alittlepoison

I remember that I was waiting by the front door for the milkman when the letter bursted through my letter flap and flapped down into my face. I was obviously half asleep and acting on some sleepy whim, but the letter (and this is where my memory kicks in) was in a small purple black envelope. Written in tipp-ex on the back was “FAO MR BRUISE”. I opened it up. My name is not Mr. Bruise, but I thought it might have been a joke played by someone I knew.

I’m in the kitchen with my slice of toast and this under-sized letter. Dear Mr. Bruise it says (there’s no header, date or company information at the top) we have picked your name out of a hat and you have won a new toaster. I look at my toaster on the mottled worksurface. It’s still steaming and then I look at the premium rate number hand written on the bottom (0878) so I bin it. Kitchen bin.

I thought of that letter all day, on my way to the library and then round to Cheryl’s where she gives me iced buns and comments on the paintings I do for her. She was very polite that day, and I told her about the letter.

I also told Ken at the library beforehand. He was busy and wouldn’t offer me anything too insightful about its unusual appearance. They handwrite the envelopes (he says before he goes through the librarians-only door) to get your attention.

My ribs were aching from the cold air: I clung onto the hand rail on the bus ride home and pulled my coat up to my mouth. I was coughing a lot and a man offered to buy me a tea. “Cough it up” he said, as we sit in the caf? by my bus stop. “Cough it up and all’s well”. I’m sitting there sweating and coughing - some days I wait for the bus so I only have to walk a little way home.

My key’s in the door and I’m feeling better, dawbing my mouth with my sleeve. Just as I open the door, I see the letter box is gone. Ripped out.

“Mr. Bruise?” enquired a man’s voice from within my flat. Mr. Bruise? I went in.

–

He was sitting on the chair in my kitchen. Smaller than most men, and he was wearing a skin coloured suit and a wood brown tie. His eyes were buldging like picked eggs, his nose was pinched and his mouth - very cleary I saw his mouth - was like an aerial photograph of a river meeting the sea. He had sprung up on his little legs and was making an animal face at me. Like a chimp that’s either content or angry, but that you know isn’t both.

He stood there for seconds, poised. His face was a portrait that I had to punch, and I felt my bestial instincts kick in. My hands curled into tennis ball fists and I let them flurry against his gawping temples like tennis balls bouncing in a metal box. I was thinking that I only use violence if I have to and I never have before and as I am I must have to. His eyes shut and the curse was lifted - he fell onto the floor like a bloody alphabet letter and I straightened my fingers, feeling the blood restore to where the nails had pushed into my palms.

From the furthest corner in the kitchen I store and store at him. He was like a new born bear in his little pink skin suit. I look at the window, I look at him. If I roll him out of the window, he dies and they’ll know it was me. If I leave him there he’ll be haunting me forever. The whole affair gave me the creeps. I was more calm back the hall, and I was trying to remember the order of Cheryl’s telephone number. I couldn’t hear him. I was thinking of the man who bought me tea. “Cough it up” he was saying. Why am I thinking about him? If it wasn’t for old freaky muggins in there, I thought, I’d make some tea and then I could get things back to normal.

–

Since I had been out earlier the sun had warmed up the pavements and while walking through the park I was breathing slowly and counting 1 2 3 and my chest didn’t hurt a bit. I stood at my bus stop and listened to two girls talking about their school orchestra and scuba diving and sharks. I should have felt sick when I climbed back up my stairs to my flat. But I felt like a fireman that had just helped to put out one more of many fires, like it was just the same as any other time when I was coming back from Cheryl’s or back from the public library. I was alarmed by the letter box - it had been slotted back in while I was away. I could see then that there’s no screws holding it in - it just slides into the door. I’m surprised it hadn’t gone missing before.

The little man had gone. There was blood on the worksurface though - a little. It wiped away and the kettle went on and I dropped an economy tea bag into a mug that says “Helps you work rest and play” I remember it clearly although I was given that mug for the previous Christmas so I’m not likely to forget it. I even picked out the purple black envelope and handwritten letter from the kitchen bin. I sit down and think: I’ll take it to the library and see what Ken says about it.