XXIX | Some Excuses
❦
Tammie stares at my baffled face
once more
and digs her fingers
into my shoulder.
You forgot. Even though
he died
because of you.
I think,
frantically,
but really
nothing comes to mind.
I only remember
the silhouette of that person.
The same way
I recognised ‘Tammie’.
I swing my towel at her.
Again and again.
‘Shut up!’
Panic rises
once more
in my chest.
Again and again.
I slam the door
of the cubicle
and turn on the shower
as high as it goes.
Water gushes out
like in a thunderstorm.
I shiver beneath the droplets
stinging my skin.
Crouched,
my own shadow
over me,
I dig my fingers into my hair
as the nurse begins
banging on the door.
❦
I’m in bed
a little earlier than 9pm.
Tammie’s calling
from outside the door
but I ignore her
and try to focus
on the comb running through my hair.
The pretty nurse
has a gentle touch
for someone with a
resting bitch face.
Her fingers pick at my hair
in a gentle rhythm.
Her eyes aren’t burning holes
into my scalp.
The hairs on my neck
lie flat
when she tells them to.
The door opens
and closes with a click.
It’s the plain nurse
with the bobbed hair—
not Tammie.
She has a nail clipper
in one hand.
My bath towel has vanished.
‘You have nice nails,’
she tells me.
I smile at her.
Her polite smile becomes real.
Tammie is quiet.
(Has she left?)
Was I too harsh?
She probably…
probably didn’t mean any harm.
I didn’t even ask
what she meant
before I got panicked.
You didn’t notice,
you were already sick then.
What kind of excuse is that?
All of us here
are sick
so does that mean
we all have the excuse
to do
whatever
we like?
No wonder Tammie left you behind.
And never looked back.
It’s really pretty now.
The plain nurse wipes filing dust
from my fingers.
You’re so ruthless.
Without her, you’d be an arrogant prick.
Why can’t you be grateful?
I look down
but my fingers
are blurry.
Hey Fiona…
Why are you crying?
I sniff the cries
back into my nose.
The pretty nurse
presses tissue paper
over my eyes
and keeps
her hand there.
You’re going to continue
making excuses
for hurting the people
in front of you?
‘No,’ I cry. ‘No, I’m not.’
I pull the tissues
from my face.
Who’s speaking?
The two nurses
are staring at me,
their lips moving.
Fiona, Fiona, calm down.
Did they always sound like this?
You’re a murderer
pretending to be sick.
You should go to jail.
‘No! No! I really don’t know.’
I curl up
into the covers
holding on tight
as they try to wrench it from me.
Let go, Fiona!
I scream until
they let me have the blanket.
I hear Tammie laughing again.
Her apologetic smile
looks carefree now
like she’s saying
she’s tried her best
but I’m a hopeless case after all.
I’m pulled upright
with many other hands.
They’re all
wearing white
trying to take
my blanket
from me,
pressing on my shoulder
until
the blood stops flowing.
The smell of leather—
feet
unable to kick anymore,
hands
clawing thin air,
my body
uncurling
against my will.
Fiona? Can you hear me, Fiona?
You’re a murderer!
Nothing’s gone wrong.
‘Liar, liar, liar!’
A piercing pain,
liquid forced under my skin.
You can always tell me
what’s going on.
I’ll always tell you
the truth.
Fifi! Hey, Fifi!
Tammie, I try to call out
as my eyes close without my permission.
I’m sorry, Tammie.
I’ll change,
so please,
please don’t leave again!
❦
