moments between

I wake up and find myself latent in your guest bedroom. The sound of clattering pots and pans echos audibly across the hallway. I sit up and stare at those blank white walls for a second, completely perplexed. I move to the left side of the bed, dragging myself out of its soft confines. As my feet sink gingerly into the carpet below, I look down at my toes, mesmerised but unsure why. I pause, observing nude painted toes caressing that familiar bright red ikat printed shag.

I glance over to the wenge stained dresser, daring to inspect my reflection. My hair is slightly dishevelled but nothing out of the ordinary. A grab a thin black hair-tie from the bedside and pull that bedraggled hair into an acceptable loose bun.

image via riches for rags

Taking a deep breath I stride into the hallway. Noting that the door to the bedroom beside mine is wide open. Curiosity getting the better of me I peer into the room, alarmed to see your bed disarranged. Your rose pink pillowcase is rumpled and imprinted. The matching bed sheets unruly, pulled to one side with your pale floral comforter struggling under their weight. The sound of cutlery crashing to a tiled floor pulls me out of my stupor. Attentively I make my way down the corridor and into the kitchen.

I find you there leaning across that cream laminate bench top, wearing black dress pants, a navy t-shirt and that emerald green cardigan. Those familiar perfectly sleek black curls happily bobbing away at the slightest of movements while comical feathery blush slippers shelter your feet from those arctic brown mosaic tiles. You greet me with the warmest of smiles, informing me that breakfast will be ready in an hour. I don’t want to impose so I tell you I am not hungry but rather some fresh air. I move into the adjacent laundry, those cream semi-glossed walls giving off a scant sheen as the morning sun caresses it through the abutting window.

I push the old wooden door open, startled as it obnoxiously groans in protest. It’s bitter outside, the crisp morning chill nipping at my bare legs and arms. I take a seat out on the cold concrete steps watching as the sky turns from a cerulean blue to an impregnated ashen grey.

My musings become interrupted as the sounds of plural voices muffles through thick brick walls. Simultaneously dainty splashes of precipitation collide with my skin. The heavens begin to expel softly, sending droplets of moisture down to the earth. With a sigh I move back inside only to find my parents hovering about; arguing with you. And as I make my way into the kitchen I understand why. Maria you’ve emptied the entire contents of your fridge and pantry! No doubt in an ever generous effort to prepare a grand breakfast feast for the two of us. The kind of amateur fanciful fair that you always attempted whenever I stayed over as a young child.

Like you always did.

Something about that thought strikes me as odd. I turn to you alarmed, my parents seemingly vanished into thin air. I should feel frightened but I do not. You stand there opposite me in that cherished emerald cardigan earnestly smiling back as I get drawn back into that dark void between worlds.



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