The Outside

Section IV

 I push myself up out of bed. I pat my hand over my mouth to silence my yawn. I'm greeted to consciousness by the sizzle and smell of bacon in a pan over a nice warm fire. I groggily slip off my long john pajamas and slip on my formal wear. I walk out of the room, banging my head on the low-hanging door arch. I achily rub my forehead. Each footfall brings the creak of a floorboard screeching out. AS I reach the end of the hallway, I remind myself to slip on my glasses. I pull them, folded, out of my vest pocket and place them carefully on the crook of my nose. I look down at my vest and notice that the chain from my pocket watch is abnormally missing from my chest. I reach a probing hand into my vest pocket, it's empty. I start to panic. I slap my hands over my pockets. My side pockets. My back pockets. My vest pocket again. The pocket in my collared shirt. I twist to peak behind me at my back pockets for extra assurity. I rush back to my room. I bang my head on the doorway again. I tear through yesterday's clothes' pockets. I go through them all twice or thrice. I throw them out through the doorway as I finish searching each article of clothing. It's not there. I tear the stained, red blanket off of my bed and shake it out. Nothing falls loose. I ball that up and throw it out the door behind me as well. I throw the pillows off the bed. It's not there. I think twice and tear the pillow cases from the pillows themselves. It's not there. I throw the pillows and their cases on the heap outside my door. I tear the bedsheets off. It's not there. I throw the sheets in the heap. I flip the mattress, effortlessly, off of the bedframe. It's not there. I flip the bedframe over on it's side with a deafening clatter. It's not there. The clatter of the bed is echoed by clattering from the foyer. I pull a drawer on my little rickety nightstand open. It's not there. I pull the drawer off of its slide and shake its contents out onto the wooden floor. I catch a glint of something golden. I hungrily dig through the pile of the drawer's contents. The glint was just my gilded fountain pen. It's not here.

"Edgar! What's wrong?!" Marion comes screeching into my room.

I ignore her and tear through the next drawer down.

"Edgar!!"

I pour the contents of the drawer out on the ground.

"EDGAR!"

I throw the emptied drawer against the wall with another deafening bang. I scream at the level where your voice crackles and distorts into more of an animal's screech, "WHAT?!"

She stands there with her mouth hanging open, giving me nothing but a scared look.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?! CAN'T YOU SEE I'M BUSY?!" I grab her by the shoulders and shake her back and forth angrily, as if it will help drive the point home.

She pipes up in a squeaky apologetic voice, it comes out in a warble through my violently shaking her, "What's wrong?"

I shove her back so she lands clumsily but softly in the pile of clothes,pillows and bedsheets. I hold my hands up in the air accusingly, "MY FUCKING WATCH! I can't find my fucking watch."

She cocks her head to the side like a dog trying to understand its master's words. "That's all?" she asks with a puzzled look on her face.

"That's all? THAT'S ALL?! YES! YES! THAT'S FUCKING ALL! WHAT OTHER FUCKING REASON DO I NEED?!"

"Well---well, your watch is on the table."

"What?"

"When you fell asleep in front of the fire. I got you up and into bed and I cleaned your watch for you."

"You WHAT?"

"I cleaned your watch for you."

I work my jaw back and forth in frustration, "First off, did I tell you to clean my fucking watch?"