Wither

My sister is my best friend. She is eighteen years younger than me.

My mother phoned to tell me she was pregnant whilst I was inside someone. I have this bad habit of picking up my phone regardless of the situation. If it rings, I must answer. If you’re ever at a funeral and you hear a phone ringing followed by that unbelievable whisper of “Hello?”, that’s me.

So, there I am, fully submerged, when I’m told that my parents are still doing it.

“What was that?” my girlfriend at the time demands as soon as I hang up. I’m not sure what this question is addressing. It could be one of three things. She could be querying the fact I just chose a phone call from my mother over her vagina, she could be curious as to the contents of said phone call, or – and this is where I put my money – she could be pertaining to the penis that very recently withered inside of her.

“What was what?”

“You just withered inside of me.”

“Withered? I did not wither.”

“You withered.”

I shove her off me and roll away to pull on my underwear. It was the start of a subconscious subversion that would lead to the downfall of that particular relationship and result in me living at home for the birth of Libby and the horrific events that followed…

~ by Joseph Blame on September 19, 2010.