Part XVIII- Pure hearts stumble, in my hands they crumble

When the nurse woke me, I found my own hand plastered desperately across my mouth.
shock?
fear?
holding something in or keeping something out?

“The police brought this, they said they no longer require it for evidence.”

Obviously my stare was even blanker than intended, because she asked me a question. always with the damn questions...

“This is your's isn't it?”
“Yeah, yeah for sure.”

Half an eyebrow raise, she doesn't believe me.
More blank from me and a vague little tensing and relaxing of her shoulders, strange that these weird little motions move thoughts into such net little lines, or...usually neat lines.

plop. Wait, hang on a tick, what the hell is that on my lap?!

Oh right, bag.

It's blue.
Like I'm pretty sure I remember it being before...

Before nothing.
remember nothing

Remember nothing of what?

Exactly.

Uhh, ok?

Exactly.

What the hell is that beeping?

Butterfall.

Oh, flat phone.
Thats better.

As I am rummaging through a black hole assignment sheets, crumpled manuscript and month overdue consent forms, a doctor walks in. One without a hat.

Thats a little odd, he's not in uniform! Thats a bit rude, and inconsiderate too. I'm sure the rules are there for a reason, thats so disrespectful. And to come and see a patient without a pot of tea! Or any cups! This guy just doesn't get it. Don't know that I want him treating me.

“Don't worry, I've got good news!”
“What, you've got the teapot hidden behind your back? cups in your pockets? sugar in the sole of your shoe?”

Stare as blank as writers block.

Shit, I said that aloud?
damn. quick, recover!!
ummm, ummm
“sorry, injoke with a friend. I forget that people don't understand”
Where did that stroke of amazing come from?
Who cares?!
touche.

“Ah, no worries” and a little semi-nervous laugh and we're back on the long bland road to socially acceptable. woo-hoo.

“Anyway, as I was saying”

Yes, well done, move on. Thats the way. Medical jargon, good. You feel comfortable,I don't need to have any input. You really should keep me from having input you know. Thats like giving Maggie Simpson a g...

don't you dare

what?

“Gastric Atrophy”

“Oh, sure, sorry.”

What the hell?

“So yes, as soon as your mother can take you, you can be discharged!”

“Oh, my mother can't come. Urgent business. Emergency.”

Slight shock, more eyebrows raise. They really should see to that twitching, seems to be a fairly widespread issue among the staff.

“My dad is very ill. She came to make sure I'm ok, then she had to go to him immediately.”

Relief, slips over their faces but like oil on water it stays on the surface, the sheen of acceptance, but no foundation of understanding. I think they still kinda don't believe me.

“If I can be discharged, I can get a taxi or something, or get a friend to pick me up. I can pay for the taxi,I have a job. I'm serious! Don't look at me like I'm a kid!

Or like you think I'm lying, which I might be. You never know, my dad might be seriously ill! How the hell should I know how my dad is?

And maybe mum has gone to see him, it wouldn't be all that unlike her, to do something so impulsive and stupid.

Without it I wouldn't be here...

“Honestly, I'll be fine! Just tell me what I need to do. You and I both know you need the bed.”

They turn to each other, hat-less doctor and non-hair nurses, consulting in a way that produces an uncanny likeness of those silly American football players, I quarter expect them to yell HUT, pick me up and throw me out of the window. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad...

“I suppose that would be ok, seeing as its such special circumstances. Kelly, could you arrange the paper work?”

“Certainly doc, back in a jiffy.”

And then begins the lecture. Do this eighty seven times a day, don't do this or that or the other,apply this cream, take these pills for the pain, rewrap this, rest up, blah blah blah.

Yep, uh-huh, sure. Oh, ok, yeah definitely.
Sure, yeah yeah, Right, of course.
Skim read, sign.

Call taxi, grumpy nurse and grumpier wheelchair

Elevator, wheel across foyer, stand up.

Don't look to be in pain, don't stumble.

Like my driving instructor always says, don't give them reason to doubt you, don't give them the opportunity to dub you unfit, like some sick twisted knighting.

Walk, say thank you to grumpy nurse as she carries bag, climb into taxi, blurt address.

Sit, blur, blur, blur, blur, pay, get out.
Remember bag, stumble back, retrieve bag.

Door. Open...open? OPEN

oh, keys.

scrabble, shove, turn, ow.

Turn, push.
Turn, push.
Godamnit!
Turn, push, push, push, fall.
ow.

bag floor, me couch.
flop.
ow.

WHAT IS THAT GOD DAMNED BEEPING

I told you, butterfall!!!

Right yes, that.

Up again.

Ow.

Bag, phone, button, button, skim.




shit.






oh........shit


god...damn.....

and the hole opens, opens and spreads and consumes and it swallows me, not whole,
because I am only hole, and I am swallowed in my own agony, whats yours is mine and whats mine is mine to carry.

and who is left to carry me, well that's exactly the point isn't it.

Upheld by the falling, there is nothing left for me but to follow swiftly after.

down and down and down, desperately trying to hold myself together, wailing and weeping all the way.

'Hey, we still going to see Coraline on friday? Hope so, I'm looking forward to hanging out. Love you more than mocha!'

mocha....
DON'T DON'T DON'T DON'T DON'T DON'T

mocha thursdays...

NO!!!