waiting

Woke up this morning and the sun was shining in.

Wait, that’s not my line.

But it was. Shining in, that is. Nice change after four days of rain. Spring and all.

Still, it’s hard. The air smells like home, like childhood. Like something I’ve lost that I won’t ever get back. I let my eyelids drift down and reduce the room to shapes and light and it’s almost there. Hardwood floors and white cotton curtains instead of speckled old lino and cheap plastic venetians. It flickers into place for a moment -- a signal in the static, and then the nurse squeaks in on her thick white sneakers and it’s gone. Bitch.

No – it’s not her fault. What the fuck do I know – she may not even exist. Even if she does, she is apart from all this. She knows nothing. About Lucy, about Aliss, about the strange shoe sitting on top of the trunk when I woke up this morning. It looks like a vintage Adidas, brown with white stripes. Pretty beat-up. Maybe a size 10? Anyhow, the nurse didn’t give it so much as a glance when she came in. Like it wasn’t even there.

Heh – maybe it’s not.

I’d think maybe I wasn’t either, except for the jello they keep fucking feeding me. Christ – at this point even Jemima’s burnt toast would be an improvement.