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!!!

Part XVII- The last sight you'll ever see is a pair of hateful eyes

“Your stitches are all out, but your scars are healing wrong”

I awake to find the funny man with the hat, tapping me on the forehead with a yellow teacup, in a rather impatient manner suggesting he had been doing it for quite some time and received no recognition for his valiant persistence.

“and the helium balloon inside your room has come undone...”
Pipes the hair, in his lovely nurses uniform

“and its pushing up at the ceiling and...”

At this, the hair looked worried, as if he thought this balloon, wherever it was, would break something,or push right on through, or grown thorns and teeth and eat him.
“The flickering lights, it cannot get beyond”
Said the hat man as the he looked at the hair-nurse with what seemed to be 'however do you get here and get by you silly creature?'. In his look I felt every mirror glance I'd ever received from myself, it resonated deep, in a way that made my ear drums itch and the scars on my heart begin to burn again, those that I had long pretended to forget.

Putting the tea cup down, he reaches into the band of his violently violet top hat and pulls out a doofalacky, those things, what are they called? Oh thats right stealthoscope, placing it in my ears quite halfway between gently and zealously.

As if to answer the question I'd asked only with my eyes he exclaimed
“Oh everyone takes turns, now its yours to play the part!”

He placed the cold end of it in my hand and turned to the jury mice,

“and they're sitting all around you holdin' copies of your chart'

I simply had no idea what to do with this thing, I looked at it, looked at them, looked at the hat man. They frowned, and scribbled down notes.

“and the misery inside their eyes is synchronised and reflecting into yours”
How do you know whats in my eyes!!

“Hold on!”

cried the hat man,
“one more time with feeling. try it again! breathings just a rhythm”

I wonder silently to myself if this is good or bad, or of any consequence whatsoever when I am interrupted by the hair, who shouts to me behind his hand, as if he were part of an intrigue in a construction site, next to a highway, where teenage gangsters were driving past playing doof-doof on their hummer trains, while his supervisor shouted in his other ear.

“Say it in your mind until you know that the words are right.“
However, we were not on a construction site by a highway with doof-doof hummer trains roaring past with fat balding men shouting things that don't make sense.
So the hat man heard, and was clearly quite unimpressed.

“This is why we fight!”

“You thought by now you'd be, so much better than you are”
Said the cheshire cat, clutching a copy of my chart in his tail

“You thought by now they'd see that you had come so far”
Do they have my thoughts on those things?

“and the pride inside their eyes would synchronise into
a love you've never known,”

You are not a very good balloon, you talk far too much
so much more than you've been shown

You talk more than this!
hold on, one more time with feeling, try it again!
breathings just a rhythm.
if only it were that simple...
say it in your mind until you know that the words are right.

But it doesn't work like that!

“this, is why we fight”

It doesn't work that way!!!

NO! NOT OVER MY FACE! AIR! I NEED AIR! PLEASE! TAKE THAT...THAT...that..that thing...take, take it off me...I..I need...air....

“this is why we fight”

Part XVI- You remind me of a cigarette

As I lie weeping on the button, so much desperation spills out from my eyes that the button starts to sparkle a little differently, with bright white bzap bzzap bzzzzzzzzzzaaaappppp and suddenly I am bigger, bigger enough to see the nurse frantically trying to get my attention.
'HEY!'
In a snap not unlike that of breaking bone, I stop mid-wail and look at her, my hands still clamped to my face, trying to hold a pocket of air so I don't drown in my own tears.

Like a child, I peak out through my hands and I feel like screaming
'IF I CAN'T SEE YOU YOU CAN'T SEE ME!!!' and hiding under the covers.

However, some odd little reasonable part of me decides that this would be a bad idea, and wind me up in the psych ward, with the genuinely crazy people.

like you don't belong there already

'hey!'

cue blank slightly freaked out stare from nurses.
'...are you alright?'

'umm...yeah. I just... I just had a bad dream thats all.'

apparently i've hit the money excuse because their eyes instantly fill up with pity.

I hate pity, but its better than therapy.

'Well as long as you aren't in pain'.

what a dumb thing to say.

OF COURSE IM IN PAIN!!!

-blink-

'Is there anything we can do for you?'

'Umm, yeah actually. could you wheel that little table over here?'

'Sure'

a few screechy moments later and I have my goal, solitaire.

But first, some tunes.
Hmm, shuffle songs, and we shall start with... norah jones, easy listening cruisy stuff.

Now lets see, red seven on black eight, black three red four black five all on the red six. hmm, stuck. I need a black nine... damn, stupid sevens. damn you stupid iPod with no hint function... 'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
Yes, yes I would.
'....freakin Jack, I never did like jack...'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'damnit! that one three of diamonds...'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'

'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'
'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'

'You could not win'
'You could not win'
'You could not win'

'try again?'
'try again?'
'try again?'

'...please, please stop asking.' I turn to the gerbera and plead 'stop asking me that, you know I can't go back, I can't change anything!'

'would you like to try again?' the flower persistently asks me, as if desire were the only prerequisite for success.

'of course I would, don't be silly!

'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'

'I already told you that, I can't!'

'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?

'I WOULD IF I COULD BUT I CAN'T!!!'

'there's no need to shout! so rude...'

But I don't even care what she thinks anymore, I just can't get it out of my head...

'You could not win this game, would you like to try again?'

Part XV - Spin the wheel, we'll set you up with some odd convictions

At this point, some deep dark part of me realised that I was

a) thinking too hard
b) trying too hard not to think too hard
c) desperately craving solitaire

So I reached out for the wheely table that held the evidence of your glitter hurricane, only to find it just beyond my reach. the kind of just out of reach that would be reachable at a stretch, if you didn't have a stomach full of stitches, or staples, or super glue or whatever they're using these days.

Fine then. I didn't really want the iPod anyway... Folding my arms and turning my head away in dumb-ass defiency, I try the old trick I always used to pull on you, and snap straight around, to catch you by surprise.

Although you look surprised enough, for a table, it does not bring you any closer to me, or me to iPod, it just makes me stomach hurt. Stupid table.

'Hey, who you callin stupid? I'm not the one who can't reach a table without pulling their stitches out.'

'I could so, if I wanted! I just don't want to!'

'Oh sure!'

'How dare you be so rude to me!'

'Oh I dare'

'..stupid table'

I can hardly help but cross arms and turn head yet again.

'Now who's being rude!'

'Hmmph!'

'Oh well, if you really do care about it so much, I'll give you a tip.'

Slowly, slyly, suspiciously, I turn my head towards it.

'One side will make you grow taller, the other side will make you grow smaller!'

'The other side of what?'

...

'Hello?? Now who's being rude!!'

...

'THE OTHER SIDE OF WHAT!!!'

Realising that the gerbera had began to shake her head and tut me, I silenced myself and looked around.

Suddenly, glaringly obvious is the magic button thingy. It glows a mysterious red-orange, begging me to try a side, try a button.

So, how to choose?

'eeny meeny miney moe, catch a tiggr by the toe, if he hollas let him go, eeny meeny miny moe...'

The right hand one, the right one. I hope thats a good sign...

Taking a shallow breath, i press on it.

Nothing happens, so I press it again.

'Well that was pointless, stupid table.'

As I glared at it, I realised it was getting larger, the button in my hand felt bigger, heavier.
My alfoil thin hospital blanket suddenly seemed immense, and I eventually realised I was getting smaller.

I wondered how long it would go on, as it seemed to be happening very slowly.

I watched inquisitively as the big white hills rose up around me, my pillow now a mountain, as if a new world was being born.

Suddenly I wondered with a panic when it would stop, surely I would soon shrink into nothing...

and yet, the moment it occured to me, the world seemed to stabilise. I wonder...

ow. right, so my stomach still hurts even when I'm miniscule.
great.


what the hell is that?

a creature that looks kind of like a syringe is sewing words in the hills with its beak, aggravatingly slowly.

'I? no, not an I. maybe becoming a B?
Oh, a D, great. hmm... oh right an O.'

This could take a while.

sitting cross legged on the floor, i wait impatiently for what may be absolutely nothing.

'don't step on the... don't step on the what!!!'
ugh.

I lie down on my back and nearly rip myself to bits with my frustration.

After what felt like an eternity, I struggled up again.
'Don't step on the mome raths.'
'Mome raths?'

In less than an instant I am swarmed by strange silvery grey fuzzy things, that seem somewhat cute for the rest of the instant, but when they are covering me, smothering me, they seem a little less gorgeous.

'BUT I DIDNT STAND ON YOU!!! I WASN'T EVEN STANDING!'
suddenly, I simply can't take it anymore and I jump to my feet, leaping back from the hordes, spinning round and round trying frantically to get away from them, but it can't be done, they will take me over, surely. Bury me in their writhing mass so that I can never escape.

But, just as suddenly as it began it is over. Turning to see the valley, I am greeted by carnage. Everywhere, blood and bodies. And the mome raths, the silver... slowly but surely it turns to the grey of school uniform, once familiar, now distorted faces.

And its my fault...

Shrieking, begging, screaming, crying, I claw my way up the pillow mountain to what is now a giant orange....lumpy bumpy glowing thing.

'One side will make you taller, the other side will make you smaller'

Frantically, I jump up and down on the left hand button, the left behind button.

'taller, please taller. PLEASE!!!' I stamp and stamp on it, but I'm too small to make a difference, too small to fix what I've done.

'PLEASE, PLEASE!!!' now I'm begging, but I don't know who.

I stamp and stamp on the stupid button but nothing happens.
Somehow i end up lying on my stomach, bawling my eyes out, throwing a tantrum no two year old could muster, desperation permeating every fibre.

And I can't help but feel that it might never go away.

Part XIV- I Deserve Nothing More Than I Get

When the pain in my head woke me up, it was dark.

Well, hospital dark.

Machines glow, light seeps in through the door.

It's as if the intense bright-whiteness of the place permeates absolutely everything in it.

Sitting up, the pain in my stomach reminds me that I'm an idiot for trying and fall straight back down to where my mother left me.

I can't decide if I want her to be here or not...

After a few minutes I remember about the magic button thingy, find it and coax it into sitting me up and turning the light on.

For reasons I can't see, my nose turns my head to my left, to the table under the window.

For reasons my mind can't grasp, my eyes see the trail that only you could have left behind.

A single yellow Gerbera, an orange iPod and a piece of purple paper covered in your delicate marks.

'Music to keep you sane, Solitaire to while away the hours in blissful ignorance, photos to remind you that past happiness was real and colour just cos.

With love and jasmine,

Linny'

Strange how different we are. Complimentary I guess, fitting opposites.

You are the sparkles in Beauty and the Beast. You dance around everywhere and turn things back to the way they should be, back to their beauty.

I am a hurricane.

You are glitter, getting into everything and making it better just for being there.

I am a thunderstorm.

You are jasmine flowers, taking over a whole garden with flowers and fragrance, quietly catching the eye of all who walk by.

I am thistles.

But you, in all your incredibleness, would say different.

And mean it, because somehow you see different.

I don't.

I am stubborn.

I am too much like her...

And you are like her, that reminds me...

no it doesn't

doesn't what?

remind you

doesn't remind me of what?

nothing, that's the point.
there's nothing for you to be reminded of.

Oh, right. of course.

but...

BUT NOTHING

...of course

Part XIII- I melted wax to fix my wings

Naturally Sadie finishes, and on comes some random frantic cartoon thing.

I have never been more 'not in the mood' in my entire life.

So I reach over, grab my little remote and switch it off.

Now what?

Hmmm, I wonder whats out of my window.

Standing up, five things happen out once.

1.I get tangled in whatever wires they've got stuck in my arms.
2.I remember that my stomach hurts
3.A passing nurse freaks out
4.The world begins its regular swirly dancing
5.and 'good one genius'

The nurse gently shoves me back into my bed and rearranges my wiring while giving me an impossibly stern lecture about how I have a very serious stomach injury and absolutely cannot do that again until a doctor tells me I can. In writing. And to get some rest.

Big shocker there.

So I try.

I stare at my curtains.

A lot.

I begin to count the bunches of ugly flowers so cheaply printed onto them.

Factor in fractions.

Try to figure out what they are, dredging my exhausted mind for useless flecks of botany.

Oh, thats what they are. Chrysanthemums.

37 and 5/9ths of vomit coloured chrysanthemums.

woopdy doo.

Finally, I decide I'll result to sleeping pills.

yay for the call button.
One quick 'can't sleep' and a new colour is added to the rainbow of chemicals running through my veins.

After a few minutes, my eyelids feel extraordinarily heavy.

I let them close and a second later, they are open again.

Well thats just great, they didn't work at all.

call button again.

'You must try the tea!!' an eccentric looking middle aged man with a giant purple hat points to his elbow as he bustles in with a tray of what looks like it was meant to be dinner.

If this wasn't weird enough, he is followed in by a human sized rabbit, in a waistcoat!!

'You... you're a rabbit!!'
'WHAT did you say?'

'You heard me!'
'Good sir! I am not a rabbit!!!! Anyone with half a brain could see that I am a hare!!'

'A hair? But you are much too large to be a hair, hairs are much thinner! And I'm not a sir either!!'
'ARE YOU CALLING ME FAT!!'
'JAM, GET THE JAM!!!!!!SOMEONE GET THE JAM BEFORE THIS GETS REALLY MESSY!!'

'Jam?? I thought that was for the doormouse?'
'This is nonspecific calming jam, silly!'

A large dollop of what appeared to be grape jelly later, calm was restored, the hare was sleeping and the hat man was pouring me a cup of tea.

Again.

'You look like an intelligent man...'
He blinked at me.
'I think you should have your eyes checked young lady. surely it could be accurately said that I look like a man, but intelligence has nothing to do with appearance. It takes a truly intelligent person to know that intelligence is all about paper cuts!'

'What?'
'I think I've made my point.'

'Anyway, I just wanted to ask you something.'
'Certainly my dear prune flange'

'Where's Alice?'
In that 6/8ths of an instant, all the ridiculous colour drains from him, seeming even to make his hat a paler shade of insanity violets.

Without taking his eyes from me, he shakes the hare awake, hurriedly gathers up his teacups and stands for a moment, seeming to try to think of something to say.

'...MOVE DOWN!!!! MOVE DOWN CLEAN CUP MOVE DOWN MOVE CUP CLEAN DOWN CUP DOWN MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE'

and they ran.

why won't anyone tell me what happened to alice??

Part XII-You'll never get to college but you'll sure look cool

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...