Category: Unplugged

Perhaps, tea

whee
eeeeee
eeeeeeeee
eeeeeeeeeeee

the boiling teapot brought back memories
arm in hand they’d walked down the aisle
best man and bridesmaid of best friends
it had all started at the rehearsal dinner

when he arrived late and flustered
though she’d been on time, awaiting
her mascara was on before his coat
yet she’d had to wait up for him to suit up

couldn’t bear to see him in the face, anger
brimming on the surface, so threatening
she glanced aside to set her mind at ease
for tardiness was as good as neediness

a cup of tea she’d had as she waited

whee
eeeeee
eeeeeeeee
eeeeeeeeeeee

the boiling teapot jerked her to reality
sitting at home, the mighty housewife
cleaning, washing, washing, and cleaning
everyday household chores multiplying

she’d woken up early that morning
way before he’d even stifled a yawn
yet she stayed in bed for him to rise
for her beloved had to dress, to work

man of the house he was breadwinner,
and she bread maker, just a part-timer
she had much time, she needn’t rush
wasn’t like she had a wedding to blush

perhaps first, she’d have a cup of tea

The intervention

Chap. Chap. Genny slathered her lips with the little moisture left in her tongue. Her throat had dried out before she’d passed out. And though awake now, she still felt too dizzy to stand up and walk to the kitchen sink. She extended a weak left arm to the bottled water on the table over her head. It’d been standing there where she left it three nights ago, when she returned from Michael’s new apartment. Though she’d gotten the house, the furniture, and the friendly neighbourhood, he’d somehow come out of the divorce far more satisfied than she.

The bottle toppled from the table, plopping on the floor beside her. Luckily, the cap was still on. Twisting it open she drank like she’d never seen the flavourless liquid before. As the insides of her parched throat gulped the water, she remained lying on the floor, her body turned sideways, propped up by her right arm.

When she’d had her fill, she set the bottle down, careful not to tip it over. Then turned around and fell asleep.

Beyond her glass windows, the sun went down again. As the light faded away, it glinted on the dining table china, the framed photos she’d forgotten to dust off, and the wall art her three-year-old had done at school. Darkness engulfed them all.

She hadn’t noticed the sun rise that morning. Or the day before that. She hadn’t heard the cockatoos cawing on her roof, or observed the wintry breeze lashing the surface of the lake across the street.

It’s amazing what a bottle of whisky could do. The stench of stale alcohol had masked the smell from rain water dribbling down her garden soil. She slept peacefully—oblivious to the world revolving around her, forgetting the pain of losing her family, ignoring the aftermath of that drunken accident. The corpse of her bloody child no longer haunted her dreams. Gone were the shrieks and wails of her younger self. Tires screeched no more. Michael’s arm wasn’t round her shoulders anymore. And they weren’t the couple pretending to move on.

No more. Of any of that bullshit. Only sleep.

That’s all she had now.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

It didn’t stop until Genny forced herself to sit up. Suffocating darkness pressed around her.

She opened the door to a bright full moon above.

And below, a puppy walked into her life, bringing along a flood of light.

Cry, my dearest

Cry now little one, cry now
for life’ll only get harder
the rain will ruin your dress
and the wind will mess your hair
play dates will uninvite you
vacations will be cancelled
your dolls will lose their hair
toy cars will shed their wheels
classmates will turn out bullies
and alleyways become scary
your exams will be challenging
and bitterness will rein aloud
prom night will be disappointing
embarrassment overshadowing
friends will no longer be true
and reality will seem so unreal
breakups will bring in tears
but ice cream will rectify fears
well—for a while, at least,
you’ll leave high school with a high
and soon realise ’twas all a heist
when open arms welcome you
into the world you’ll go, bravely
before you see how you’re stupid
ignorance, you’ll understand is bliss
when you don’t count empty beer cans
you’ll drive home every day, insane
damn office politics casting you down
and you’ll throw open your door
facing the bundle you left home—
that bundle of laundry pending
and the bundle of dishes still dirty
bundle in the corner overflowing with trash
while the biggest bundle’s on the couch
the smallest on the cot by your bed
why, welcome home, dear mom,
come hither it’ll wail your ear off
then, my dear, you’ll have no tears
so cry now, little one, cry now

Eternal fear

“But why can’t I, Dad?”

James stared into the imploring eyes of his ten-year-old. Those blue piercing eyes he’d inherited from Lisa.

James hardened his look, “Because your mother’s afraid for you.”

“But—”

James took a step closer and his son stopped protesting immediately, shoving his hands behind his back where James knew he was twisting his fingers—an anxiety coping mechanism James had instilled in him. “This conversation is over, young man. Now go to your room, and I’ll call you when it’s time for dinner.”

Rick looked so small and sad walking away with his head hanging low. But James stood stern until his son had left the room.

‘But why?’ Rick’s unfinished sentence hung over his head like a knife about to drop.

He wanted to know the answer himself. They still had a few good years before they had to worry about Rick being peer pressured into alcohol or cigarettes. Why wouldn’t his mother let him be be a normal kid and play with the others after school?

“Just the thought of it makes me uneasy, James,” she’d told him when he wondered aloud. Thrusting the empty plates in the sink, she’d turned to him before he could reply. “Let’s not talk about this anymore, ok?” And she’d opened the recently-closed bottle and poured herself another glass of wine.

But, honey. If we block out all his chances of making friends, he’ll never learn to socialise.

James wasn’t brave enough to voice his thoughts. Not when she was almost drowning her third drink.

Lisa wasn’t an alcoholic. But ever since they’d moved out here, she’d been growing increasingly insecure. She wouldn’t speak to the neighbours, even though they’d made countless efforts to be inclusive. At least she still had work to look forward to, James had assured himself. The only good thing about his sudden transfer was that Lisa’s company had a local branch as well.

“A black boy was running around with a gun—inside a school! I just saw in the news.”

Lisa took a deep breath trying to calm herself. She didn’t need her mother to remind her what she’d already seen and heard three hours ago. She never missed news like this.

“Mom, we’re in the Virgin Islands. That won’t happen here.” Not when over 70 percent of the people were black.

“But, dear, I was so scared,” trembled the voice from California. “I know it’s only for a year, and you’ll be back home soon. But I can’t sleep at night knowing what these people are capable of.”

“Mom. I gotta go. My boss is calling me right now. Talk later.”

Lisa hadn’t slept well since they’d moved from Pasadena a month ago. She didn’t need her mother blowing into an already raging fire.

“Harding?”

“Yes,” affirmed James.

“That’s right,” replied Lisa.

“I’m Estelle, the nurse at Markson Junior High. There’s been a small incident, and we’ve admitted your son at the Lifeline Childcare Hospital. Can you come right away, please?”

Lisa arrived panting and flustered, just as James was asking for directions. Estelle assured them all was well, and insisted they meet Dr. Peterson before seeing Rick. When they entered his room, the doctor was reading Agatha Christie.

A Marple mystery, classic. James would smile when he recalled the incident hours later.

Peterson offered them water and explained what had happened.

Two boys had gotten into a brawl in class and Rick had tried to intervene. In the action that followed, one small fist had shoved Rick and he’d fallen against a desk, bruising his arms. The other kid had raised the alarm and insisted on bringing him to the hospital in case Rick had hurt his head.

He hadn’t, the doctor assured the nervous couple.

Tears streamed down Lisa’s eyes. James was shaking.

“Was it a black kid?” Lisa spurt out at the doctor harshly. “The one who pushed my son?”

“Lisa—!” James wrapped an arm around her, trying to pacify her, shocked at the outburst.

The doctor was shocked too. After all, he hadn’t expected her to display such hatred. At least not when he was black himself.

But he remained calm. Retaliation made no sense in this case. Instead, he replied cooly, “In fact, no. The boy who saved your son is black, though.”

He picked up his book again. “Make of that what you will.” And continued reading.