Coming home through Pyrex night was just the same as very early morning. Robbie’s new shoes felt heavy as he watched the nightbus disappear along a deserted lane. Just need a little more luck, he thought, half turning towards the sky for assistance from a frozen god. “Getting there now,” he kept mumbling. He was. Charms kept coming from friends and relatives eager to see him on the right path. Yet he still cursed the sky before reaching the front door, bitter that the luck wasn’t forming into actual events or successes. Things spun around the hall once he was inside – innocuous items (‘Bib Bag’) seemed very funny as he darted for murky water to lessen the brutal impact of Peroni then Grolsch.
The sound of silence upstairs thoroughly distracted Robbie despite soily moisture hitting the back of his throat. Still no Andrea? The toast seemed like such a long time ago. Maybe he’d imagined it simply to feel better about himself. He kicked off his shoes and nearly squashed the bear as he jumped into the comforting bed; excellent fluffy pillows. Robbie was always noticing new angles in the room at this time of night, bits of dust next to the skirting board, pencil markings on the ceiling, old pieces of mug smashed on the floor. Complete calm came clearer through a barley sugar-like strip sheen that seeped under his door. Nothing to worry about now – and then as fast as a bullet, sleep.
Robbie was despairing about situations that might occur, that had occurred and which probably would never occur. His dreams mixed emotional thoughts and drink-induced crazy abstractions that filled up illuminated spaces in his head. Though he was in pain, this somehow delighted him, gave him a taste of belief. Encased in velvety gloom came a figment of an old friend, totally familiar but circling in bizarre territory. The friend was leaving his car and coming up the stairs. He was carrying bags of food (or was it a log?). But the two could not speak and formed one of those nuanced bonds only possible in the dream state.
Sentences formed and then spooled into the mush. Greetings were dispersed via mindthoughts and somehow a past warmth rushed Robbie’s skull. Quickly, morning bloomed glassy and cool.
© Copyright 2017 John Maher