you're in your mum's gf's flat all cautious excitement tinged with anxiety waiting for her to come home from the hospital. you've been visiting getting her get well soon cards acting like everything's fine. because it's going to be, right? it has to be. she's here she's alive and she's coming home. you helped your mum decorate put up banners fetch the cake from roy's. you watch her get the call don't even have to ask. it's routine. not the comfortable kind. the 'please stay please don't go into a job that can kill you please listen to me please stay' kind. the 'they need me i have to go there's been a murder/robbery/assult i'll be home late they need me' kind. the kind that is constant, unchanging despite her best (?) efforts. later, carla comes home. she's happy to see you hugs you back calls you darling. it reminds you too much- no. she's not here anymore. carla is. you know what she's gonna ask before she opens her mouth. "there was murder." "she was going to be here." "she put up the decorations." you're well versed in explaining to yourself why she is the way she is. in making excuses for her. in defending her to yourself. she's not here. she wanted to be. she's not here. she wanted to be. she's not here. she wanted to be. a well worn mantra repeated on forgotten dinners late nights missed parent-teacher meetings tardy pickups from work. the difference is now you have to explain it to other people as well. person. carla. you hope she has more patience than you more grace more understanding. you hope she stays. she's not here. she wanted to be. carla is here. she wants to be.
