001 - Chicken Pox
Like the dutiful daughter she was, she didn’t shudder when she walked into the room.
Her father had come down with chickenpox at 51 and she was the only one in the family who’d already had it. So, the mantle of responsibility fell on her. There was no room for wonder, only the hope of an auspicious and swift recovery for him.
Somewhere across town, there was a whole auditorium of university students waiting for Professor Dingle Mantra to walk through the door to lecture on the American Civile War, something far above the ordinary. But it wasn’t going to happen. She had no way of letting the University know, their old farm telephone was o the fritz, mother had driven away the night before to stay at her sister’s and it was just herself, her sick and the old mangy cat.
The broth steamed gently in the old, chipped bowl, his favorite, and the water they still drew from the artisan well was crystal clear and cool.
Lisa walked with her usual elegance, despite the size of the tray and its weight, you would never tell she had a club foot. That had never been an obstacle to her, although her mother was constantly embarrassed about it and had kept Lisa at home for years before Lisa rebelled and went off to high shool of her own accord. The world had too much to offer her and she felt her whole life was destined for something much greater than herself. It seemed to be happening in divine timing.
“Hello Dad, how are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” he growled from under the covers which he had pulled up past his chin. “My head itches, my arse, itches , and even my penis itches. Everything itches – I’m like the moth-eaten old bag of a cat out there.”
Lisa tutted and put the tray down, pushing away the half-empty bottle of Jack. “Maybe you shouldn’t have had quite so much Jack.”
“Don’t you start now. Don’t you be lecturing me about what I can and can’t have.” He slashed the air with his arm to dismiss her admonition and knocked the whole tray to the floor. “Now look what you’ve made me do, you stupid girl.”