Wallpaper
Burgundy and cream vertical stripes interrupted by a floral border made up of the same colours but with touches of green to the leaves.
That’s the one I hated most. The stripes made the walls seem high and bared like a cell. The colours reminded me of vomit, red wine and bile. A mix of curry and damp, wet dog and old dust hung in the air. The dog stared and the neighbours argued and the candle flickered. And those stripes went on forever.
That was in the beginning.
Later, I stuck my fingernail into the foam of a pale blue rainbow. I looked at the mark I’d left and thought about being tiny, like a borrower. If I was that size and had two pins and some string I could climb like a mountaineer, ascend the sheer face of foamy rainbows. I looked and planned my route, from one rainbow to the next until I reached the window and then darkness. It was dark and cold out there and the people were strange.
The smell of cheap incense mixed with thirty years of cigarette smoke stays with me. The ceiling was sticky and brown with tar.
And the dog stared and the candle flickered and I gripped the dark green leather of the chesterfield hard.
One night I sailed an ocean, the breeze was warm against my face. Gentle waves crashed against the side of the boat as I was swiftly pushed along by Caribbean winds. The sun glinted and danced like diamonds over the vast expanse of a white Artex sea.
The room was clean and the dog didn’t come on that trip.
In the morning at breakfast the staff made me try black pudding. They watched as I chewed and asked “what do you think it is?”
“It tastes like dried blood.” I said.
They looked disappointed and left us in silence.
William Morris, reminds me of my grandmother. Elegantly curled leaves surround large open lilies, bluebells, tulips and honeysuckle. I walked through the jungle-like forest staring in awe and wonder at the colours and shapes. The grass was soft beneath my bare feet and I hoped so much that I might see a bird, but I never did. They hid from me behind high wooden beams and the folds of the curtains.
I bit my inner lip until I tasted blood.
The room was cold and flecks of blood decorated the white hospital walls. Somewhere behind blue and white striped curtains an old lady whimpered in pain. I held my lower belly where the deep ache lived.
“Australia,” he said.
“I need to go home first.” I said
“But what if you don’t come back?” He clung to me and I stroked his hair.
“I will.” I lied.
“But what if you forget me?” He cried.
I have never forgotten.
I have tried, but I even remember the wallpaper.
October 2019
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