Are We There Yet?
I can’t say much about my third hair and make-up trial. Because y’know, my future husband reads this blog. But I will say: Jackpot! He’s a lucky man.
After I slapped myself in the face with make-up remover, I let him back in the living-room. We were waiting to go to Skye for the week. Off to Dad and Anne’s new house. With a separate suitcase just for books.
Dad called and said, ‘I’ll be there at 1.30.’ And then 4.30. And then 7.30.
At about 8 o’clock we loaded the books and the chair into a rented truck, and set off after a round of Luggage Jenga.
‘Are we there yet?’ I chirped from the back.
‘You still have glitter on your face,’ said Sarge.
Take It To The Bridge
We missed all the ferries. So we drove up and over to the bridge. In the snow, with the radio tuned to this show.
Anne called a weather and traffic hotline, and someone actually gave us the right information.
I fell asleep and woke up when Dad swerved to avoid hitting a deer.
Welcome home, I thought.
Hello Darkness, My Old Friend
At about two in the morning I unfolded myself from the back of the truck, did a sliding jump to the ground, and looked up to the stars. ‘Hello, lovely old people,’ I said. I may have winked. Except I’m not co-ordinated enough, so I blinked.
Within minutes of stepping into the house, Sarge was reaching over my head to hit the light in the spare room.
Darkness and silence, until, ‘I didn’t even start with glitter on my face.’
‘OK, it was just your eyes, then,’ said Sarge.
‘Good save,’ I said.
Coffee and Hope
The next morning brought new furniture for Dad and Anne’s new place. I sat in the kitchen with coffee and a book because I always bring my own chair. I transferred onto the new couch before my coffee got cold.
‘How’s the book?’
‘Anne Frank is in the attic. But I’m not giving anything away.’
That night we went to a pub for dinner. And talked about the wedding while I broke my No Drinking ‘Til June rule. Several times.
The accessible toilet was so big, I could have slept in it. Even bigger than the one I slept in that one time in France.
Chips With Everything
Dad, Sarge and I were in a diner-type-thing, talking about the wedding.
An older couple (of tourists) was sitting at the next table trying to figure out why everything on the menu came with chips. Strangely, they reminded me of myself about 20 years ago. Because my first kinda-sorta meal here was egg and chips. Part of me is still waiting for a bag of Wise chips with that. I’ve been here a long time.
The Art of ‘Fuck It!’
An hour after eating, we went swimming. I can walk in water. Not on it, but in it. And so, I paced the pool while Dad and then Sarge did laps. I used to swim really well and then I stopped, and these days I’m never far from the edge. This time, I blamed it on the kids’ party in the next lane. The water was really warm, and I didn’t want to think about why.
I scraped my feet on the way back into the chair. But I had to get off the floor.
Later, in Dad’s bathroom, I’m sitting in the shower, hoping I’ve air-dried enough not to slip on the floor while I transfer to my chair, parked at an actually jaunty angle, waiting for my less jaunty, more nervous ass on the seat. I don’t know the angles of this bathroom, how many steps and swings and pivots it takes to get from A to B and back. But the thing is I’ve thought about too much. I’ve thought about falling. And I can’t move. So. I wait. For half an hour.
‘Fuck it,’ I said. And I kind of launch myself from one seat to another. I got in, so I got out.
The next day, with the help of these guys (who have since moved from their original location), I got to launch arrows into a target. No, the target wasn’t Sarge.
They might have moved the target closer. And then I shot over it.
I needed that. After a few moments of ‘my body doesn’t move like that’, I needed a day of, ‘Oh yes, it does.’
As I launched the arrows farther and father away, I pep-talked to myself. ‘Let’s bust some shit,’ I said. And I did.
Things Work Out
The night before we left, I didn’t want to go. Or, I wanted to know when we’d be back. The silence and the stars have always done good things to me.
I’d gone quiet when suddenly, a new friend said, ‘Things have a way of working out, Lorna.’ How many people were with me at that moment? All the stars.
I looked at Sarge. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Things work out.’
Join the Gin & Lemonade newsletter!
Subscribe to get a roundup of posts, a writing prompt, and other groovy stuff every week!