Despite
its immaculate presentation upon the cart the food remains uneaten, rendered
again inedible by those recurrent stomach pains borne of her inability to
physically comprehend the degree to which she feels herself to have been
emptied out.
In
this taking advantage of room service for her every meal she seeks to minimise
contact with the staff and other guests, any number of whom she suspects might
well be in the employ of deleted name. Its flipside, however, is to
only increase the rumour and speculation about her amongst these same.
There
is an understandable strangeness to these first days of her life as ache1,
days filled with little more than the making of such adjustments necessary to
persist in this fresh version of herself, and nights where her sense of exile
leaves her outwith even the dreams she once assumed her due.
In
trying to establish some routine to fit this new existence, yet still unable to
relinquish the established domestic order so intrinsic to her sense of self,
she is fascinated at the manner in which certain elements of this latter
resurface.
With
the uneaten remnant dinner scraped into the toilet and flushed away, the plates
and cutlery are piled into the bathroom sink; her shampoo substituting for
detergent, her face flannel a dishcloth. E.T. watches her from the tiles behind
the taps.
To
be engaged in any act prompting memories of home serves only to refocus her on
the irreversible nature of this undertaking into which she has entered, and yet
it is in being thus engaged that she locates a salve of sorts for the very
irritability exacerbated by this homesickness. She is too young to sort these
thoughts through to a satisfactory conclusion, but what she can and does
comprehend is that it is entirely possible the wrong decisions have been made.
ache1
(singing slowly and quietly, to herself): "Oh Peggy Gordon, you are my darling.
Come sit you down upon my knee."
Dipping
her fingers into the suds, she anoints E.T. with a crown of perfumed bubbles*,
ache1
(in her own croaky approximation of his voice): Foam home. E.T. foam home.
but
even this fails to assuage her melancholy, and so seemingly unable not to, she
sings again:
ache1: "Oh Peggy Gordon, you are my darling. Come sit you down upon my knee. And tell
to me the very reasons, why I am slighted so by thee."
remembering
now with almost fond loss the sudden realisation of this same chore previously
split between them become hers alone on her sister’s leaving home for college.
ache1 before she became ache1:
But how’s that fair? Now I have twice as much work to do.
Mother: Well, let’s not exaggerate, you
don’t have your sister’s dishes to wash and dry now. So…
smiling
Mother: ..for extra credit, please to
express this quote unfair surplus as a fraction, and yes, this will
count towards your final grade.
ache1 before she became ache1:
Twice as much.
Washed
and dried, she piles the dishes neatly back upon the little trolley before
pushing it outside into the corridor, knowing as she does they will be fed
without regard through the kitchen dishwashers downstairs.
*Many
months later she will repeat this little gesture in the presence of Brother
Skunk.
Skunk
(addressing E.T.): You were right, you know: the poor are always with
us.
