Fall-out Roses – Part Three of The Novel by Karen Clark (Chapters 11-15)

Chapter Eleven

“It’s no good,” said Belinda, abandoning her plate of half-eaten lunch, “I just can’t finish all this food.”

“You’re already as skinny as a rake, Belinda,” admonished her mother as she stood at the kitchen sink washing the dishes.  “You’re not becoming weight-conscious, are you?  I hope not, because if anything, you look as if you could do with some building up instead of starving yourself unnecessarily like this.   Besides, you’re going to a disco tonight and you may be having a few drinks there.  If you’ve nothing solid inside you, you might pass out.”

“Oh – the disco,” her daughter murmured, a feeling of dread overcoming her.  “I’m not really sure if I want to go any more.”

“Well, you’re only young once, Belinda,” said the other, removing her daughter’s plate.  “I only wish I had been lucky enough to have enjoyed your kind of freedom when I was your age,” she added with a trace of chagrin in her voice, “but I was already married to your father and weighted down with commitments.  You’re becoming too withdrawn for your own good, besides… “

A transparent film curtained Belinda’s vision as her mother continued speaking.  She was experiencing some kind of black-out that prevented her from seeing what was before her.

“Belinda,” are you all right?” her mother asked her.  Belinda, however, did not hear her.  She shut her eyes and lowered her head which she heavily massaged in an attempt to rid herself of the black-out which had invaded her.  Her mother repeated the question in a louder, firmer tone, but Belinda opened her eyes to find herself sitting alone in a completely different kitchen.  It was the kitchen belonging to the house shared by herself and Rory in the dream she had a month ago.

“Belinda, you didn’t answer me!” chided her mother irately, as her daughter’s illusion disintegrated into the kitchen in which she had originally sat.  “I’ve been calling you five times.  Why didn’t you respond?”

“I blacked out for a moment,” said Belinda, somewhat disturbed by her mother’s annoyance.

“That’s because you’re not eating,” beseeched the other.

“Is it?” simpered the younger woman, aware of how unsound she felt psychologically.

“Well, what else could it be, then?” asked her mother, momentarily turning to face her.

Belinda’s mouth tightened.  She was in no need of petty arguments at a time when her sanity hung in the balance; at a time when she felt so unwell that she was beyond bursting into tears at the dreadful mental torture she was suffering.  Life was one gigantic hangover where the dropping of a pin sounded like a shot-put hurtling clamorously to the ground.  Her head, crammed with unforgettable memories of the past few nightmare years, pulsated over-congested thoughts.  It felt as if it were about to explode, as if it had not slept for nights and would never sleep again for the rest of its life, no matter how weary the body it functioned became.  Belinda sat, silently fretting, as the barriers surrounding that familiar world where two sexes existed and one breathed oxygen were gradually breaking down.