The Elusive Man

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THE ILLUSIVE MAN

  Libby finally stirs as the schoolyard ruckus next door picks up once again. It’s nearly nine and her futon is directly where the sun is blasting a perfect square of sunlight onto the floor. It’s a combination which seems to provide an adequate, if wholly unwelcome, alarm.

  “Ughhh,” she groans as she slides off the mattress and away from the magnified heat. I watch her wiggle over to the front door, where she slides the front half of her body off the step and puts her cheek flat against the cool tiles below. It’s an incredibly awkward yet undeniably entertaining feat that I watch in lieu of television.

  “I have got the worst sleep-hangover,” she moans, her face still squashed flat. I’m sitting at the desk, eating my breakfast of sticky rice with a spoon – I know, I know, but it’s too early in the morning for the fun and games of chopsticks.

  “I’m not surprised,” I say through a mouthful, “you slept for nearly fifteen hours straight,”

  “Not cool”

  “So not cool. You missed Uncle D.”

  “Damn it.”

  There’s a brief silence whilst Libby collects herself. She eventually sits up and rests against the wall, blinking slowly and staring through the floor as if she was suffering from a serious case of shell shock. She finally focuses on me as I dust off my breakfast.

  “Rice? When did we get rice?”

  “We didn’t. Dalton brought it over,” I say as I get up to rinse my bowl in the sink.

  “Oh right. That was nice of him.”

  “Yeah, he saw we were missing some essentials and dropped off a bag this morning on his way to work.”

  “This morn twice? I missed him twice?”

  “Yeah, sorry kiddo. You were still way out of it.”

  “Ugh.”

  “He’ll be back.”

  “Maybe”

  “No, I’m pretty sure.”

  She harrumphs, sulks, and concedes. 

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~ by Joseph Blame on November 9, 2010.

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