Curtains

The squeak of the chair on the floor boards reminds me of marauding seagulls. The sound of my pencil puts my teeth on edge like chalk on a chalkboard. I Have nothing to fill my day other than staring endlessly at the porcelain rhinoceros, that stands proudly on the window ledge. Looking so still and serine. So Africa. What I would do to go there for a holiday right now or even just a quick elephant ride to fill the void in my empty soul.

Nevertheless I bloody love when it rains. The steady trickle of the water sounds inviting, like an egg frying, making me yearn for hearty home food. My mother standing precociously at the dinning table, with an oven glove draped over her left arm, yelling at everyone to make their way to the table for tea. Vivid memories wash in and out of my crowded sanctum, as blue as the ocean, as cold as my empty fridge. I walk up to the window looking out for answers, peering behind the curtains like a hermit.

Who am I to complain and ask the universe for more? I’m on six quid an hour, a reasonable wage. From this side of the street it’s a round of drinks and a salty packet of crisps to boot. Trouble is I’m in love. I can’t take my mind of Rosie on the other side of the road. Her long blond hair blowing in the autumnal wind. I don’t even have the gumption to summon the words to speak to her when I walk out of this semi detached prison. If only that Rhino could take me to the other side, to a more pleasant and fertile land, where the fridge is full and the gorgeous women smile back at my gormless face.

However there is one upside to this half realised life I’m leading. There is, wait for it, a packet of m&ms in the cupboard that I’ve been saving for a rainy day. I’m afraid it’s the only pleasure I can find behind these dirty cream curtains. The rest is just pure monotony. I feel like a fish swimming from one side of the fish bowl to the other. I can see the outside in all its transparent spender, but I have no concept within myself to jump out of the fish bowl. I have a bad back you see. There’s no way I’m jumping, its far too risky.

There was plenty of happiness back home. I used to water the marigolds’ with passion and vigour. I’d walk the dog, do some cooking, help mother out with the dusting. But now I live alone, looking out on a world that turns its nose up. It’s very prudishness has left me scared stiff behind these curtains. Wishing and hoping for an answer in the midst of the takeaway pizza boxes and empty beer cans that litter my lounge. So I ask of you these questions; do you want to stew in your own tea?  Or jump out of the fish bowl? Ride on a rhino? And turn some lemons into lemonade? Your choice. I’ve made mine and I’ve never been able to completely open the curtains.