Sticks

8.

I phoned the doctor the very next day, perhaps Laura was right, in any case my thoughts had seemed a little erratic as of late. I did have these frequent bouts where my brain felt sort of alien to me and kind of sluggish. Well we would see. In around a week I would be getting poked, prodded and analysed. It was about time I got a once over, like most men I rarely went to the doctor, so I was probably due for a service. It's not that I had any concern about visiting the doctor, I just didn't like to waste people's time. There's a good chance that if one of my limbs had fallen off, I may have just taken a painkiller and seen how it was in the morning.

Work seemed to pass by in a flurry, everything went smoothly despite Phillip who was obviously still aggrieved and itching to make things uncomfortable. He would still look over at me from time to time, a grimace upon his face and his brow furrowed. I simply ignored it, if I had to interact with him I did it politely and cheerfully.

The image of a small pile of sticks had now etched itself into my thoughts. It would pop into the forefront of my mind without a moment's notice. I felt troubled by it each time, I would ponder on the cause and my mind would fall into a loop. It was a question to which there was no answer but I couldn't let it go.

'Hello... Hello...' said a quiet and uncomfortable voice. Who was this? 'Excuse me, have we lost connection?'

'Oh god. Oh fuck!' I thought, realising there was a phone in my hand. I was on the phone to a customer, but how long had we been talking! Why was I thinking about the sticks?

'You were going to give me a quote for some home insurance... Hello... are you there...'

I slammed the phone onto the receiver. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't face making them repeat everything they had said, why did I not remember even picking up the phone? I knew this was unacceptable. I would make sure it never happened again. That was the day I decided not to ever think about the sticks while I was at work. Not ever again. Perhaps the doctor's appointment wasn't going to be completely wasted, perhaps I had contracted a mind virus from watering my lawn too frequently.

The drive home was quicker than normal and I had beaten Laura home yet again. There were no sticks on the lawn this evening, but I had cleared off the few that had been deposited overnight before going to work. I hoped there would be enough time to give the lawn a quick once over with the dethatching rake before Laura returned from work. Thankfully I completed the task well in time, I made it back inside long before I heard the recognisable clunk of the front door latch. I was pouring her out a glass of wine as she strolled into the kitchen. I was glad she didn't find me tending to the lawn again, it had become a point of tension between us lately, however unwarranted.

'You look pleased.' she said, with a wide smile.

'Yeah, it's been a pretty good day.' I replied cheerfully.

'Oh really, that's great. Why's that?' she asked.

The pile of sticks. The maddening image was back, it was all I could see, all I could think about. I tried to shut it out.

'Erm... the er...' I stammered, my incoherence seeming deceptive. 'Work was...'

She raised her eyebrows and stared at me, as though wishing through her willpower alone, I may provide a reasonable answer.

The sticks were only in one spot, they were placed there, they must've been placed there. That was quite clear. Quite clear. A little festering pile of sticks and bugs. I hated those sticks. They were a blight. A rotten and disgusting imperfection. They had to be dealt with.

'Are you going to fucking talk to me Mark! You're out of it, are you fucking high?' she snapped her fingers at me, looking enraged.

'Laura!' I pleaded, 'Wait! Laura?'

She just stormed off. I was incensed. My heart raced, every heartbeat seeming to increase my state of lividity. I followed her through the house.

'What is your problem?' I shouted, 'you've been itching for a fight for months. Well I'm not going to rise to it! Do you hear me! I'm trying my best, I want this place to be nice for you that's all!'

'Knock it off Mark, you don't do anything to make this place nice! You do one thing, you care for the lawn. And that is all you do. I'm past caring about the lawn.' she'd stopped in the doorway to the bedroom, turning around and preparing to berate me face to face. Well I wouldn't stand for it.

'You resent me spending time on the lawn for some reason that I don't understand. It's twisting you up inside, isn't that fucking right?' I seethed, 'You know what, I bet it's you! It is, isn't it? You're doing it to mess with me. I'm clearing up the lawn for fucking hours at a time and you're sneaking out there and putting sticks on it! It's one of your stupid fucking jokes!'

'Do you even hear yourself? You think I'm sneaking around putting sticks on your lawn! You really think that! You have lost your fucking mind Mark!' she screamed, slamming the bedroom door.