chapter 2

by caity

I woke up in the grass. The sun was high overhead and the sky was clear. I lay looking at the vapour trails and I thought about the people in the planes;  going to places, coming home. Would they find things as they left them? Would I?

I walked through the front door, calling out as I came in. Nothing. The carpet was the same colour as when I went out. The wallpaper, the mirror, the console table with the dying roses in the big vase - nothing had changed there. I dropped my bag down and closed the door behind me placed my book on the table.  I turned square to the mirror. There I was, more faded than the roses. Grey sallow and sagging. Is this why?  I ran my hand down my throat, pulling on the crepey skin, catching on the skin tags and moles.

She was firm. No age,  so no marks of age, no loose skin. She shone, like a jubilee beacon on the hillside. I had too. We both had. We had both run and danced and sung with the dawn chorus and shouted and screamed and cried and roared with laughter and passion and…. I can barely see that woman now. The shape of her eyes, the curve of her jaw, like someone has smudged over the edges rubbing out the clarity, the precision of her lines. 

I went up the stairs. Everything was there.  The bed was made the curtains drawn. I lay down.  If it was nearer to winter I could hibernate. Draw up everything around me and hide. I slept.

I woke up in the grass.  The sun was high overhead and the sky was clear. I lay looking at the vapour trails and I thought about the people in the planes;  going to places, coming home. Would they find things as they left them? Would I?

 He was no better. I saw the resentment flash across my face.

I took two steps back. I picked up the vase. I threw it at the mirror and  was showered in a dew of glass and petals.  There were patterns now on the plain wallpaper; red and blue. I traced these down with my fingers and the red followed me down.  I sang out at the top of the mountain and the echoes started an avalanche,  I rolled and swam and the colour of the earth drew me down and I burrowed in. The flood tide took me down, rushing, crashing, breaking me into a shower of glass and petals.

I woke up in the grass. The sun was high overhead and the sky was clear. I lay looking at the vapour trails and I thought about the people in the planes;  going to places, coming home.

I lay my hand across my neck. I traced my fingers down to my breast. There were patterns red and blue that followed me down.  My hand clenched a petal, tighter  and tighter.  There was a noise from somewhere I couldn’t reach,  piercing me, cutting and cutting.

I woke up in the grass. The sun was high overhead and the sky was clear. I lay looking at the vapour trails and I thought about the people in the planes.

I thought about coming home

I thought about you

I woke up in the grass. The sun was high overhead and the sky was clear.

I traced the vapour trails with my fingers.

Red and blue they followed me down.

I closed my eyes.