The Well III
III
The toilet hissed as Kate passed by and drew near to the bedroom at the dark end of the hall. Terry's belt was hanging over the door, which sent a zephyr of some vague memory through her. Shadows. Shadows of grief cast way down deep where she couldnt reach. Of course, it was her Father she saw in the belt hanging over the door. She just wasnt aware of it. In fact, there were a number of similarities between him and Terry. Not that she was thinking about it. They were merely unconscious associations.The faint smell of turps and solvol soap. The thick, leathery hands. The grease perpetually ingrained under the nails. The sound of smokers cough far away from her bedroom, where adult laughter and unknown things took place, in the lounge room. Things that sounded to her like love. It was dawning on her now, only dimly, that in reality, her father and Terry were the same desert bore she'd been trying to drink from for years. The deep well of love, far away in the loungeroom, where the warmth of the T.V. and her parents laughter was. A place she was not permitted.
She'd been scouring her life for that water. Time and time again. But it seemed that what she found in the rubble and ruins of this world made her thirstier. Some innocent part of her knew this, if only dimly. But still, for reasons that sometimes infuriated even her, she found herself wondering, hoping, praying, that one day, the water she drank would become pure. That love would be real.
Terry's brown belt sagged over the door. She came close, pushed it too and entered the musty darkness of their bedroom to grab some clothes and a bag. Things would be different with Dave. She saw it in his eyes. the tenderness. The gentle hands. The attention.
Kate kicked an oily pair of jeans and instinctively bent down to pick them up. The blood rushing to her head made her face throb. She caught herself and was surprised to find that she recoiled, as if she had touched death itself. The cheesy smell of vomit slapped her hard. She began rehearsing under her breath what she had rehearsed a thousand times before in front of the bathroom mirror. it sounded like something from somebody elses dream. Intangible. Surreal. Not part of her experience. Impossible. She was leaving. She stood up and felt for the light switch, not noticing the lumpy form on the bed.
She'd been scouring her life for that water. Time and time again. But it seemed that what she found in the rubble and ruins of this world made her thirstier. Some innocent part of her knew this, if only dimly. But still, for reasons that sometimes infuriated even her, she found herself wondering, hoping, praying, that one day, the water she drank would become pure. That love would be real.
Terry's brown belt sagged over the door. She came close, pushed it too and entered the musty darkness of their bedroom to grab some clothes and a bag. Things would be different with Dave. She saw it in his eyes. the tenderness. The gentle hands. The attention.
Kate kicked an oily pair of jeans and instinctively bent down to pick them up. The blood rushing to her head made her face throb. She caught herself and was surprised to find that she recoiled, as if she had touched death itself. The cheesy smell of vomit slapped her hard. She began rehearsing under her breath what she had rehearsed a thousand times before in front of the bathroom mirror. it sounded like something from somebody elses dream. Intangible. Surreal. Not part of her experience. Impossible. She was leaving. She stood up and felt for the light switch, not noticing the lumpy form on the bed.
posted by urbanmonk at 1:31 PM
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