In The Background
by Karen Jones
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: Sometimes acceptance comes when we least expect it.
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It’s always her. Everyone who comes to the hospice - consultants, students and now a photographer - is drawn by her grin and her mischief as they clamour to say, ‘Isn’t she just wonderful?’
We’re left in the background, unnoticed, too sad, too resigned to our fate. Adele has such spirit, they say. She’s such a joker, they say. She’s an inspiration to us all.
Well, if I’d reached the age of ninety-four before illness hit me, I’d look a damn sight more cheerful; I could joke, I could inspire. If I had visits from family and friends on a daily basis, if I had every nurse and doctor dancing to my laughter’s tune, I could be the bright sun in this wizened world.
Adele will be gone before the rest of us, they say, yet she grins and laughs with a body brimful of happiness. The bitterness inside me sours my breath, twists my belly into hard lumps of loathing, eats me up faster and harder than any disease could.
Lena, always choosing to sit opposite me, revels in my odium. She talks about Adele all the time, loves to watch my face contort with the effort of not responding. Every day she seeks me out. Every day she taunts me with tales of Adele’s latest japes and jokes, who loves her most, who is coming to see her today. And the more I shrink into a husk of hate the more Lena’s skin glows as she gains strength from my distress.
The photographer is laughing with Adele. Oh, how hilarious, Adele’s pretending to photograph the photographer. Why can’t I see the humour there? Why am I left here, in the background, prey to my own jealousy – there, I’ve said it – and Lena’s torture. I’m tempted to pull faces, to make rude gestures, to just this once take the attention away from that bloody woman.
Adele turns with a speed and agility that belies her years. For a moment I think she must have read my mind – is there no end to her talents? She looks at me, she smiles that crumpled smile, her eyes shining under seemingly endless folds of skin. Her voice, so much younger than her mind and body, reaches out to me.
“Geraldine! Come here! You never sit with me, girl. Let the snapper take us both – the prettiest girls in the whole place.”
The photographer nods, a nurse claps her hands, everyone stares at me. Lena’s eyes narrow and a soft growl escapes her lips.
And I smile. My eyes fill with tears. Adele has noticed me at last. She called me ‘girl’. The warmth fills my body and I stand tall, legs shaking, heart jumping as I go to her. And I think, ‘Isn’t she just wonderful?’
Swearwords: None.
Description: Sometimes acceptance comes when we least expect it.
_____________________________________________________________________
It’s always her. Everyone who comes to the hospice - consultants, students and now a photographer - is drawn by her grin and her mischief as they clamour to say, ‘Isn’t she just wonderful?’
We’re left in the background, unnoticed, too sad, too resigned to our fate. Adele has such spirit, they say. She’s such a joker, they say. She’s an inspiration to us all.
Well, if I’d reached the age of ninety-four before illness hit me, I’d look a damn sight more cheerful; I could joke, I could inspire. If I had visits from family and friends on a daily basis, if I had every nurse and doctor dancing to my laughter’s tune, I could be the bright sun in this wizened world.
Adele will be gone before the rest of us, they say, yet she grins and laughs with a body brimful of happiness. The bitterness inside me sours my breath, twists my belly into hard lumps of loathing, eats me up faster and harder than any disease could.
Lena, always choosing to sit opposite me, revels in my odium. She talks about Adele all the time, loves to watch my face contort with the effort of not responding. Every day she seeks me out. Every day she taunts me with tales of Adele’s latest japes and jokes, who loves her most, who is coming to see her today. And the more I shrink into a husk of hate the more Lena’s skin glows as she gains strength from my distress.
The photographer is laughing with Adele. Oh, how hilarious, Adele’s pretending to photograph the photographer. Why can’t I see the humour there? Why am I left here, in the background, prey to my own jealousy – there, I’ve said it – and Lena’s torture. I’m tempted to pull faces, to make rude gestures, to just this once take the attention away from that bloody woman.
Adele turns with a speed and agility that belies her years. For a moment I think she must have read my mind – is there no end to her talents? She looks at me, she smiles that crumpled smile, her eyes shining under seemingly endless folds of skin. Her voice, so much younger than her mind and body, reaches out to me.
“Geraldine! Come here! You never sit with me, girl. Let the snapper take us both – the prettiest girls in the whole place.”
The photographer nods, a nurse claps her hands, everyone stares at me. Lena’s eyes narrow and a soft growl escapes her lips.
And I smile. My eyes fill with tears. Adele has noticed me at last. She called me ‘girl’. The warmth fills my body and I stand tall, legs shaking, heart jumping as I go to her. And I think, ‘Isn’t she just wonderful?’
About the Author
Karen Jones is from Glasgow. Her work has appeared in various print anthologies, in magazines including The New Writer and Writers’ Forum, and in several ezines, most recently in The Waterhouse Review and UptheStaircase. She was short-listed for the 2007 Asham Award and took third prize in the 2010 Mslexia short story competition. One of her stories received an honourable mention in The Spilling Ink Short Story Prize 2011, and two poems (she’s not sure how that happened) have appeared on Every Day Poets.