She keeps staring and mumbling it frightens me. This room where I once built a fortress made of pillows and blankets is strangely forlorn, canvased by the blank florescent light and crowded with the borborygmus mumbling, like someone had left the radio on low and it just keeps playing. But it’s such a broken record I don’t want to hear it. It’s frightening so I crawl into the corner with her. Surrounded by the blankets that I jumped upon to play pillow fights and fell asleep many a times with a child’s innocence. What am I supposed to do? What does everyone expect of me? They all say I should be here but I don’t. Why is she calling out. I can’t comfort you, I just want to leave. I have a game to get to. A very important game online with my cousins that I’m missing out on.
Such a scrunched up face turns towards me that I focus on not flinching and turning aside. Those beady little droplets of hurrying sweats are tears. Why are you crying. Why are we crying.
It was six am and my sister and I were playing board games. We’ve never been awake this early it was quite refreshing. Felt so rebellious to beat the stifling heat of summer before it settled upon the dried dew and ate away at the moist morning. We played games online and we laughed. Then it was eight and we had to go. I don’t like this place; so saturated it hurt my eye, like everything was going slow and fast at the same time it was hard to tell. Some plenty more of those white ubiquitous gowns. Hands groping and nudging, whatever happened to personal space? Oh but how nice of my uncle to visit from China. In fact what a gathering we have here around her. What’s the special occasion. All’s well gone well, what a cry baby she is to be this moved to tears. And into the small room we go.
It was four am and who the hell turned on the lights. God I’m sleepy; men in my room? Who else is on my bed, and what do you think you’re doing? Are we playing a game? I stare at the glassy eyes, peering right at me, but I’m not afraid.
But then I’m young again. I’m sick, as the flu has it’s way with the whole parade. The TV room with the brown couches and the antique revolver, I know this place. Follow the spiraling cord, it’s black and shiny and refracts like a slingy, how fascinating. But what did you say? How could you. It’s hard to breathe. My face is hot. But the afternoon is still warm , and it shows a warm tone. It’s the color red and it likes to jump up and down like a thermometer gone wrong. I focus to watch for a tingly feeling, and I don’t know whether or not I’m glad there’s none. But I watch, it’s taunting me. Like a swimmer that runs to the edge of the board, but never walks the plank. What would happen if it reached the top though? Would the red explode?
I recognize that cold thing sleeping in trance. I don’t like this place either. It’s solemn and we are all dressed white. I snatch my hand back, no, I don’t know this thing she is caressing. The world’s gone mad. Because I have ran out of tears. As do only a robotic creature, otherwise mutated being, can even begin to demand themselves to cry.
What a pretty day that I stand before you. But I can’t talk to you because I feel silly. I doubt you’d feel proud of me. Or you just might. I don’t know much of you. I don’t remember much either. I hope you like the flowers though. We picked fake ones so they never wilt.
How can all of us fit into this small room? I don’t quite saunter, but I walk as if directed by a bad movie. Too many distractions and too many words. I don’t feel it yet, a stupid character does not feel fear. I’m not afraid.
Then up goes my blood and I hold my breath, in anticipation and in anxiousness. Does a child get in trouble for being fascinated by their IV drip? I stare and breathe slowly, no longer paying attention to the murmurings of her voice. As it retreats I work into a climax and it peaks precariously at the end of it’s containment, just before it taints the entire bag of bones.
All these stupid people giving me condolences and breathing your hot breathe in my face. Who are you – The other day I was making cards and posters with my cousins in bed. They said we’ll burn them together.
Hello again, you can’t see me. I’m quite glad. They said you would like this spot. You won’t get a sun burn in the summer, nor a frostbite in the winter. Do I know you? Or just feign to? Fellow greetings and casual goodbyes to our annual meeting. No I won’t speak to you, because that is weird.
Hey, why are we crying. The room is dark and we cuddle in the blankets. I take the car license from her hands and stare. Then I look up at the ceiling and say, ‘but I got an A’.