Chapter 3 Theo
On the way back to C….D’A….Theo’s truck bumps along the rutted track. I try as usual to avoid banging my head on the door as we lurch about. He pulls up under the trees. It’s finally cool here. A breeze stirs the dry grass.
“Go on in and take a bath” he says.
The stone flags are cold against my feet when did I lose my shoes?
The house is dark after the brittle sun, the bath water a tepid relief. I sit smelling wood and soap. After the bath I crawl into bed the rough blue rough sheets clean against my soiled soul. Theo drops the blind and sits in the corner. When I fall asleep he will go outside. He gets up and removes a pillow. I watch the fan rotate on the ceiling. I am so tired the bed could burn and I would just lie here wrapped in flames.
I can’t sleep my agitated mind puts me back in the bath.
I am up to my neck in warm water, fully clothed; I’m in the river swirling with your blood. I watch lumps of sick float across the soapy surface. Did I black out? I lost some time. Theo washed my hair and wrapped it in a giant towel. He rescued me from the sicky shirt. I am in bed clean and cool, the blinds down against the evening sun. Now Uncle Theo the Elder sits beside me chewing a cigar end, his wheezy breathing comforting like a ticking clock.
The flush goes that must be Theo: the coke off to join Laurel and Hardy at the sea side. I am too tired to care, to move but something has been left undone. I must put it away before I can sleep. Did I drop my diary? Is it open? Is it back in London? Am I back in London?
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RandomThis is a Southern Gothic tale about Waker's journey to herself. However, the author plans a rewrite to smooth out the edges for a novella or screen play. The controversial content may preclude a movie but it could make a nice radio play for a rainy...
