REBIRTH Friday, May 28, 2010
COPYRIGHT: George Holmes
“You know, Cyril, I am totally into New Age now. I have given up all that old stuff, religion and that, socialism, taking the Daily Worker. I live in the Now as Dr. Alundra said. We have to be reborn, he preached. Oh he was wearing a very well tailored suit. It fit him like a glove.”
Cyril looked at Maureen, with a rather cynical glance. He knew her from past whims and caprices, fads, diets and fashions and from her somewhat scatter-brained boyfriends. She was always a prey to a good suit. “Were his wingtips custom-made too?”
Still thinking of Dr. Alundra, she did not perceive his withering look and seemed impervious to sarcasm. Oh dear, he thought, she’s really into this one. Dr. Alundra eh? He’d have to research him a bit.
Maureen twirled around showing off her new silk pale green shift and her exquisite but totally impractical sandals. It was raining outside and they would be useless.
“Reborn or not, Maureen, how about some more of the bubbly?”
“Oh Cyril, you know my weakness. I’m not giving up everything. Certainly not champagne! And I’d rather die than be separated from my Manolos. They cost a fortune. Dr. Alundra said we must be reborn all the time. Not just once but all the time, total transformation, every month or week or day,” she burbled on, intoxicated not only by the champagne but by her new found philosophy.
“I’m even changing my name. What do you think of that?” she flung at him.
“Changing it to what?” he asked, somewhat curious at this new approach.
“I’m changing Maureen to Doreen.”
“Very subtle,” said Cyril.
She glared at him.
Friday, May 28, 2010
BABY
BABIES (May 28 2010)
COPYRIGHT: GEORGE HOLMES
She finally landed a job as a cleaner in the Middlesex hospital. When they asked her for references, she gave Eric’s name and address saying he was a mechanic at Burnham’s garage. That was true and she would persuade Eric to put in a good word for her especially she knew he was the father of Doreen Fletcher’s baby who had been born with Down syndrome. She also knew that Eric had forced himself on mentally handicapped Doreen who had died in childbirth but who had confided in her during those last desperate weeks. She was always sympathetic to tragedy, other people’s that is. Doreen had found an old dog eared school notebook after Doreen died and in it she had written Eric’s name hundreds of times, and marked the pages with very incriminating evidence should it come to that. Yes, Eric could be relied on to vouch for her she smiled to herself. She also knew the hospital was desperate to find cleaners. No one wanted to do menial work nowadays. They were above such things preferring the dole to cleaning. She loved being a cleaner; especially in the hospital at night where she could wander at will when people were asleep and the nursing staff at a minimum. She loved the old men’s ward with its wheezing, snoring and groaning inhabitants but above all she loved the nursery. That always drew her. Those little new lives, some premature, guarded and cosseted so closely. She loved those new beings, full of promise and hope and expectations and yet as Marcy knew so well, so soft and fragile, so helpless and vulnerable.
COPYRIGHT: GEORGE HOLMES
She finally landed a job as a cleaner in the Middlesex hospital. When they asked her for references, she gave Eric’s name and address saying he was a mechanic at Burnham’s garage. That was true and she would persuade Eric to put in a good word for her especially she knew he was the father of Doreen Fletcher’s baby who had been born with Down syndrome. She also knew that Eric had forced himself on mentally handicapped Doreen who had died in childbirth but who had confided in her during those last desperate weeks. She was always sympathetic to tragedy, other people’s that is. Doreen had found an old dog eared school notebook after Doreen died and in it she had written Eric’s name hundreds of times, and marked the pages with very incriminating evidence should it come to that. Yes, Eric could be relied on to vouch for her she smiled to herself. She also knew the hospital was desperate to find cleaners. No one wanted to do menial work nowadays. They were above such things preferring the dole to cleaning. She loved being a cleaner; especially in the hospital at night where she could wander at will when people were asleep and the nursing staff at a minimum. She loved the old men’s ward with its wheezing, snoring and groaning inhabitants but above all she loved the nursery. That always drew her. Those little new lives, some premature, guarded and cosseted so closely. She loved those new beings, full of promise and hope and expectations and yet as Marcy knew so well, so soft and fragile, so helpless and vulnerable.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)