Elizabeth
16 October 2016
Monday
Even as I brush into my cab, the tremor and aftershock of my episode still lingers on my hands. It feels like the bone chill you get from being outside in the snow for too long in a flimsy sweater. The shivers constantly echo through me from my chest to the aching tips of my fingers. It's as if my blood is playing piano scales on my insides. I wonder if the driver noticed.
Currently, she seemed like one of those people that didn't need conversation to be a two-way channel, for which I am grateful for. The drone of her constant chatter is a welcome lull for my brain, it's almost hypnotic. Like leaving the news on to drown out the lonely echo of an empty house while the city goes to sleep.
Whenever I turn my palm down to check, I can see the vibrating tenor of my right hand as I clench and unclench my fists. It doesn't rid me of the chill but it's something to concentrate on.
Lorraine, as her app profile named her, keeps looking back at me. She seems sweet. I'm sure she is with her white hospice headband and weave curling out in wisps over its edge. I can see the question on her lips. The same question she's asked me three times already: are you alright mam?
Somehow, I've managed to convince myself that she's asking because she can see the guilt all over my eyes.
Am I alright? I hate it when people ask that question. What do they do next if you tell them the truth? Really, what would she do? Drive me to the police station? Like she should.
"Have you decided who you're goong to vote for?" I ask instead, to keep her talking again. I don't really pay attention to the answer. Why don't I just turn myself in? It's the right thing to do.
"My cousin's gay you see." I pick out from her last sentence.
Unbelievable.
"That's why I'm voting for him. What about you?"
I don't know whether it's insanity or the autumn breeze but I can feel the laughter bubble in my core before it even escapes. Suddenly, the amber chuckle from my voice pauses her speech. Of course she's another Mitchell fan.
The comical look on Lorraine's face only sets me off into another inappropriate bout of chuckles. What started off as a light hearted chuckle at my own private joke is threatening to turn into a waterfall of cackles the more I consider the ridiculousness of my life right now. Bill's face, casually chewing on a roast beef sandwich over the chopped body parts, sends me further into a fit of badly restrained snickers.
A part of me registers that I should at least try to compose myself before the Uber driver decides to take a detour to the mental hospital. So with a deep breath I turn to look at her and deliver an apology. Big mistake. The face I'm met with is twisted in concern and I can hear the question shouted in red across her furrowed eyebrows. She's going to ask me if I'm alright again, isn't she?
"Mam, are you alright?"
The last restraint I had melts away and the bubbling in my stomach froths over and bursts past my lips into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Like a shaken can of Coke the deranged sounds from my throat just keep tumbling out.
Shit Liz, get it together.
"Yes, yes." I barely reply with the effort it takes to compose myself. "I'm sor..." I start to say but the words are lost within another ridiculous cackle that escapes my traitorous lips. "Hmm" I cough. "I'm sorry, yes I'm fine."
The rest of the ride her anxious glances are strained. It doesn't matter. I'm going home to change, so I could occupy myself with work. Which reminds me. There's a roach at my place. The relaxing evening I'd had with Abigail had almost made me forget all about my live-in guest. On the beight side, we were due for trial in a week and after her testament I'd hand her iver to witness protection, which was something I greatly looked forward to.
