Page 141 of (Not) The One

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James

It’sthe strangest of sensations. I’m here and yet I’m not.

Time is meaningless, days unmarked. And I’m just floating on air. At first, I put the sensation down to being dead. There was nothing beyond and awareness that there were thoughts in my head. I was comfortably numb, I suppose.

But then I heard her voice. And I realised I hadn’t gone anywhere.

I wasn’t here. And I wasn’t there. But some place in between.

But I’m still floating. Floating on air.

She calms me. Her voice. Her presence. Her love.

But there’s something missing.

And I can’t put my finger out

I think I’d cry if I could.

‘I’m just going to take your blood pressure, love.’

A kindly voice. And familiar. One of my favourites, if she’s not in the room.

Pressure on my arm expanding. The beeb of a machine.

But I’m still floating.

And waiting for her.

And missing something I can’t quantify.

‘Morning, lovely man.’

The press of her lips against my cheeks.

The mechanical susurration of the blinds opening. Light, my head filled with white.

I remember when she called me GO. D withheld.

I remember the craving of her and the feel of her underneath me.

A don’t remember many other things. But I feel the now. When there’s no one else around, I feel her tears against my skin. Her quiet sobs echoing through me. Sadness. So much sadness. And I can’t even wrap her in my arms.

‘Your dad’s coming in soon. He’s bringing a new book. I don’t know how you posh boys survived school with all that dreary Greek stuff.’

She starts to hum. She once accused me of being unable to carry a tune in a bucket. I wonder if she’s heard herself lately?

Nails on a chalkboard.

But I love her.

Even though she farts when she thinks no one can hear her.

Floating. Still floating.

Still missing something.

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