The Floor

He tried though I will give him that. After the accident he stuck by me. Washing me; cleaning me; feeding me. I was a vegetable. I just sat in that wheel chair. True, as the years wore on I became more compos mentis again and was able to speak a little and breathe without the help of apparatus. I could even thrash my arms wildly on occasion if I wanted attention from those around me. He was always there for me even though he often fed me the food I hated or sometimes was a bit dismissive in the way he cleaned me. That was embarrassing for the both of us.

That accident made me helpless but also put me in charge of the relationship (if he had needed reminding). I was the master and he was the servant. He was always there when I wanted and needed him. But where is he now? He used to push me through gardens so I could witness the mocking beauty and poetry of nature. I had the views shown to me of some of the most spectacular sights of Britain. He took me more places when I was in this state than he did when I could have fully enjoyed them. I did enjoy the trips though. Him pushing me everywhere and taking me places where I wanted to go. It was fantastic. Now what’s my view? The dust that has collected under my bed. God knows how long I am going to lay here and if anyone will find me. He won’t. He left with my sister yesterday. All I can do is flail my arms like a fish out of water and wait to drown in dust and air.