The Bruise

The bruise

She has been staying at her friend’s house. Lena’s house. Lena has a greenhouse, chickens, cats and dogs and a lot of space in an urban environment. It gives her feelings of hope, and a new sense of capability and purpose; though it is difficult for her to stop herself worrying about her own cats, left for too long, she thinks, on the days she spends in Leeds.

She wants him to come and visit her in this environment. She sends him photos of the fresh fruit she has cut. She has visions of them reading together in the living room, of choosing something to watch on the cosy sofas, of getting themselves a Chinese takeaway, and discussing current events, philosophy and their lives.

He won’t come though.

He has excuses, reasons and she stays there alone. She is to make a long drive down south to visit a friend from University, who married another friend, from travelling. She thinks he will like these friends. He isn’t coming with her though.

She bathes herself, briefly, in Lena’s tub before she starts her journey. She is careless, distracted, rushing or a combination of all three when she stands, too quickly, and injures the side of her leg on something protruding from the bath. It might be the tap. As she writes this, years later, it makes sense that it is the tap.

But in his mother’s living room, when he is questioning her about it she cannot bring to mind what it is that has created this appallingly coloured, mammoth bruise. It hurt, badly, when she did it in the bathtub. It had hinted at its magnitude by immediately beginning to form, and to raise up, out of her skin.

She had been drunk at the down-south-friend’s party. Horribly so.

He thinks this bruise is a result of that.

He questions her on the position she was in to acquire the bruise �" was it while she was sitting down, or standing up, entering or exiting the water?
She doesn’t know.

Her mind draws an appalling blank.

She tries to articulate this to him.

His mouth is a set, grim line. She doesn’t understand the coldness in the room. They are watching something she is enjoying, a film, she thinks now. But she cannot stay to see the end of it. His hostility towards her is palpable. She wants to cry out ‘Why are you doing this? Why do you think I am a liar? Why won’t you believe me? Why would I lie about how I got this bruise? Why are you ruining this? Why do I have to leave?’

It is a film, it’s ‘Philadelphia’.

 Her hands shake on her steering wheel. She has left the house without saying goodbye and he hasn’t called to her to come back. He didn’t stop her as she left the room, spilling into the dark hallway. He hasn’t come to the porch, hasn’t had a re-think. He’s just allowing her to drive into the night with no explanation and no comfort.