Anne
"Anne. Such a placid name. Why, why, why?"
"How should I know? Mary and John are common names, too. Perhaps they wanted to keep the tradition going. The tradition of common names."
"Or perhaps John simply lacked imagination."
"What makes you say that?" I asked, as I poured myself a cup of tea.
"I once asked him what he might say in his last moments, if he was about to die and he knew it." I assumed it had something to do with the earlier ludictrous adventures of my father and his companion.
Nevertheless, my brow furrowed in confusion. "And?" I asked, clamping my phone between my ear and shoulder as I reached in the cupboard for a sugar cube. Unsurprisingly, we were out, but then again my father never takes sugar with anything. How he does it, I have no clue. "What did he say?"
"He replied; 'please, God, let me live.'" His voice beheld amusement as it wandered out of the speaker; I had to smile.
"Well, what were you expecting?" I laughed.
"I don't know," came the reply.
"Well, that's something new," I snorted. I checked my watch- and almost swore. I had things to do before dad came home and I hadn't even started on a thing. "I have to run!" I coughed, as if trying to cover up an imaginary slip-up.
"Alright, then. Shoo."
"Bye." I grinned at the reciever, then hung up with a sigh, and rushed to my bedroom. It was, as usual, a downright mess. I scowled at the floor, which was scattered with clothes and books, some of which lay open at certain pages. Hurriedly I stuffed all my dirty clothes into a laundry basket which I stole from my parents' room, and made makeshift bookmarks out of tissues, which I stuck into each of the books before closing them.
My school-bag lay forgotten and open in a corner, something which I wouldn't be touching again until the week-end was over. The doorbell suddenly rang, a shrill, irritating sound which could only mean one thing. I pressed the speaker button. "Hello?"
"It's me. Buzz me in, will you? I forgot my keys." I rolled my eyes and did as he asked. I piled up all of my books after that and shoved them against the wall before throwing myself on my bed, with my cup of tea on my night-stand withing arm's reach. I grabbed Perfume off the top of one of the piles of books and flipped it open to its bookmark. The book was well-used, with ruffled corners, despite the fact that I had taped its cover corners when I bought it.
"Anne?" My father's voice rang out as I heard the front door slam shut. "Will you make me a cup of coffee?"
I let out an irritated groan and stalked to the living room, Perfume still in my hand. "You couldn't just do it yourself, could you?" I said as I set the novel down and opened up the coffee machine.
"I've been working since five this morning at Bart's, Anne, don't chastize me." I ignored the fact that he'd been away for fourteen hours.
"What do you want? Black, mild or brown?" I asked him as I opened up the cupboard. Little round capsules of Nespresso coffee greeted me.
"Black, please. No milk, no sugar."
"I know you don't take sugar," I took down a capsule and jammed it into the machine before setting it en route. "Small wonder we've got none at home."
"What was that?" Dad said, typing away at his laptop. He sat on the couch, writing up a report- no doubt something for his patients- and the television was on, BBC News playing.
I didn't reply to his question, but set the cup of coffee down in front of him. "You're welcome," I said in a smarmy manner.
"Thank you, dear." With that, I whirled away and shut myself into my room, with only my strange array of books and my cup of tea to keep me company. From the living room, I heard nothing but the voice of the weather reporter accompanied by the furious clicking of the Doctor John Watson's keyboard.