Decrease

Tuesday - September 21

"Sorry it took me so long, dear. It wasn't hot enough to my satisfaction. I hope you like it," she says, as she sets the tray on the coffee table.

"Oh, I'm sure it'll be fine, Aunt Ruth. There isn't anything I've eaten, or drank that you've made that was ever bad," as I lie to make the old biddy feel like I care.

I take a sip and burn my lip. Placing the cup back onto the saucer, I wipe my lip with my tongue and say, "Well, it's definitely hot now, Aunt Ruth."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, dear. Do you need an ice cube?" she asks, as if she cares.

"No thanks, Aunt Ruth. I'm fine. Please, sit. There's no need for you to wait on me hand and foot." I tap the corner of the couch and repeat, "Please, sit."

She clasps her hands together like a nun and sits in a courtly, lady fashion. I reach over to pick up my scalding hot coffee and begin to blow gently into it.

"Just like your hot chocolate," Aunt Ruth says, breaking the silence.

I look at her and say, "Excuse me."

"Hot chocolate... when you were little, you would always blow into your hot chocolate to cool it off faster. Do you remember that?"

I try to recall, but no memories come to mind. Sensing that she wants me to have some memory, I lie again, and say, "Yeah, yeah, I do remember that; with lots of marshmallows. Funny how you forget little things like that."

Aunt Ruth looks directly into my eyes, and says, "Yeah, funny."

I take another sip of coffee, and pleased with the taste, I compliment Aunt Ruth by saying, "Great cup of coffee, Aunt Ruth. See, I told you I've never had anything that you've made that was ever bad."

Aunt Ruth continues to look at me and says, "That's so nice of you to say, dear. Would you like something to eat?"

For a moment, I did feel a sense of hunger. But now, I feel tired. I look at Aunt Ruth to respond to her question, but the room is tilting to one side, and Aunt Ruth has two heads, and my hands can't move, and...

"Oh, dear, I better get a towel and clean up that mess before the coffee stains these beautiful hardwood floors," says Aunt Ruth, as she nonchalantly goes to the kitchen, while I lie on the floor with my eyes open, totally immobilized. I can't move! The bitch! She drugged me! Shit! I'm going to die, too! Claire! Claire! Help me, somebody! They're going to kill me! Then I hear the doorbell.

Aunt Ruth answers the door. I hear faint voices, whispering, as if they know I can hear, but I can't do a damn thing. They're coming into the living room.

I can't turn my head or move my eyes to see who it is. Someone's rustling something like a plastic bag. This is it! I'm dead. Claire, baby, I'll be seeing you soon. I see a shoe standing in front of my right eye. The shoe is a brown loafer with a white tip. My eyes see the top of the window for a second, while someone grabs my head and covers it with a cloth bag. I can't see a damn thing. But I can still hear them talking, faintly.

Aunt Ruth says, "Right," while a man says "Do... him... now." Do him now! Please, God! Just let them get it over with! I can't stand the suspense anymore! Then I sense being upside down. Apparently, one of the brutes is able to lift my heavy ass and throw me over their shoulder. Aunt Ruth says, "Here, cover him up. It's cold out there." The brute carrying me stops, allowing Aunt Ruth to cover me with a blanket, or something.

"Okay. Go," she orders, as the brute carrying me and the person wearing brown loafers with white tips exit my apartment, most likely for the last time... I don't know where... hell maybe.