My Dinosaur Era Chapter 7 *Rewrite*
By beanzie
- 77 reads
my mother has left me a voicemail
I haven’t listened to it yet
I know her voice is lingering inside my phone
it’ll likely be her usual rambling
news of someone I used to know
several decades ago
they had a stroke, died peacefully at home
maybe something about my sister
michelle has bought a house
somewhere else
maybe she’ll be happy there
instead of that other place she lived
with that other husband
she was never happy there
perhaps it’ll be something else from her house she thinks I should have
a spare kettle that has been dormant for fifteen years below the stairs
some old coins that her father kept from the war in india
some other connection with another time
crumbs of nostalgia that lie dormant in the dust
dad died a year ago
so suddenly
as if he fell into an abyss with one false step
heart attack, down and out in seconds
gone before the ambulance had even squealed
michelle called me, I didn’t pick up
I thought it would be her telling me about her life
that she had bought some new curtains perhaps
until she rang again
and again
then I knew before I answered that someone had died
I sat on the train to haywards heath
murdered half a bottle of neat vodka
on the twenty minute journey
we went through the tunnel at clayton
I closed my eyes
imagined being under the ground
the grass above
the two old windmills
looking out over the downs
there’s a photo of me from years ago
inside one of those windmills
turning a hand mill
my face bright
the happiest I have ever looked
in a photo
usually you can see the sadness seeping out
by the time I got there
mum had been sedated
so had I
the vodka running fast under my skin
michelle sat silently in the corner
I found some port in the cupboard
made her drink a glass
but I’m driving
our dad died
I didn’t think mum would last this long without dad
it seemed likely that she would follow him swiftly
her being so utterly reliant on him
him being her connection to reality
making the tea, filling out all the forms
the driving
the shopping
the cooking
even though she was always the one in charge
now she had no one to do these things
that’s what I thought would end her
I look at my phone screen
scroll up and down the names,
petula is sat there
ginny put her number in
I still haven’t called her
ginny said not to text
it’ll seem weak and weird, she told me
I am weak and weird, I thought
just call, she told me
I stand in the kitchen
I wonder what she will be doing right now
I don’t even know if she has a job
I know nothing of her
it’s just her face and
an admiration for jurassic park
that is holding us together so far
I’ve navigated relationships on far less than that
I push the button
hey, it’s tim
I hope ginny has only called me tim to her
timmy is not for all to utter
hey
she sounds close, as if she is stood next to me
ginny gave me your number, hope that’s cool
yeah, yeah, it’s fine
sorry about the other night, I was really tired
it’s ok, I was tired too
thanks for doing the washing up
I do have a bit of an obsession for tidying
oh yeah, you should come over more often then, my place is a hole
I’ve seen worse
sorry, am I interrupting you? are you at work?
I am meant to be doing some work but I can’t get into it today
yeah, same
what do you do?
I write for a travel company
oh yeah, I write for a music website
I’m sure that’s way cooler than what I do
I dunno, it’s pretty boring most of the time, I do the listings and now and then they let me do a review or feature
cool
my well has run dry
there’s a silence, I sputter into it
so do you wanna meet up sometime?
I hear my voice waver slightly, my mouth dry
I can hear my lips grating against each other
yeah, sure
how about tonight?
hmm, ok, what shall we do?
drinks at the hole?
sure, about 8?
yeah, cool
see you then
I stare at my phone screen some more
I scroll up from petula to
mum
hit call
I’m on a roll
hello mum
oh, hello love
how are you?
our conversations are painful
staccato, distant, ruptured
like strangers in the dark
it was the same with petula
at least she is an actual stranger
I suppose you listened to my message then
no, not yet
oh, I thought that was why you were calling
why, what happened?
suddenly there is a slight panic in me
should have listened to the message first
do you remember george stewart, he used to live across the road from us in london
no, I don’t think so
oh you do, lovely man, had a golden retriever
oh yeah, george, right
I am lying, I have no idea who he is, I just want to be free of this
well, he’s in hospital, had a nasty fall
and so I switch off
as she describes how poor george lay stricken in his hallway
how his children both live abroad
his wife died when he was twenty seven
never remarried
such a shame
the details swirl past me
punctuated with the occasional aha, yeah
I think my sister moved house again
I message ginny, tell her that I called petula
brave boy, she replies
if anyone else patronised me like that I’d go nuts
ginny gets a pass
it is her way
our way
how we connect somehow
the cooker says it’s one thirty four in the afternoon
I pour a vodka and orange
down it in one
need to shower later
make myself shiny
I sit at the laptop
I search for the hotel I am meant to be writing about today
keywords tim, don’t forget the search terms, we need to be found
the echoes of emails
telling me how to do this heinous task
my shitty prose disfigured further to pay the bills
I close the laptop again
not today, it’s not happening
I drag the vacuum out
haphazardly drag it around the little floorspace I possess
I crash it into corners
make dents in the architrave
scrape along the skirting boards
I pick up books, cups, other debris, as I go
fold the bed back into itself to form the sofa
I need to decorate this place
the walls are still jaundiced
someone else’s history still staring back at me
I bought some paint when I moved in
fleetingly enthusiastic about making this my space
until I realised that there’s no such thing
that colours and cushions are not real
that the space inside me follows me wherever I go
I find the tin in a cupboard
a dark green, good stuff, expensive
I envisage the room freshly painted
the stains of the years
banished to lie below
a fresh new start
that’s what they say, isn’t it?
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