toy has his purpose now and whilst cannot show it, cannot indicate it in any way he is ready to make his owner happy.
Water, his natural element, surrounds him and caresses him followed by his owners hands. Seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours. Skin covered hands prune up and yet still he plays and plays and plays. But all good things must come to an end and the water recedes and the warm sun dries out PVC slowly.
Most people might think the next step is painful or scary but to a toy aware of his owner, knowing of his love and affection and attention nothing could be further from the truth. Air seeps out of him and his attention fades and yet he is remains a he, not an it. The act of play, the celebration of his rubbery, watery life leaves an impact of identity more than air and rubber. A soul.
Sharp details blur, the dolphins form recedes back into a puddle and then finally to a film of PVC. Or not finally. Those same strong, tender hands that inflated him, that gave him life, meaning and purpose, now stroke out every last bit of air with care and concern. Only once the dolphin inflatable toy is completely flat, completely shut down is he folded up and carefully put into the cupboard for another day. Cyrin doesn't worry about being there, it may be a day, a week, possibly even a month until he is played with again. But he has a kind loving owner and as such is complete.
Fin