CURRENT ACTIVITY

A quarter can save your life. Put a coin in a jukebox or a telephone kiosk and see. I inserted the magical silver discs into two separate machines within an hour of each other, some for talking and one for recorded sound.

“I give you the consent to lie about being ok,” the telephone said.

“You mean, how are you?”

“Yes.”

“Fine,” I said.

“Fine means not fine, doesn’t it?”

“Mostly, always, really and truly.”

I wanted to pretend I was having a conversation with a coin-activated machine instead of this real live beating-heart human. They both appeared as a voice.

An hour later I really was fine, for at least two minutes and fifty-six seconds. The second coin inserted, and a disc moved into its right place. The crackle before the music was the first comfort.

“Too many teardrops for one heart to be crying.”

You lived in my head because you weren’t around that much. Now you are gone for good. I’m surprised at how quickly you’ve become a memory. Destined to be an idea like I also will be an idea for you.

“Too many teardrops for one heart to carry on.”

96 Tears by Question Mark and the Mysterians spins as a lucky seven with a spindle hole. The record turns with the recorded sound of a circular organ in the key of G at 45rpm. Sound created only by its revolution. The very definition of magic is something where there once was nothing. This ordinary piece of plastic casts a spell.

“And when the sun comes up, I’ll be on top.”

The rain may have stopped but I still have to wait for the arrival of the sun. The song gives me hope. But for now, I’m just another sad man on earth.

Christian Martius (2025)

In another body. Skin wrapped around tighter. Urgency pulsed underneath. Blood flushed to colour with an enthusiastic heartbeat, excitement even. There was a remembrance attached, something granular not ebbed by multiple years of cellular level replacement. Another body that still felt like my own.

The external was different too. More records than books stacked on the floor. A bed with a bad mattress. Famous faces on the wall as an alternative to abstract images. I lived here when I was about 21. In another country. More than thirty years ago.

Morning light was bright behind the head and it shadowed the face, but I was in a crappy elongated mirror near the door. The reflection reminded me of how untired I used to look. It isn’t just the gravity that makes you appear like a melted candle, a fat frog or a leathery bird.

I wondered if all of this was true. Had I become a manifestation of a thought beholden to those living with a landfill of bad choices, tethered to daily reminders of the body not working like it used to?

I listened to Dawn Chorus on repeat. When it hurt the most. “If you could do it all again, big deal so what?”

Adulthood is about surviving your paradoxes. In the time before they solidified their being, the face in the mirror smiled at me. We both knew how this would go.

Christian Martius (2025)

Tender is an ongoing book project and a collection of tender memories provided by anonymous contributors. Only the tender experience is shared. These remembrances can appear as a story, a poem or even a few sentences. Most contributions are short, no more than 200 words.

All pieces are collected and edited by the writer Christian Martius. Originally, I intended to write a fictional story on the subject of tenderness but found other people’s real experiences far more interesting.

Tender is both a verb and an adjective, meaning to offer and present something and to show gentleness, kindness and affection. If you would like to share your tender experience contact: tendercmartius@gmail.com