Hi, I'm new here (long time reader, first time poster). Please excuse any teething glitches I invariably likely to make as I learn how to upload. Also,please excuse the lame story description.
Not Knowing
As I dress in the murky half-light of the morning, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror on the wall. In the dim light of my room, I am only partly visible. I stand still, my fingertips frozen against the button I have just fastened on my uniform as I peer at the dark, incomplete image of myself.
Half of me is missing, lost to the darkness.
The bedroom door opens and Trixie glides into the room. Dressed and ready for work, her night gown is draped over her arm, and her wash bag dangles from her wrist.
"Good morning, Patsy," she says, tossing her things onto her bed. A pleasant little puff of her soap and perfume catch at my senses. "How are you today?" her voice is bright and feather light as always.
"Very well, thanks. You?" I hear myself saying with similar smiles and gusto as my friend.
"Fine." She breezes.
We are equally talented liars.
I have to force myself to eat breakfast. I have to make myself drink the cup of tea that is placed before me. All I want to do is lie in bed and smoke cigarettes. But I will eat something. I will finish off this drink and be pleasant, and go to work. I have to.
Conversation goes on around me as I look at the cold boiled egg that I must somehow stomach. Voices mingle with each other; I catch the different tones and assign them to the bodies that they come from, but I'm not listening to the words. The sounds come into my ears muffled and insubstantial, as though I am lying underwater, and its only when I feel the heel of Barbara's shoe against my ankle that I realise that someone is speaking to me.
"I'm sorry?" I say, not sure what I am apologising for.
Sister Evangelina peers down the table at me. "Have you heard from your friend? I do hope that Miss Busby is improving."
"Oh," I take a breath, to give myself a moment to find a suitable tone of voice. I feel as though everyone is looking at me, expectant of something, even though deep down I know this is not true: the various sounds of breakfast go on regardless; the scrape of butter knives over toast; the chink of cups against saucers; the plink of sugar cubes dropping into tea. "N-no, I haven't heard anything recently. Not since she went back to Wales with her parents."
"She will be in good hands, I'm sure of it," Cynthia smiles at me. She is like a beautiful warm blanket, comforting and safe, but at this moment I feel suddenly, strangely suffocated by her words and I can only nod. I look at the hem of my cardigan sleeve. I cannot think of anything to say.
"Another cup, Patsy?" Trixie cuts in, holding up the teapot as though it were a trophy, her big eyes peering over the lid. I don't have chance to reply before she pours me a cup. I seize it, and keep myself busy with it – sorry, I'm too busy to chat any more, I must drink this up…
"Well, my thoughts are with her. What her family must be going through, I cannot begin to imagine," Sister Evangelina shifts in her seat and runs her hands over her apron, her sign that she's almost ready to leave the table. "I pray for good news soon enough."
I rather think that Sister Evangelina's definition of good news differs very much to mine.