you and me – POSTCARD #15
Thank you to the person with the great handwriting that sent this one in and wished me luck in a little bubble.
The care officer drops me off and I’m shown around the house by the woman. She’s pretty. She points at everything and tells me a story. The house has heaps of shit in it so I hear lots of stories. There’s a creepy iron mask. A gold pig. A Cleopatra wig on a dummy head. She doesn’t talk about the framed photos everywhere.
Your room, she says opening a door and telling me how the wooden dude holding a brick on his head near the single bed is supposed to bring the sleeper good dreams.
Later drinking tea I blush at the photo closest.
That’s kinda weird.
She laughs and I spill some tea on my leg. It burns but I don’t say anything.
Are you okay?
I breathe through my nose. I don’t want to get in trouble.
She picks up the photo of the naked couple and says she thinks it’s quite tasteful.
Then she laughs again.
My bum definitely isn’t that small anymore.
I lean closer.
No way, that’s you?
I blush again and want to put my tea down but there aren’t any surfaces.
Most of these are, she says looking around, and I get it.
You were in the movies?
No wonder you have so many stories.
The shit crammed everywhere doesn’t seem so crappy anymore. It actually seems kind of cool.
What about your story?
She says this is such a nice way my shoulders don’t even tense up. I reach into my bag and pull out an old crumpled photo of a smiling blonde lady hugging a little freckled kid.
I’ve only got one.
She says she’d still like to hear it, so I tell her.