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FIRST THOUGHTS ON WAKING
by Paul Lipscombe
Marion Mason was rudely jolted awake by the Today programme. She had been enjoying a pleasant dream, in which she was running through a field towards a distant wood. The blue haze of a copse of poplar trees drew her on. She instinctively knew that Ben was running behind her. In her dream she could hear him panting as her struggled to catch her. As they neared the trees, a cloud of startled rooks swirled away into the clouds. Turning, she half laughed, half-shouted "I knew you wouldn't really leave me".Her own voice was ringing in her ears as she turned to the window. Weak light filtering through the curtains, cruelly reminded her that it was only a dream. She immediately felt the piercing pain of her loneliness. The absence of the comforting warmth emanating from the slumbering body next to hers, brought home the agony of being alone. She longed to lie there listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, or watching the fluttering of his eyelids as he slept.
A slight cramp forced her to turn over again. Out of habit she groped for her cigarettes and lighter and began to listen more intently to the announcer. There had been a terrible earthquake somewhere. Many people were dead or injured, many more homeless. Momentarily, she felt a hot flush of guilty shame. Her loss seemed small in the face of this greater tragedy and it felt wrong to be so profoundly wounded by one death, when others had lost their families, their homes, their livelihoods and friends.
As the newsreader moved effortlessly on to discuss the rising price of oil, she began to justify her feelings to herself. Nobody, she reasoned, could understand how utterly alone she felt, or how debilitating her grief was. They couldn't know that she was constantly exhausted by the effort of carrying on without Ben. As a journalist, Marion recognised a cliche when she heard one, but life did seem pointless without him. Everything she did served to remind her of his absence. Driving along the bypass, she could see the canal and was reminded of their early morning rambles along the towpath. This had been their favourite place to go on Sunday mornings. If she went into the kitchen, she remembered preparing a meal for him, sharing the finer details of her day with him. Unlike others, he never appeared bored by talk of office politics.
Marion knew what had triggered her dream. Lying on the sofa the night before, the intensity of being alone had threatened to overwhelm her. She longed to feel his love for her returned, as he moved closer to her. In a moment of weakness, she had phoned her sister. Amanda, fulled by Chardonay and bored by another outpouring of what she termed "self pity" had snapped in an exasperated tone "Oh for God's sake pull yourself together Marion. You can always get another bloody dog to replace him." However, Marion knew this wasn't true.
Copyright © 2001, Paul Lipscombe
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Her own voice was ringing in her ears as she turned to the window. Weak light filtering through the curtains, cruelly reminded her that it was only a dream. She immediately felt the piercing pain of her loneliness. The absence of the comforting warmth emanating from the slumbering body next to hers, brought home the agony of being alone. She longed to lie there listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, or watching the fluttering of his eyelids as he slept.
A slight cramp forced her to turn over again. Out of habit she groped for her cigarettes and lighter and began to listen more intently to the announcer. There had been a terrible earthquake somewhere. Many people were dead or injured, many more homeless. Momentarily, she felt a hot flush of guilty shame. Her loss seemed small in the face of this greater tragedy and it felt wrong to be so profoundly wounded by one death, when others had lost their families, their homes, their livelihoods and friends.
As the newsreader moved effortlessly on to discuss the rising price of oil, she began to justify her feelings to herself. Nobody, she reasoned, could understand how utterly alone she felt, or how debilitating her grief was. They couldn't know that she was constantly exhausted by the effort of carrying on without Ben. As a journalist, Marion recognised a cliche when she heard one, but life did seem pointless without him. Everything she did served to remind her of his absence. Driving along the bypass, she could see the canal and was reminded of their early morning rambles along the towpath. This had been their favourite place to go on Sunday mornings. If she went into the kitchen, she remembered preparing a meal for him, sharing the finer details of her day with him. Unlike others, he never appeared bored by talk of office politics.
Marion knew what had triggered her dream. Lying on the sofa the night before, the intensity of being alone had threatened to overwhelm her. She longed to feel his love for her returned, as he moved closer to her. In a moment of weakness, she had phoned her sister. Amanda, fulled by Chardonay and bored by another outpouring of what she termed "self pity" had snapped in an exasperated tone "Oh for God's sake pull yourself together Marion. You can always get another bloody dog to replace him." However, Marion knew this wasn't true.
Copyright © 2001, Paul Lipscombe