Monday, November 5, 2012
A New Chapter Starts Part 14
I walk into the kitchen one morning and I find Bill M. cooking eggs, making toast and talking to someone that doesn't exist. He is excitedly explaining the news business and how to get things done.
I pause in the doorway and Bill M. notices me out of the corner of his eye. He quickly turns, faces me and with spatula in one hand he lifts both shoulders in a shrug that clearly say that I interrupted his talking to his guest. He pauses for a moment, listens to the air and “poof” it’s just the two of us in the kitchen again.
“Who are you talking to?” I ask. Bill M. makes a face and says “Just you.” There are two place settings on the kitchen table and Bill M. begins to spoon eggs on to both plates. “Coffee?” he asks me walking over to a fresh brewed pot. I just stare at him, Bill M. and I never have breakfast together, never discussed it and it wouldn’t be in my top 100 things to do before I die. Truthfully Bill M. scares me. It is clear that something he is doing is not working. One of his medicines is not playing nice.
I slowly slide into one of the chairs at the table. Bill M. pours juice and adds a piece of toast to my plate. Sitting down across from me, Bill M. brushes the crumbs off his hands, unfolds his napkin and tucks it under his chin. “Did you have a good night last night?” he asks crunching into a piece of toast.
“Yeah,” I say dragging the word out. He is creeping me out big time right now. He is staring into my eyes and chewing his piece of toast until I am sure there is nothing left of that toast in his mouth. Bill M. looks like the male version of Frida Kahlo to me.
I reach out and grab my coffee. “How was your night?” I ask. “Did you know that the Borgia’s also poisoned members of their own family?” Bill M. says without looking away from my eyes. He crunches another piece of toast. “Fascinating,” I respond. “Bill?” I say, cutting to the chase, “Are you ok on your meds?”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“Well, you seem to be under a great deal of pressure.” I say, not breaking his gaze.
“Pressure?” he begins to repeat the word louder and louder and each time he says it he begins to stand up. He has now said the word about seven times and spittle flies from his lip.
“You don’t know the pressure!” he screams at me. We have gone from 0-100 in five seconds.
“Bill?” I say reaching out for his arm. The minute I touch his arm, he returns to earth but seems to be confused by what has happened. Slowly he sits back down, picks up his toast and begins crunching again.
“Bill, are you taking your medicine?” I ask
“No, I don’t need it, I’m feeling better.” he responds.
To be continued……..
Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writing "". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.