Gently placing the phone back in its cradle, I wonder why its called a cradle.
Images of beautiful tanned mothers wrapping their babies up in soft white linen and placing them in their picturesque baby yellow cradles, painted with rainbows, clouds and elephants, a perfect rendition of a fabric softener ad.
But then the father comes in, yelling at mum.
He says he's under so much stress, he can't handle it, he simply can't anymore.
He says she doesn't care that he's having a midlife crisis, so he probably won't care about what he's telling her now.
He tells her he's having an affair, and he's leaving her for the woman, because this other lady actually loves him instead of being obssessed with a child, with housework, with perfection.
He says that obviously she has to have everything perfect.
He says he can't keep up the charade anymore, he's not perfect and he's sick of trying to fake it.
He says he's leaving before she realises he's a sham and kicks him out.
Beating her to the punch.
She says nothing, like she knows its true...
And he waits for her...waits for her to beg him to stay, waits for her to swear she'll change, to profess her love, to cry, to do anything at all.
But she does nothing.
She knows he's right, and she just turns around, so she doesn't have to see him shake his head and walk away, like she always knew and secretly hoped he would.
Turning towards her child, her fresh new unspoilt child, she whispers his name.
'Don't worry dear, I won't let you turn out like him. You and me, we'll be just perfect.'
Wow.
That was weird...
'Chicken or beef dearie?'
'Sorry what?'
'For dinner, you need to pick from the two meals.'
'Oh, right. Um, chicken. Have you seen my mum? She left just before, she didn't tell me where she was going, or if she was coming back.'
hmmph, interesting that I never say 'when she's coming back' anymore.
No sorry dear, I'm not sure I know who you mean.
A quick description of violet hair and green glasses gets the spark of recognition into her eyes.
'Oh yes, she seemed a little uh...flustered. I didn't get the chance to speak to her...'
'Could you let me know if you happen to see her around?'
'Certainly dear, we'll be back with dinner in a little while.'
Sitting staring blankly at the wall, I notice the time, glaring at me from a cheap clock.
Half five...great, childrens shows.
Making sure to get it straight onto ABC, I switch the TV on.
Hmmm, what's this one called again?
Oh right, Naturally Sadie.
Hang on, this doesn't run on tuesdays...
If this is running it makes it...
thursday?
It's thursday?
that can't...
I called out as another nurse walked past.
'Excuse me?'
'Yes, can I help you?'
'Ummm, this might seem weird, but can you tell me what day it is?'
'Its Thursday.'
'...do you have any idea how long i've been here?'
'I'll check your chart for you...'
The paper rustles as she ever so slightly impatiently tries to satisfy me.
'It says here that you were admitted immeadiately after your...trauma, on tuesday.
Went into emergency surgery that afternoon and some more on the wednesday, then you were put into an induced coma to wake up today, on thursday.'
'Right, of course. Thankyou.'
'No worries'
I hate thursdays, I remember you always said...
no you don't
I don't what?
remember.
and whats that meant to mean?
of course you dont remember, theres nothing to remember.
nothing to miss.
nothing to be heartbroken about.
everything is fine.
right, of course.
must have been a car accident or something.
yeah, sure, that works...
But, why would my mum lie?
You'd be shocked at your mother lying?
Fair point.
But the media?
Full of crap, as always.
Right, gotcha.
Nothing to miss, nothing to remember.
But I could swear I remember her saying something about thursdays...
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