Chapter 2: Geraniums and Such
“I was given charge of your well-being, and your interests are best served in my care.” Or so it was proclaimed and thereby believed that Lady Elna spoke for me. She had taken the liberty of talking to the judge about the whole thing; ultimately I was glad because I had frankly forgotten to, but I truly resented her stepping into this mess mom and dad left as if I were unable to cope.
Of course I can cope, I told the nurse.
She spared me a glance and a forced smile before losing herself again in my clipboard.
I felt like throwing my geranium at her – Elna, that is.
Once the house was sold she’d be off to Montego Bay or wherever her kind went to get away, and she’d probably even take the dog, although I was his favorite.
I suppose Elna thought of me as a worthless artist with no real opinion but what the liberals were feeding me. How little she knew. You don’t make money writing! And if it really was about the money, she bought ME the geranium! I would have picked a dandelion, in all its Bradbureqsue style, swathed in denim for textures sake. But in she came, facade gleaming and flowery words gushing, geranium in hand.
“You do realize these situations are particularly…” She looked out the window. “Precarious.” Politics as usual. I should have been used to the mindless formalities, the social bureaucracy, but it still annoyed me like fork on plate.
She droned on and on about the crash, and before she was done I was asleep. The nurse said she left the geranium and walked out around nine. She arrived a quarter past eight, so she must’ve stayed a while after I slept. Probably put whiskey in my I.V. One of her groundskeepers told me that’s how her last husband died. It did feel a little warm in here.
