prose by Margaret

With the egocentric twitch of a crack addict she stepped out into the street and waived the taxi down. Lucy wasn’t looking back at anything by this point. She didn’t even notice that if the cab hadn’t seen her, it would have run her clean over I it hadn’t stopped. She threw herself in and pulled on the door handle, got her bag stuck in the door wrestled with it for a moment then managed to get it closed.

“86th and Lexington” she ordered,

without taking notice of the driver, the car, the smells, anything really. Her mind was wrapped as tight as a mummy, she was trapped inside. But Lucy had a plan, it was difficult for her to see clearly with the shadows that befell her mind but there was a glimmer that she would follow. In tights and an oversize black sweater, off the shoulder and a bad hat she exited the cab and slouched her way to the door of her townhouse, dropped the bags and fumbled with the locks. Not frustrated, she had done it thousands of times just frantic. She needed to get this task done so she could get to the next one. There was no enjoyment in staring through a funnel at a set of keys and a tumbler, getting through all the keys that didn’t matter and testing the key in the lock to see if she in fact had it the right way up, the probability was fifty-fifty, Lucy got it right 3 times in 10. She go in closed the door behind her and moved quickly along the familiar path to the kitchen, dropped the bag on the island and took off her hat, as she always did.

Then came the sigh, it was a routine that had been going on for the past 6 years since she moved into that house. For that brief moment Lucy thought of nothing, it was like a void in the timeline that was her life, there was no purpose there was no task or responsibility just a brief moment of calmness in a life that had become full of perceived duties. She never let it last too long, then came the run up the stairs strip and jump in the shower. Of the stuff things into the closet and tidy up because someone was coming over which was generally followed by the shower bit. Or she might turn on her heels and head straight back out into the city for the next task at hand.

From time to time Lucy would pour herself a glass of wine, usually something a couple of days old, loaded into the fridge door by some dinner guest or friend who was trying to help. She would pour a civil amount into a clean clear stemmed glass and sit with her feet up on the sofa.

Even with the lights on at night, at those times Lucy couldn’t see. She wasn’t blind in the usual sense but at these times there was nothing, as if the mind not needing to process the information chose not to, there was just a buzz in her head that was louder than anything else and she would allow herself to be lulled into it until something would snap into her mind and off she went again.



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