Alone On A Sunday

All weekend I am on my own. I play Etta James and Nina Simone. Saxophone and stillness. I play Marianne Faithful, the German stuff. Beer halls and piano accordions.

The house is clean. Spotless. Shining. I even wash the floors.

I don't go outside, except to get the newspapers, which I devour with joint after joint. Then I am stoned and the rest of the world fades away. 

I am surprised to see people when I go to get more milk in the arvo for coffee. How many cups a day? I get used to being on my own, so easily. And then suddenly there are people. People. People. Walking towards me. Across the street from me. Walking behind me. Footsteps. Footsteps. Footsteps. On no. Where did you all come from, I think? What are you doing here? There is so many of you. You don’t have to be a genius to know they are tourists from  the suburbs.

The lovely gentle lady behind the counter at the milk bar smiles her sweet smile.

“How are you?” I ask. It comes out fine even with my dry mouth.

“Yes, good. I am good,” she says. “And you. How are you?”

“I’m good,” I say. “Just enjoying my Sunday. Lots of people about.”

“Yes, yes there is today.”

“Any reason?” I ask.

“Sunday, I guess,” she says. “People have more time.”

“So many of them though,” I say. I pull a face.

“No, it’s good,” she says. “Good for me.” She smiles.

“Yes, yes, of course,” I say. What was I thinking? Of course she wants the people around. “Goodo.”

“You just need to head inside, away from them all.”

“You know me well,” I say. I am a little surprised.

“You been coming here for years, now,” she says.

I wasn’t sure if that meant she liked me, or if I was boring. “Predictable?” 

“Interesting,” she says.

I think maybe she is being generous and perhaps I should take my milk and take myself in doors. “You are being kind,” I say.

“No, not kind,” she says. “True.” She hands me back my change.

I lie on the couch. My head spins.

Does the nice lady in the milk bar think I am boring? Am I over thinking it? I drink my coffee. The bitter taste feels good on my tongue.

The light is golden. Birds chirp. Nina sings, I Put a Spell on You, Nina really does sound like a bloke, I think. I lie on the couch and let the music take me away. The light fades, the day drifts away. The dark hangs in the lounge room threatening to take over, and then it does. There is nothing beyond this room and everything is still. Silent.

Just Nina Feeling Good.

I close my eyes. My body hums. I can feel myself sinking into the couch. Sinking, sinking. The evening exhales the day light and everything starts to fade into everything else. The shadows join up. I’ve never felt so relaxed. I almost feel like I am floating in time. Just me. There is nothing else.

I feel good.

If I never see another human being, I don’t think it will bother me. I don’t need anyone else, I tell myself.

Drink it in, even if it is through the pores in my skin. Absorb the serenity. Osmosis, anyone? I giggle away to myself in the almost completely faded light. I wonder what the nice lady in the milk bar would think? And I giggle all over again.

If I never do another thing for the rest of my life, I think I’d be happy. Happiest. Fulfilled.