Change
(Iâm back in the Queen fandom after a break. Thereâs no escape đđ this is based on something that happened to me. Gotta get it outta my system now..)
No. No no no.
No.
This is wrong. Yes. Wrong. Exactly.
This nice lady. Such a nice lady, only coming around here to help him out. Help clear up the mess. And this is how he repays her?
The table. The cushions on the couch. He canât get them out of his head.
The book on the coffee table.
The remote control. On the couch table. To the left. Not the right. And seperated from its buddy, the remote for the DVD player.
Everything is a mess. Not his physical surroundings, but inside his head. The cleaning lady - normally shows up on Wednesdays, and today was a Thursday and she had been here today, but that was okay, that was all right, he could live with that, she had told him last time, she had said âBrian, next time will be on Thursday.â At the same time, on a different day. 2 oâclock in the afternoon. He was cool with that. He accepted that.
Once.
She was always nice to him. Treated his belongings with care and respect.
But today. What was different about today?
Brian had a rehearsal with the band today. But he couldnât concentrate. Couldnât get those thoughts out of his head.
The book was lying with the back cover up. The cushions were all placed on the same side of the couch. He always had two cushions to the right. And two to the left.
He hadnât said thank you or goodbye to the cleaning lady.
She had vacuumed the floors. Wiped away dust. Emptied his dishwasher. Watered those plants above the bed he always forgot about.
And he had almost slammed the door on his way out. She was still finishing up when he had to leave for rehearsal.
Now, sitting with his guitar, he felt no joy.
Wasnât able to concentrate on the chords. He only had one thing on his mind. Getting home. And rearranging everything back to their right spots.
None of the band members got much work done. Freddie and Deaky snapped at him a couple of times. Roger seemed to sense that today was an anxious day and tried calmly to settle anything that might end up in an argument if continued.
When he finally left (a little before time) he could hardly keep back the tears.
He felt pathetic. Being a gifted guitarist in a famous band. And all he could think about for the past two hours was his couch cushions and turning a book back to its rightful place.
Home again. He knew it was good to resist. His therapist said itâs best fought with action against his thoughts. But he couldnât. He had to.
He quickly placed the cushions right. Placed the two remotes together. On the right side. Flipped the book.
Paced back and forth once. Twice. Thrice.
Sat on the couch. Flattened the cushions to the left.
A tear fell down his cheek. A text on his phone.
âWeâll talk later, right?â From Roger.
But first he had to do something. He had to apologise. To his cleaning lady.
He was thankful for her work. He really was. Itâs just - sometimes he gets thoughts. Thoughts that wonât leave him. For an entire day if he doesnât act on them. Doesnât put the pen back with the pointy bit up. Doesnât lay his phone with the camera facing away from him.
It wasnât her fault. She didnât deserve him looking sour and leaving without a thank you. He always said thank you to her. Thank you and goodbye. And sheâd say âhave a nice day, Brian.â
He looked through the contacts on his phone.
Anne - Cleaning.
Dial.
âHello?â
Welcome back! This was lovely in a sad way. Poor Brian :( Thank you for submitting this!
