Not today

While Jackson Browne pined away in the background for his audience to stay, all she could think of was how to get away. These four walls had held her long enough,

How though?

A key rattling in the door shook her from her thoughts.

“Honey? Is everything OK? The kids have been asking for you….”

She rolled over, pulling the  cotton duvet closer to her chin.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” she mumbled.

He sat beside her, lightly resting his hand on her cold shoulder.

“You haven’t gotten out of bed in a week, Sweetheart. I’m worried about you. The kids miss you. And WHAT is the deal with Jackson Browne here. We haven’t listened to him since we were teenagers!” He chuckled as he did, his soft laughter echoing in the empty room.

“Why don’t you stay – ay – ay….just a little bit long-ong – ger….” He crooned with the music, fake microphone in hand, before a fake audience. Her eyes remained closed.

“Sweetheart. C’mon. It’s time to get up now. Can you get up?”

Sunshine slivered through the slatted blinds in big bars of light that lit the room as if on celestial cue.

“What time is it?” she muttered.

“Time for you to get up, Sunshine,” he teased, stroking her matted curls.

“No. Seriously.”

“Noon.”

“What day?”

“Saturday. “

Already! God. It had to be today.

“I’d love some coffee,” she whispered. “Would that be OK?”

He jumped up. “Of course!! Your wish is my command, me lady,” bowing before her in exaggerated courtly style, he leapt through the door, turning the key behind him. 

She had approximately five minutes before he returned, she reckoned.

Throwing back the covers, her fully clothed body sprang up, snatching one of the blinds loose. Laying it carefully just in front of the door, she waited.

The key rattled again.

“Here you are, your High…..”

The tray went flying as he tripped over the blind, hands sprawled in front of him. Grabbing the handle, she flung the heavy wooden door open and ran wildly, blindly into the hallway, out the front door, screaming.

The sunshine blinded her as she ran into the front yard, arms flailing, legs failing. It had been so long since she had used them.

“I’m sorry,” his voice came up behind her, cold. calm. “You must forgive my wife, She hasn’t been well and her medications ran out last week.”

“Wait, wait, is someone there? Please, help! HELP! Call the polic….”

“Shhh, Sweetheart, it’s OK, honey….let’s get you back inside!” One iron arm around her waist seized her arms, while the other scooped up her legs.

“You’re going to stay with me, just a little bit longer,” he whispered. 

Jasmin Webb