by
LABGROUPD
@ 2008-02-25 - 19:48:43
Me & Nancy
A Lovers' Tale
I haven't eaten for three days Nancy had said. I'm menstruating and I'm sick of the sight of you. Moreover I'm sick of this tiny apartment...there's no room: it's cramped and I'm cramped and a television is no substitute for a window. I can't see outside and I can't breathe the air, or see the sun she had complained.
Nancy missed the sun. She was from a part of Europe where the weather was usually glorious in the summer, and mild in the winter. How she hated the Northern climate where the winter days seemed microscopic and the nights intermidable and seemingly permanent. It played havoc with her mood, and worse with her digestive system.
I tightened the belt on my cotton robe with the silk outer edge. Nancy ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table, licked her finger
"I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills, but..." she wrinkled her nose "they make me feel like throwing up"
I switched on the television, hoping for a diversion from the tone of the room, without putting my thoughts into words. Images of a forest filled the screen as a camera plunged through thick growth to focus in on a small animal.
"Urgh" Nancy sighed, "Boring. I'd rather swap places with a wild animal than watch it on telly. At least they get a chance to roam around...maybe even have a fuck once in a while."
The small fluffy grey couch shifted slightly under my discomfort, I exhaled noisily while Nancy picked up the remote control and switched channels, to one featuring an underweight young woman whose skin had stretched taught over her bones, like a lampshade.
I reached over the arm of the couch and picked up a bottle of Fanta orange drink, that had been there since the evening before.
I could think of nothing to say. Perhaps there was nothing to say. I felt miserable and irritated with the room. Nancy's prescence felt like an imposition, as if she were somehow surplus to requirements. She must have felt my thoughts as she abruptly got up from her chair and exited the box-like room through the small kitchen door just behind my position on the sofa.
"I'd like to be famous, you know" she parted with, "In another life I might get my chance you never know"
I could hear her conversation continue from the small space behind my head,
"I wouldn't still live with you, if I was. You're useless in bed since you've been taking those pills and my social life would get better, Marsha and Sheila reckon that too."
I could hear her rummaging through the rack of kitchen utensils and pans through the open door.
"Since you haven't been working, we haven't gone out at all. You're no fun. And we don't talk when we're in...I might as well be on my own..."
The tone in her voice was rising now, and I recognised the inevitability of what was about to come, yet even so had to resist the temptation to just turn the sound up on the telly, and drown out her nagging.
Suddenly her voice beame clearer as she left the kitchen, yet her words made no sense,
"So this is the last present I'm going to give you."
I tried to turn my body around, my neck stiff and still aching from the uncomfortable night of insomnia I had had the night before, my brain trying to make sense of the impossiblility of the prospect of a gift, when I caught a glimpse of the dull grey steel of the kitchen knife. Blunt, as most things in the apartment had been for a time, it nonetheless made a shattering, nervous, sound as Nancy brought its point down right at the top of my skull, splintering it, pushing the blade deep into my brain with an angry, menstrual force.
As she released her grip,the knife shuddered slightly as if experiencing its own sense of its coldness, and I felt a curious sense of singularity, as if I were alone and that the presence of Nancy were no longer there. Or at any rate, no longer bothering me.
At the same time the blood from the ruptured vessels, mixing with the grey matter from my brain pushed out through the wound and started to blossom in slow, rotating, coagulations.
I sat, still, embracing the silence of the television station which had paused. The flowering at the pinnacle of my skull continued, massing terribly, feverishly slowly into a scarlet orchid bloom. I was transfixed by erotic excitment, my skin prickily at the sensation of its slight rupture. Meanwhile the flicker from the set-slowed by the pause in transmission to a beacon pulse- mixed with the greying light reflected from the kitchen window and its counter surface onto the organic growth, now larger than my head, shining wetly... a vegetable carousel.
(Community of Lovers...February 2008)