In A Shell

Each day, Sal mooches in, slumps exhausted in a chair by my bed and
ogles at me as if I'm a TV set, shoving plump purple fruits one by one
into her mouth. It's enough to put me off my liquidised dinner, the
slithers of grape slink around her gums and wedge in gaps of her
tea-stained teeth. I grunt and shift my right arm like a puppet
gesturing painfully, the art not quite mastered but my hand won't keep
still. And, I give up. She flares her nostrils and arches a brow
unsure, I cringe 'don't do that!' Not a clue, oblivious to all but then
why should she know my pain. I tilt to the left these days but she
stares straight above my half cocked head, her ears pinned back,
straining to hear what every other bugger in the ward ails from, and
how their crippling condition consumes yet she seemingly sympathises
with their suffering.
'How are you today, Harry, feeling any better, love?'
I nod for yes, and I nod for no. That's the best I do. Why does she
bother?
'That's good; I saw our Jaynie this morning, dashing off to the school
with the twins, she couldn't stop long but she blew you a kiss. Says
her Dennis is up for promotion. About blooming time, I said.'
I must have blinked, or frowned, or something? Her shrilling tone
pierces my ear yet again.
'Dennis is up for promotion - I said, about blooming time!'
Some one shut her up, please! Deaf, I'm not.
'I've brought in clean pyjamas and underwear; I didn't bring you
anything to read, not much point. It's not as if you can flick the
pages, eh?'
Punishment, for rejecting her wanton advances night after night, my
nose permanently stuck in a book but then is it any wonder? She'd hide
them under the sofa cushions, or stash them in the cupboards. And as
soon as supper plates glistened clean, I'd escape into my world of
literature and leave the chump curling her lip in a snarl. Locked in a
shell, nowhere new to wander; indulge, or impose upon; damn you bitch!
I want to lash out, choke her, at least maim her but I itch to kill her
though sadly, I can't.
She leans across, tissues the dribble from my chin and blocks the
daylight, then weaves stubby hands through course-bleached hair,
exposing oh such drab grey roots.
'Here's sister to see you, Harry. Come to give you a shave I daresay.
I'll pop to the canteen for a cuppa and leave you in peace.'
Blind, I'm not! Wow! Now she is a darling! Her perfume wafts as she
perches quite close, its fragrance as sweet as her breath that breezes
warm across my cheek. Slender fingers that ripple a tickle on my chin,
as in a draping of velvet upon the skin. Her trim body poured neatly
into the starched hospital dress, the same vivid blue as her saucer
wide eyes. And in those deep sensuous pools bathes compassion and
kindness but no pity, thank god! Her fingers iron my top lip each and
every way to get at bristles underneath my nose, I gaze perplexed as
pert breasts seemingly rest on numbed arm. Drawn the short straw yet
again, why doesn't she lean on my right? Heavy are my lids slowly
sagging to the rhythmic drone, buzzing as the shaver heads rotate cut
and collect the day old stubble. I'm too dazed to imagine the rounded
firmness of one so ripe; such teasing torment but next time, perhaps?
In a quiet caring manner, she tips at the waist and slaps her creamy
pink palms down on her thighs, peering into my listless eyes.
'Smooth as a baby's bottom, and not a whisker in sight; I'll take your
pulse and then I've no cause to disturb you again.'
If only you would, the height of my day but she won't - believe me,
she won't. I roll jaded eyes her way. She fixes her stare at the upside
down clock face, pinned precariously on heaving bosoms, pressing firm
two fingers on the artery; under side of my wrist. Insufferable twitch
but her grip tightens to steady my arm.
'A little racier than normal, I'll let the doctor know, nothing to
fret about.'
It's not a doctor, I need. If it weren't so tragic I'd laugh, not that
I can but I'd bust a gut trying. Oh heck! Here strolls Sal larger than
life itself, that's it girl chat to old Charlie on your way in, he's
off his rocker and grins at everything and everyone that flounces by.
Poor old sod, never a soul visits him, yet he's happier than most
misplaced in some time warp. Apart from the nursing staff, most assume
our brains are jellied like brawn; physically bound is one thing. Sal's
not so sure, shooting glances my way with steely blue eyes; then what's
new? The day I flew off my motorbike and grappled with the falling sky,
she'd dashed outside but froze by the garden gate. The colour drained
from her face, though her eyes bulged in anger and as paramedics
whipped tubes into my veins, she turned and fled in doors. I craned to
see, and yelled her name, the last syllable I ever voiced, and then the
day turned over.
'Had your shave, I see Harry.'
Whatever happened to the slip of a girl I wed? The moment I mumbled I
do, she fell pregnant, that's a fact. On the night, she'd straddled on
top and whispered her news in my ear. Struck dumb, I pushed her off
onto the floor. Red with rage, I hit the roof then her! Grafting all
hours under the sun, killing myself to raise a deposit on a two up, two
down terraced, overlooking the canal; no wonder I lost it. Bone-idle,
she is and couldn't wait to chuck her job in, hasn't sought a day's
work since, and screwed up the chance of a cheap mortgage, selfish cow!
I've never forgiven her.
'I'm off to the bingo later, Harry. I might just win the big one, you
never know your luck, eh love?'
She's having a laugh! Why does she come? I'll tell you why, somewhere
to go, and now she's dealing a pack of cards. Well! What else is there
for her to do? A burning pain shoots across the back of my eyes, its
sting cavorting rudely down redundant neck muscles, jeering I guess, at
the affliction I've been lumbered with. I want to close my eyes and
drift away but I shan't. Not until I've seen my Jaynie.
She flits in as Sal is about to go and after several minutes of hushed
snippets with her mum; heads huddled beyond the foot of the bed, she
beams the sweetest of smiles and chucks her arms around my neck, plants
a kiss upon my head and blubbers a tear or two. I feel the trickle down
the right side of my brow. And from her plastic carrier she pulls out a
book, my heart leaps I'm sure.
'How you doing, dad? I'll read aloud, if you want?'
Pure angel face, I so love you! She lives my passion and when only a
dot and curled in a ball on her duvet, and Sal was stood ironing
downstairs in front of TV soaps. I'd pace about her room and read
noisily, her every manual she owned. She'd toss, turn, and hang on my
every breath; her big grey eyes alight - like mine, and then she'd part
her cherry lips in awe of drama, I'd act out.
A cough clears her throat and prized words tumble from her quivering
lips, her glance lowers on the page; and like music to the ears, the
prose swells, stifling my emptiness within. A veil of mist clouds my
vision of rare loveliness. A ray of light summons me in earnest. Dare I
miss this fables end? This inward ache erupting threefold, I fight to
grab and hug her. My heart has burst, I know! The pounding rears from
inner depths, its pain unknowing and I flight from fear.
And when I wake into this darkness, I am alone; her open book upon my
chest is laid. That's bloody charming, that is, I suppose she'd thought
I'd snuffed it!
Aine

5
Locked In A Shell