Colin looks at his hands sometimes and wonders what his life would be like if they were smaller or larger or gone. He can hear Kevin talk in his sleep through the walls saying, You’re not listening. Or, Stay here with me, and Yes and Yes and Yes. On Friday afternoons Colin goes to The Artful Dodger on Yonge Street and Isabella. He orders a rye and ginger and listens to the endless back and forth of the women sitting at the end of the bar with their long island iced teas. Rossana and Jen. Accounting. They plug numbers from nine to five, pulling at the end of their pencil skirts that ride up their thighs, exposing pale freckled flesh. Jen says she saw Mercedes from HR wearing Badgley Mischka. Rossana scoffs. Pink cheeks pucker. Red lips wrinkle. She sucks at her straw then dabs her mouth with a napkin. Colin hears the words knock off, and outlet, and States.
A phone pings. They check their purses. Thumbs mash buttons. Prints smear screen. For the next five minutes they’re silent. Tall glasses sweat.
When Colin gets home, all the lights are on but Kevin is out. There is a note stuck on the fridge.
I needed food.
Kevin
Colin makes himself some cereal. He checks his phone and notices he has five missed calls. He listens to his voicemail. One is a pocket dial, two are empty, the next is from his mother Hi Colin it’s mom. Did you get your results yet? Call the clinic and let me know. Don’t forget to sleep. Love you. Bye. Colin steps outside for a smoke. When he’s finished he thinks, That’s it. No more. I’m done with that. He lights another after he carries the garbage and leaves it on the curb. Kevin comes home.
Stop.
.
Colin looks at his hands sometimes and wonders what his life would be like if they were smaller or larger or gone. Some nights he can hear Kevin talking in his sleep through the walls saying, You’re not listening or, Stay here, and Yes, and Yes, and Yes.
On Friday afternoons Colin goes to the George Street Diner on Jarvis. He orders a black coffee and listens to the constant chatter of the girls sitting at a booth behind him with their soups of the day. Rossanna and Jen. Accounting. They plug numbers out of text books from ten to six, swallowing yawns, scratching the backs of their knees swaddled in sweat pants. Jen says she heard Mercedes is pulling an A average. Rossana scoffs. She raises the spoonful of soup to her mouth. Pale cheeks expand with sharp bursts of air. She swallows. Dabs her mouth with her fingers. Colin hears the words Sleeping and T.A.
A phone pings. Jen rummages through her backpack. Prints smear screen. Rosanna finishes her soup, staring at the table. For the next few minutes they are silent. Bowls cool down.
All the lights are on but Kevin is out, when Colin comes home. There is a note stuck on the fridge.
Filled your pillbox. You mook.
Kevin
Colin makes himself some cereal. He checks his phone and notices that he has five missed calls. He listens to his voicemail. One is a pocket dial, three are hollow, the next is from his mother- Hi Colin it’s mom. Did you get your results yet? Call the clinic and let me know. Don’t forget to eat. Love you. Bye.
Colin steps outside for a smoke. When he’s finished he thinks, That’s it. No more. I’m done with that. He lights another after he carries the garbage and leaves it on the curb. After taking a final drag, he flicks the butt into the street. Watches it roll. The coal glows red on the grey pavement before it slowly fades out. Kevin comes home.
Stop.
.
Colin looks at his hands wondering what life would be like if he was smaller or larger or gone. Sometimes Kevin comes over to stay the night. Keep him company. Through the walls, Colin can hear him talk in his sleep. He says, I’m listening or, Here, and Yes and Okay and Fine. On Friday afternoons, when the sun paints the sky with rose coloured light and everyone looks golden, Colin strolls to the Philsopher’s Walk and climbs the steps at the university to the courtyard behind the Planetarium. There is a patch of grass where the blades are always cut so when he lies down it cushions his spine. He can gingerly move his head from side to side and feel the blades brushing his cheek bones with a tender touch. Sometimes he’ll hear a student playing the violin through one of the classroom windows behind him. He’ll strain his ears to catch notes, faint and full.
If a plane goes by he follows it with his eyes. Colin imagines that the low rumbling sound is strong enough to reverberate through his bones, wrap around the dark spot swelling between the folds of his brain. Then his skin can sweat it out. Let what is festering pool at the fringes of his hair, and drip onto the grass where soil can soak it up. Devour it.
What will be on the fridge when Colin gets home?
His phone rings.
He answers it.
Start.
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Exactly.
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Wow. Any praise I could give would sound trite and hollow, but… This is brilliant. Thank you for sharing. Also, thanks for stopping by The Brass Rag. Come back and see us again soon. Talent like yours is always welcome.
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Golly. I was not expecting that at all. Thank you.
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Really nice. Thanks for liking my blog. Your story is excellent.
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Thank you kindly
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Well written, fantastic imagery. Hope I never get called a mook but kinda do hope someone remembers to fill my pill box before the pixies get me. Just kidding, well done, best wishes,
Kieran (Baldy)
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Flattery indeed. Thanks for taking the time to read my bits of writing. I definitely enjoy reading your work so seeing this was a nice surprise.
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I had to read this again and tell you that the word ‘mook’ made me smile again.
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Very refreshing style! I found myself smiling with the sheer joy at having a truly original prose style. ~*~ Thank you for liking my haiku at “Randa Lane….” We are featuring a series on the writing of haiku and would be honored if you choose to “follow” us.
Best Success,
-R-
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The first sentence in my comment above omitted the word “found” and should read: “Very refreshing style! I found myself smiling with the sheer joy at having found a truly original prose style.” 🙂
-R-
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S’alright, I find your work to be quite original as well. Thank you so much for your comments.
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Thanks for stopping by wordifull.com and for the like. This is the first of your work I have read but it will not be the last. I’m in for the ride. Thank you.
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