Formerly Catholic
It besmirched her to think that she might be forced to leave her apartment today. It’s not warm outside. I’m not ready to leave yet. He won’t come today.
Her reasons were without end or explanation; she didn’t know why her brother wanted to see her, especially so suddenly and sullenly.
“You need to meet me for lunch today. Where should we meet? When are you finished work?”
“I have the day off…what’s wrong? Why do you need to see me?”
“It’s important. Can I come to your place?”
“No. Let’s meet at the café.”
“Okay. 2:00?”
“Sure… are you alright?”
“I’ll see you then. I have to go. Bye.”
She had said goodbye to the receiver, feeling more alienated than worried. At least, when she never spoke to her brother, she never had to feel useless and hated. His tone made her want to go back to bed. “Important?” It was never important.
What if he comes by today? I don’t want to wait another week. Maybe I’ll leave a note? He won’t understand.
It was 11:30. She had just woken up, aroused only by the buzzing of her cell phone. The stench of cardamom wafting under her front door, and the rain outside, and the darkness had formed an anti-wakefulness conglomerate. Their mingling odours and drafts and mold spores had even slunk their way into her dreams, spawning Dali-esque visions of stilt-legged carbuncles with maggot-laden tendrils of damp hair. A few strands had just found their way into her mouth when the phone had begun vibrating.
She concluded that it was safe to leave the house for a maximum of one hour during mid-afternoon. He won’t stop by before 3:00 or 4:00. I know he won’t. I know he won’t. He’ll wait for me.
This thought comforted her enough to allow her a relaxing shower—no worries that she was missing something while she soaped and pumiced and thought and shaved and sliced and bled.
12:04heis outsidehe’s waiting forher. she’s. not. here. imightaswellleave,she’snotcomingout.
She clipped her fingernails and sang a new age song she remembered from her childhood friend’s hippie mother’s house and wondered why she didn’t sing more often. She wore the same underwear she’d worn the day before, because it never mattered. She dropped her toothbrush in the toilet and then threw it into the garbage, after fishing it out and washing her hands for three minutes.
Her brother wouldn’t arrive at the café up the street for another couple of hours, so she decided to pass some time watching for visitors out the window.
He’s the only one who’ll ever visit.
She’d come to this conclusion long ago, after their fourth or fifth meeting in the driveway. His visits had started two years ago, when she was still a virgin and a catholic, yet they hadn’t lost their charm or fervor. Every day brought with it another chance for enlightenment.
The rain kept slapping the window’s pane; the window seemed to enjoy it, thrusting the droplets back out into the afternoon’s dankness. She saw someone dart through her peripheral view, but the splotch of magenta was gone before she could form a coherent notion entailing the whos, whats, whys, and wheres of the movement. (Liona Erion; magenta raincoat; runaway terrier; neighbour’s carport)
hewon’tcometoday hewon’tcometodayhewon’tcometodayhewon’tcomehewon’tcome today.
She rose from her windowsill perch and her back cracked in contest. She didn’t realize that the cut on her shin had bled through her polyester pant leg; that the blood had dried and cracked and was crumbling onto the faux-hardwood flooring. She decided to lie down until it was time to meet her brother. The burnt mahogany flakes flurried as she walked to the bedroom.
2:17he is still outside. He hasn’t left and cannot leave until he sees her. She won’t come outshessleepingshe’salwayssleepingi missher i wish i could go home i’m coldandwetandcold.
Her brother’s call awoke her yet again; this time, the vibrato of her phone mingled with the radiator’s drone, and put her back to sleep in seconds.
The calico cat jumped up to the windowsill in the living room, nudging the curtains away with her nose. A spider plant on the sill teetered, and regained its stance in an instant.
The rain had slowed and a palpable dampness had set in, chilling birds and cars and the elderly alike.
The cat blinked and her fur stood aloft when she noticed the child on the lawn, shivering and blue jacketed and slobbering and runny-nosed and tearful, storybook in orange-mittened hand.
Ok…. I’m intrigued, I want more! 😁